Page 82 of Of Realms and Chaos

Where Trint’s appearance lacked the love for one’s kingdom that most monarchs possessed, his chambers were a different story.

Black furniture sat ceremoniously around the first room, teal rugs and drapes and accessories dutifully placed. This seemed to be a seating room, though Trint continued right past it, heading for an open archway beyond, his arm tightly around Henry’s. Farai, Wrath, and I maintained a close distance from them, passing through the archway to find a long black dining table and matching chairs, both accented with teal.

Gods, he really meant it when he asked us to join him in his bed.

Henry’s shouted thoughts echoed into my head, forcing me to choke back a cackle.

Trint gestured for Henry to take the seat to the left of the head, which he accepted with a smile. The king beamed, grabbing the back of the chair to the right of the head and facing me expectantly. I tried to mimic the flirtatious gaze Henry had used but imagined I looked more strained and impatient than sultry.

When we were all seated, Farai having chosen the chair beside me and Wrath shrinking slightly to curl up below me, conversation began.

“Listen, we understand why you are hesitant to help us. Gandry is peaceful and prosperous, and aiding a realm you have been told to fear is likely not a great way to gain support.” Henry wasted no time letting the king process his words, aiming straight for the soft spot we all knew he had—the weakness no one but he could be blamed for. “And you do need the support, desperately.”

Trint glared in response, snapping over towards a teal-clad servant who held a tray full of what I assumed was vanilla custard. The young male’s skin was nearly as dark as Trint’s, his eyes far smaller and build lankier. He seemed nervous though he walked with poise, softly setting a black bowl in front of each of us.

Farai did not think twice, immediately digging into the dessert. Henry looked to me, nodding. That was my cue.

“Your people fear your lack of duty to your gods. They think you disobedient and sinful, lacking the holy wisdom.” Now, Trint was visibly angry, his fists clenched atop the table and body shaking. “Parties and mead and sex do not particularly scream devout ruler, do they?”

Trint turned on me, his eyes devoid of the previous lust. No, this was the real king. The one who was desperate to keep his crown—as he should be. Trint was not a bad ruler per se. He cared about his kingdom enough to ensure it still thrived, but not enough to give up what brought him joy. I did not fault him that. No, I envied him it.

“What business do you have discussing my faults, Princess Asher? Are you not a runaway child planning to take mommy and daddy’s throne? Is that not why you want my armies?” I reared back, so surprised by his spot-on guess that I briefly lost my train of thought. With a swipe at my ankle, Wrath brought me back to my senses. “Did you really think you could kill one creature and I would give you every sword in my kingdom? Did you think insults would further encourage me to do so?”

“I think we can both get what we want, Your Majesty. You need proof of your holiness, and I need soldiers.”

Henry nodded from across the table, and then I entered Trint’s mind, the barriers blocking me nonexistent. With delicate touches, I grazed his consciousness, watching in real time as he realized something was wrong.

Well, Trint, you are currently looking at the closest thing to a god you will likely ever see.

The king yelped, pressing his palms against his ears and leaning back so far in his chair that it toppled backwards. Wrath laughed below me, a menacing sound that only made the fear in Trint’s eyes morph into terror. He scrambled up, using the chair like a shield as he stared at me.

“Guards, get them! Get her! She is a witch! A demon!” He then muttered in what I assumed was the language of Gandry, likely translating his orders. They moved immediately, closing in on us with panicked expressions. “Kill her!”

When the first guard touched me, grabbing my neck as he unsheathed his sword, I stilled. Suddenly, it was Sterling’s hand there, choking me, threatening me. I was vulnerable and weak again—I was nothing.

Farai drew a dagger, Henry sitting up straight but not arming himself. Wrath did not stir from below me. Because to them, I was not nothing. I was everything.

I recalled a time when Xavier once said that violence was the answer when gentleness was questioned.

So, with that thought fresh in my mind, I bent down, grabbed one of my heeled shoes off, and swung it into the eye of the guard holding me. He screamed, instincts driving him to release me in favor of dislodging the heel. I yanked the shoe out, stabbing him two more times in the shoulder for good measure. When it became stuck, I turned to face Trint.

Another guard ran to the screaming and injured man, pulling out all seven inches of the heel and slowly helping him to the ground, her arms struggling to bear the weight of his body. Trint watched with what could only be described as dread.

The female guard turned towards me, the horror etched on her face turning into rage. She grabbed her sword, screaming as she swung. I used this as my final chance to show Trint where my value lay.

Stop.

She froze, the sword only raised about a third of the way. Her blue eyes were wide, tan skin highlighting them beautifully. She had far more muscle than the servant, which made sense—seeing as she likely trained daily whereas he was relegated to cleanup duty.

Turn to your king and repeat after me.

She did as she was told.

A goddess walks among us, prepared to fight a wicked enemy. She is a blessing, proof that the gods shine down upon our great king. Asher Daniox is faith incarnate.

She repeated me out loud, Trint’s eyes nearly popping from their sockets. The wariness was still there, but his obvious interest still won out. Just for the fun of it, I added one last thing.

“She is beautiful and wonderful and the greatest thing to happen to Alemthian since the creation of bread.” The female’s voice was heavily accented, making it all the more obvious that she was not normally able to speak the common tongue, her eyes staring into her king’s with no emotion.

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