Page 12 of A War of Three Kings

Four guards waltz in and I go with them with resignation, walking on my own two feet. As much as I hate these little meetings with Edmund and Naomi, they are the only way I can get answers.

I am thrust into a different room today, though, empty except for a large wooden bath and a stool in the corner with clothes folded on it. I whip around to ask the guards what is going on, but the door is slammed behind me.

Steam rolls off the bath, carrying the strong perfume of lavender and sandalwood. A thick layer of bubbles floats on the water’s surface. I realize just how much I stink.

All that hot water calls to me. I swiftly peel off my clothes, stiff with dried sweat, and dip my toes into the water. It is bliss. I submerge completely and scrub the grit from myself. Heat envelops me and loosens the tension in every muscle.

For a moment, I forget everything. Where I am. Why I am here. The look on Keira’s face as she backed away from me in horror.

Before I am truly ready, I step out of the bath and stalk over to the clean clothes. They are simple—an emerald tunic with flowers embroidered into the hem and a pair of tight-fitting pants—but clean and soft. A luxury.

There is a brush and leather thong, and I make short work of removing the tangles from my hair and pulling it back. The last items are a mirror and razor blade, and I use the bathwater to remove the beard that has grown in the last week.

I finally feel like myself again.

The guards escort me back to that same study. Edmund and Naomi sit at the desk with another feast spread across it, but the sight doesn’t dazzle me this time. I take the seat opposite them and a belt of air wraps around my waist.

“Please, eat. Drink.” Edmund gestures with an open hand toward the slices of pork belly with crispy crackling and the jug of wine. There is a smug smile on his face, and I know I am missing something. It cannot be poisoned, because Naomi helps herself to the food and begins eating.

I give in, piling a generous serving on a plate and working my way through it in silence. They don’t say a single thing, but Edmund’s smirk grows.

“We have a special gift for you today. Something you have been asking for.”

My heart stops as my eyes flick up at him. The door opens behind me, and for a single, stupid moment, I expect Keira to walk through it.

“I’m sure you’d love to know how your people are faring, so we brought one of them here for you to see,” Edmund says.

Guards drag young Hawthorne into the room and dump him hard into a chair against the wall. His head lolls as though he doesn’t have the strength to hold it up by himself.

“Hawthorne!” Anguish bursts within me to see him in such a state, so similar to my own a few days ago.It is so much worseseeing it on another person. “You cruel bastard, Edmund!” I snarl, but don’t take my eyes off Hawthorne.

His bloodshot eyes roll open and drift aimlessly, until they focus on me and widen. There are deep shadows beneath them, and his usually high cheekbones jut even further out of his gaunt face. There is a sickly sheen to it, his skin more yellow than its usual gold. The topknot of his hair is badly matted and the shaved sides areovergrown.

His mouth opens, but no words come out. He cascades into a coughing fit from the attempt, and I know all too well of the dry, gravelly throat from severe dehydration.

I try to stand, to rush over to him, but my bindings only strengthen, holding the entire armchair down. “At least give him some of this damned food and water!”

Thin streams of magic float away from the Lord Protector, binding Hawthorne to the chair, plugging his ears and placing a gag over his mouth. The young man doesn’t even flinch. He is clearly used to this, but his eyes stay trained on me.

I turn back to Edmund and Naomi. “What have you done to him? Have you beaten him or cut him up?” I growl, the muscles in my shoulders rippling. If I had my magic, there would be a gale blowing in this room. “ANSWER ME!” I slam a fist on the table and the plates rattle.

“Oh, I would think you should know.” Naomi places an olive in her mouth. “We have treated him with the same hospitality as you…well, except for the extra care you have received over the last couple of days.” The old spider turns away from me. “I wonder, Edmund, if this fae boy now believes he has been suffering in isolation. That his king has indulged in comforts while he has starved and sat in his own filth. Even Aldrin’s hair is groomed today.”

So that is the game they are playing—sowing discord between me and my people. Making me sweat over it. They have no ideaof the trials my band has followed me through. The sheer loyalty between us that runs in both directions.

I lean back in my seat and force myself to relax. “You will extend the same courtesies I have received in the last two days to the rest of my people.”

“Don’t worry, Aldrin. We have plans for your people that require them to stay alive…for now.” Edmund reaches across the table and pours wine into my goblet. “Drink up. There is no point in wasting wine because the fae behind you is suffering from dehydration.”

I grab the chalice and throw it at his head on a whim. It spins through the air almost faster than the eye can see, a streak of crimson splashing from it in an arc that is almost picturesque.

Edmund plucks the missile out of its trajectory with a tendril of magic and throws up an air shield to stop the splatter of wine from hitting him. It is satisfying when droplets hit his and Naomi’s faces anyway through the gaps in his magic.

“Now, now, Aldrin. There is no need to be rude,” Edmund chides in that casual tone that only stokes my fury and has me gritting my teeth. Gods, I wish I had dented his head.

“We aren’t here to speak about this fae, whatever his name is.” Naomi waves a dismissive hand in Hawthorne’s direction.

“Hawthorne,” I growl. “His fucking name is Hawthorne.”

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