Page 38 of Kingdom of Feathers

From the little she’d seen of him, somehow Wren doubted King Basil would see it that way.

“Since he’s in such a rush,” said King Lloyd crisply, “I’ll meet with him before breakfast. Wren,” he turned abruptly to his daughter, “you will attend.”

Wren began to scrub her slate clean, ready to protest. She always visited her brothers before breakfast—what would they think if she didn’t show up?

But her father didn’t stay to see what she would write. Without another word, he held his arm out to his wife, and he and the queen left the dining hall together. Frowning, Wren watched them go, noting the tension in her father’s shoulders, and the uncharacteristic slump to her mother’s elegant frame. A pang went through her at the sight. Her father had his faults, but he wasn’t usually unreasonable. She’d been too quick to let her own frustrations blind her to what must be happening within her parents. In her irritation at not being understood, she so often forgot that the king and queen truly thought all six of their sons had been murdered. The last time they’d received an Entolian envoy in Myst had been on that horrible day. Their loss was probably feeling more vivid now than it had in years. No wonder her father was quick to find fault with King Basil, and in no humor to be polite.

Sighing, Wren stowed her slate again, and hurried to the opposite door. She would speak with her brothers now, let them know not to expect her in the morning.

“Come, Your Highness.” Wren’s governess swooped in out of nowhere, thwarting her plans. “An early night is precisely what you need to prepare yourself for entertaining foreign royalty.”

Leaving the disgruntled princess no opportunity to protest, she shepherded her charge toward the royal wing.

* * *

Wren stood in the council room, hands clasped a little too tightly in front of her as she waited. Having forced her to attend a state meeting barely after dawn, and on an empty stomach, the least her father could do was to arrive on time. Was it possible she’d misunderstood the summons, and was in the wrong room? Unlikely. She moved to the window, gazing out at the part of the gardens visible from the council room. Nowhere near her usual haunt, unfortunately. Lost in wondering if Caleb had been able to sleep on the pond the night before, she barely heard the opening of the door.

The sound of a throat being cleared made her turn quickly, ready to reproach her tardy father with her eyes. But she stopped short at the sight of a much slighter figure than her father’s, belonging to a much younger king.

“Oh.”

King Basil was clearly also surprised to find himself alone in the room with the princess. Well, alone for five seconds, until he was followed into the room by the nobleman who had been staring at Wren the night before, and a man in military uniform whom she hadn’t noticed at the welcome dinner.

For a moment Wren just blinked at the Entolian king, but he recovered himself quickly. Giving her a tight half-bow, he said, “I must be in the right place, then. Has King Lloyd been delayed? I had some trouble finding the room, and I expected to find him already here.”

Wren raised an eyebrow at this blunt speech. Not that she was inclined to make her father’s excuses, given he’d kept her waiting as well. It was as well she couldn’t blurt out her thoughts, she reflected—in her irritation, she might have shown a hint of disrespect which would damage the united front the Mistrans must present to Entolia’s new king. Shrugging one shoulder, she let her gaze pass back to the window.

King Basil didn’t seem discomposed either by her silence, or by her unhelpfulness. He strode across the room, pausing beside her with his hands clasped behind his back, and his feet slightly apart, just as he’d stood after the dinner the night before. She thought he intended to ask her for further information, but instead he just surveyed the view.

“Pleasant enough garden,” he said, after a moment. “But far too tame for my taste. And everything feels a little too enclosed here. I suppose it’s because I’m so used to seeing the ocean when I look out the window.”

Wren raised both eyebrows this time, torn between offense at his lukewarm praise of what was considered the finest garden in Mistra, and curiosity at the idea of a coastal castle. She’d seen the sea only a handful of times in her life, and she couldn’t help feeling a little jealous. Pushing that thought aside, she focused instead on King Basil’s impolite words. No reason to be jealous of his second rate Entolian castle, she told herself firmly. There wasn’t anything to admire either in his kingdom or in him. He was clearly overconfident, to the point of being brash. He reminded her of Averett who, even after the mellowing influence of six restricted years, had a tendency to say exactly what he thought regardless of how it would make others feel.

Glancing at her, the king took in her expression. His own eyebrow went up, a slight smile tugging at one side of his lips. It made him look younger, and Wren suddenly remembered that he was barely older than she was.

“You think I spoke too plainly?” he said, surprising her with the hint of a laugh behind the words. He glanced back at the two men still hovering awkwardly near the door. “My advisors probably agree.” The Entolian king’s expression suddenly became more serious. “But I don’t think my purpose here will be served by dishonesty. Not even polite dishonesty.”

Before Wren could think of a response to this somewhat startling speech, the door opened once again. Her father strode in, followed by the general, and several advisors from the Council of Lords. Their synchronized appearance, plus the king’s utterly unhurried demeanor, convinced Wren that their late arrival had been intentional. A power play, presumably.

A flicker of irritation passed over her as she wondered whether she’d been omitted from the plan on purpose, or because they’d forgotten about her. She wasn’t sure which option would be worse.

“King Basil,” said King Lloyd, as the Entolian advisors scurried around the table to join their king near the window. “I trust this time for our meeting was acceptable to you.”

“Very much so, Your Majesty,” said Basil promptly. “I’m grateful for the opportunity to discuss our situation with you without delay.”

“You clearly consider your time to be very limited, King Basil,” said Wren’s father, his lip curling slightly. “An unusual attitude in one so young.”

If King Lloyd had hoped to offend his counterpart with the slur on his youth, he was disappointed. There was no anger in King Basil’s voice as he replied, only a grim humor.

“I’ve never had the luxury of time like others my age, Your Majesty,” he said simply. “I’ve had—not an ax, perhaps, but a crown—hanging over my head since I was child. And as you know even better than I, the position I’ve come into involves many responsibilities, and the transition from one king to the next is complex even in the best of circumstances. The circumstances surrounding my own coronation are far from what I would call the best. I’ve left many pressing tasks to wait for my return, but I’ll consider it time well spent if we can make some progress to untangling the mess in which we find ourselves.”

For a moment King Lloyd was silent, probably as taken aback as Wren was by this calm and direct speech. Unbending slightly, the Mistran king gestured for the Entolians to sit, and settled himself in his own gilded chair.

Instead of immediately doing likewise, King Basil glanced toward Wren, and she realized he was courteously waiting for her to seat herself first. Perhaps he wasn’t so much like Averett after all—it was hard to imagine her second brother showing so much consideration to the princess of an enemy kingdom.

Speaking of enemies…with a swift glance around her, Wren realized she had somehow ended up on the Entolian side of the table. Moving as gracefully as she could manage, she made her way around the room, taking a seat next to one of her father’s advisors.

King Basil seated himself at last, but Wren didn’t miss the way his eyes flicked from her position to the empty seat at her father’s right, where his heir should be placed. The Entolian king’s brow furrowed slightly, but he made no comment. Apparently there was a limit to his forthrightness.

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