Page 84 of Kiss the Filthiest King

36

OLD FRIENDS AND NEW ENEMIES

Darina

“What do you mean, married?” I ask, again.

My mind quite simply isn’t wrapping around the concept.

Caenan smirks smugly. “An union with a fae doesn’t need cake and an audience, my queen. Only the word of one of the folk. And I gave mine to your sister.”

I shake my head, staring at Rachel. “And you’re fine with that?”

She beams up at him, delighted.

Clearly, she’s more than fine with that.

“Right. Well, that sounds good to me.” Or rather, it sounded insane, but it was also the least of my problem.

In fact, it solves quite a few of my problems. Caenan is clearly serious about protecting her. And she can no longer be forced into servitude, because the idiot gave it all away to Caenan. Still, it’s crazy she’s this happy about it days after losing her fiancé.

Then again, Ben was a tool.

“Shall we return to the den of vipers?”

The atmosphere’s completely changed from yesterday when I enter the hall. Given the smirks, the raised eyebrows and knowing looks, I take it that Valdred was successful in his endeavor. I feel my cheeks heat from anger I have to swallow down, rather than embarrassment.

The fact that my sex life is the object of intense scrutiny is ridiculous. I understand it; I like and trust Ryther. Those who dislike and mistrust him don’t want me at his beck and call. Still, I feel more like a call girl than a queen.

I’m wearing another terribly pretty dress, which feels less formal than either one of those Relva chose for the last two days. Somewhat Grecian, in light blue muslin, it’s gathered at the waist with a large bow and stitched with a gold floral theme at the hem. Not quite my style, but at least it doesn’t appear like I climbed straight out of a Tudor court. I could even imagine myself putting something like this on back home—for the fanciest of weddings, not a random Tuesday, but whatever.

“What day of the week is it?” I wonder out loud.

“Frey’s,” Loch responds.

I consider whether asking for clarification is likely to give me a headache.

Loch sees my scrunched-up nose and decides for me. “There are about thirty human hours for each of our days, which makes comparing time rather complicated. But we have four seasons, ten months, and yes, seven days of the week. There aren’t workdays as such, however. We seldom stop seeing to our affairs; the wild ones do whatever wild creatures want to do—ask your husband, I’ve no clue—the working class works, and the ruling class rules.”

“They don’t get days off?” I ask.

Shit, are all the people walking around with trays, preparing the food, cleaning up after each bacchanal slaves? I shouldn’t be surprised after what happened to me, but Ilvaris never ceases to shock me with its barbaric ways.

“I don’t know many servants,” he offers. “I’ll ask around, if you want.”

I nod. “And about their salaries, too. They must get paid.”

Fuck,howam I supposed to pay people?

Loch smirks. “Don’t sweat on that account. The high court’s coffers are bulging with treasure, and it is understood that each ruler pays a tithe amounting to a tenth of their profits to you every summer.”

Great. I tax people. No wonder they hate me.

“But how do I arrange all that? The tithes, paying servants—hell,hiringservants.”

I will myself to appear calm, when the weight of all my responsibilities threatens to topple me. I’m starting to think about everything I have to handle, and wondering how a single person is supposed to do that. Until yesterday my major concern was avoiding being assassinated on sight. Now, I’m not sure I’d choose accounting over a goblet of poison.

He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Breathe.”

---