Page 59 of Cursed By Gold

Lady Scarlet,

Your endeavors in the tournament have not gone unnoticed by those in lofty positions. If amenable, present yourself this evening at the discreet location marked on the enclosed map. An audience has been requested - one that necessitates the utmost discretion on your part.

Opportunities such as this are seldom extended. I trust you will prove worthy of the privilege.

R

A secret rendezvous? Now who could have sent this kind of scandalous invite? My eyes narrow as I reread the vague yet undeniably suggestive lines. The overly self-important tone practically screams "royalty" - seems someone High and Mighty has taken an interest in little ol' me.

A smirk tugs at my lips as I consider the possibilities. Could it really be the king himself summoning me?

My gaze drifts to the heavy pouch, fingertips toying with the drawstring. With a steadying breath, I tug it open. A folded map tumbles out, the thick vellum bearing an intricately rendered layout of the palace grounds, a single red X marking a nondescript door tucked away in a secluded alcove.

An invitation, a map, a summons shrouded in enigma...I should be far warier of stumbling heedlessly into unknown territory. And yet that defiant spark that so often governs my actions prickles with temptation to unravel the mystery. What sort of illicit game is the king playing?

My sore muscles protest as I strip off my tunic, wadding the rank fabric into an unceremonious ball to discard later. Lukewarm water from the basin does little to revive me, but at least I no longer reek quite so foully.

Donning a lightweight linen shift that hangs loose and unrestrictive, I tug a pair of well-worn boots onto my feet. Simple, unobtrusive...just in case stealth proves necessary wherever this rendezvous may lead.

Clutching the folded map, I slip out into the hushed corridor, carefully pulling the door shut behind me. A few candles flicker in rusted sconces, casting wavering shadows that turn every nook into a potential hiding spot for prying eyes.

Keeping to the edges, I make my way through the winding passages, my path traced on the map in my mind. Right, then left at the portrait of the fat Count Woolridge, continue on until the alcove with the crumbling griffon statue...

My knuckles connect firmly with the weathered oak door, the sound echoing hollowly in the deserted hallway. For several tense beats, everything stays maddeningly silent. Then the rusty grind of a latch, and the door cracks open a sliver.

"Who goes there?" a deep voice rumbles from the other side, guarded but calmly authoritative.

I clear my throat, keeping my tone level. "I was called here for a private audience."

The single eye peering through the opening gives me a long, scrutinizing once over. Then it disappears, replaced by the door swinging inward to admit me. There in the entryway stands the unmistakable figure of King Remme himself.

"You may enter," he says, stepping aside to allow me passage. As I slip past, my gaze sweeps over the intimate study - plush rugs, shelves crammed with ancient tomes, a fire crackling invitingly in the hearth. Two chairs are drawn up before it, flanking a small table laden with a sumptuous spread of fruits, bread, cheese and ruby-red wine.

"Make yourself comfortable," King Remme gestures as he closes and latches the door behind us. The heavy thud of the lock engaging sends a shiver down my spine.

We're utterly alone, away from prying eyes and watchful ears.

He moves to the table, unhurriedly filling one of the crystal goblets. "I trust your evening has been an...invigorating one so far?" His piercing gaze finds me again as he proffers the glass.

"You could say that, Your Grace," I murmur, accepting the goblet with a small dip of my chin and draining the drink immediately. While I know I should hold myself back tonight with the next trail being tomorrow, I’m also in desperate need of an escape. Even if only for a moment.

A ghost of a smile plays about the king's lips as he settles into one of the chairs, golden bracers glinting in the low light. With a wave of his hand, he invites me to join him. "Then let us pursuemore...restful diversions for a time. I've found a well-cultivated mind craves intermittent reprieve from the relentless onslaught of the day's rigors."

He leans back, holding my stare with an intensity that sends that same delicious frisson shivering through me.

Heat prickles along my neck and cheeks. The wine's rich, earthy notes tantalize my senses as I take a delicate sip, allowing the flavors to linger on my tongue.

The king seems to study me as an expectant silence stretches between us. At last, I find my voice again. "You mentioned wanting to discuss the trials...?"

King Remme stands and casually trails his gloved fingers along the spines of the leather-bound books lining the shelves. He seems to be choosing his words carefully when he finally speaks.

"I'll be frank - I had an ulterior motive asking you here tonight." His expression darkens briefly. "I wanted to ensure you were recovered from the unpleasantness with Lord Greystone at the soiree. He would do well to remember his place."

My breath catches at hearing Greystone's name stated so bluntly. There's a protective edge to the king's tone that sends a subtle thrill through me.

"You honor me with your concern, Your Majesty," I say, holding his intense gaze over my drink. "But any troubles I have are nothing compared to ruling a kingdom."

King Remme considers me for a long moment, his eyes revealing a glimpse of empathy. "Even so, Greystone's behavior cannot be tolerated. No woman deserves such mistreatment from one who wishes to have their lives forever connected."

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