Page 4 of Golden Queen
"Have you been using the weighted cuffs I gave you?" he asked.
"I tried. They cause my bracelets to dig into my skin too much." I held up my wrist to remind him of the gold-plated mellitrium cuffs I wore—the ones all rulers of Windemere wore from birth. The metal cuffs were fused onto my wrists so that I would remain free of the influences of magic and those who wielded it.
I tried the exercise again and managed to keep my arm a little higher on the stroke.
"Better," Arkadian said approvingly, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms.
"This would not be an issue if I had been allowed to train on Fareye. I would already be strong enough," I told him breathlessly as I began to move through the steps again.
"Princesses do not go to Fareye," a voice spoke from behind me.
The regent was framed in the doorway, looking at me disapprovingly. But anything else from him might've surprised me so badly I would collapse dead from the shock of it.
"I know that, uncle," I said snidely, narrowing my eyes at him in distaste.
Markus had been especially odious of late, as he felt his control of Windemere beginning to slip.
He was named temporary steward following the deaths of my parents only days after my birth. After a series of spiteful actions by the council, who'd wanted to install Arkadian's father on the throne, they had ended up with Markus Smeck as permanent steward.
"This training will need to end when you are wed, Princess," Markus added, nodding as though I should already be aware of the fact. "Muscles on a woman are very unbecoming. And you will never have any need for these skills. You will be the queen. You will never be on a battlefield."
"Thank you for your advice, uncle," I said shortly, turning away from him. My own mother had been a warrior of sorts. And by all accounts, she had been a good one. So his words rang quite hollow to my ears.
I began the exercise again. I was determined to get it right, and I did not give a damn what Markus thought of it. I'd spent far too many years suffering under the obsessive level of control he kept on me. Only when I reached my majority and the council forced him to give me a measure of freedom, had I even been allowed to make my own choice about whether or not to train.
It chafed him to see me grasp even a small amount of power. Proof of his anger was on his reddened, oddly oily face with its rounded gray beard, and the slick dome of his bald head.
He had never been a handsome man, but the last decade of heavy drinking had caused his features to soften, redden, and sag in a very unfortunate way.
"The council is forming an enclave in the castle chambers," Markus said to Arkadian, pointedly excluding me even though I had been expected at every enclave of the eldermen since I reached eighteen.
I was expected to be there, but that was all. I was given a seat along the wall to learn and observe, in a chair so short it made me feel like a child, so that I could sit silently while a group of people decided my fate and that of my kingdom.
"Why are they forming an enclave?" I asked, pausing my exercise and lowering my blade. My breaths were ragged. I realized I may have pushed myself a little harder than I should have.
"Penjan has taken Arkyl," Markus said, watching my face for a reaction.
I wanted to react, perhaps gasp in shock and horror, if only to prove to him that I was not as ignorant as he believed me to be. But in truth, I didn't even remember where Arkyl was. Penjan, I knew, of course. They were the scourge across the sea in the Shadowlands. But Arkyl could have been on the moon or in the middle of the Red Desert for all I knew.
Arkadian picked up on my oblivious expression and filled in the details. "Arkyl is southwest of Penjan, on the coast of the Black Sea. It's the largest kingdom in the Shadowlands, aside from Penjan, of course," he added helpfully. "They would not have been taken easily."
"There is talk that they’re heading for Balus, though I have learned that talk is often unreliable," Markus said with a self-important grimace.
"We need eyes and ears in the Shadowlands, Markus," Arkadian said, as though it was an old argument between them.
"We have no need to involve ourselves in the other continents," Markus said shortly. "We have enough trouble with the mages at our own border."
"What trouble is there with Nightfall?" I asked.
"None at all," Arkadian interjected with a sigh.
"They are a constant looming threat to our kingdom, and we would do well to remember that," Markus warned.
"Existence is not a threat," Arkadian said, exhaling irritably.
Markus looked affronted. The topic of the fae was an old argument between them; between us all. The regent was constantly convinced that the mages in Nightfall had their sights set on conquering the southern continent.
The fact that they showed no signs of that, and very little interest in the human realm at all, did nothing to quell his incessant claim that Windemere must be ready for war with Nightfall. "When they bring their dragons southto burn the godsgrass, you will both see how wrong you are," he said, pointing his meaty finger at each of us in turn.
