Page 171 of Prize for the King
“I planned on attending the Gathering alone, but since you know why we’re here, could you come with me? I’m ready to give up half the yield from the mines in Zanvar, but I don’t know what I’ll do if that’s not enough. I need you.”
“They will not admit me,” I say with a bitter smile. “No women allowed.”
Magnar scoffs. “Then we’ll leave. Let’s see what happens.”
In the end, I come with him. The Table of Kings is situated on the top floor of the palace, under a beautiful dome of glass. The room is flooded with sunlight, and the sea breeze falls in through open windows. The table is old, made during the old emperor’s reign centuries ago. The wood has darkened over time. It stands out against the bright backdrop of the cream floor and walls.
Everyone else is already in when we enter, seven kings turning to look at us with varying degrees of hostility and scorn. Sidonius, who presides at the table as the impartial Master of Peace, rushes over to us with a worried expression.
“Welcome, welcome, King Magnar. I am afraid Her Highness will need to wait outside. I am sure you understand. It’s an ancient tradition.”
“Is that so?” Magnar asks, raising an eyebrow. “I follow my wifewherever she goes. If she can’t stay, I won’t, either.”
King Xander gets up in outrage, and a few others exclaim their protests.
“That is beyond rude! You should be happy we invited you at all!”
Magnar snorts under his breath. “You invited me because I have something you want. However, I see you care more about traditions than copper and iron, and I respect that. I am sorry to have wasted your time. Come, dear.”
We’re out the door when there’s a bustle behind us, and Sidonius runs out, waving his arms. He wears a satisfied smirk, though it disappears fast as he schools his features into a somber expression.
“Wait! Please. The kings invite you back, and Her Highness, as well.”
Magnar tsks, shaking his head mockingly. “Ah, not so devoted to tradition, after all.”
When we come in, the kings shoot us sullen, unfriendly looks. They must feel quite humiliated. Having to ask Magnar to return is a show of weakness, one they will try to make up for. A shiver of uncertainty crawls down my spine. Maybe it wasn’t the wisest move for Magnar to waste this gesture onmewhen he has more important things to negotiate.
Sidonius hovers behind us, wringing his hands. “We have only eight seats for eight kings. Let me have someone bring…”
“No need.”
Magnar sits down and tugs me into his lap, sitting me sideways. I gasp and grab onto the edge of the table, my stomach flooding with anxiety. He sits straight, his hands loose around me, and the setting is vastly different from when we usually do this. There is no sprawling ease and languor. No man wanting to hold his wife close for comfort or pleasure.
This is a show.
My father’s voice slithers through my mind.“A good politician always hides his unease, my prize. Now, sit straight and smile. Nothing should ruffle you. Not even this.”
His hand crawls up my waist and cups my breast, then travels farther up, fingers hooking under my neckline. I am frozen, my breaths shallow and fast, my body a block of ice. It’s the first time he’s ever acknowledged what he’s doing. I’m sixteen.
Magnar’s hand tightens on my hip, and I come to with a sharp inhale. As I look up, I meet unfriendly eyes of men, men who sat in this very room with my father, men as bad as him, maybe worse. My heart keeps pounding, and I’m terrified I’ll be sick.
But if I make a scene, Magnar’s chances at achieving what he needs will plummet. He doesn’t know I’m broken like this. I haven’t told him. It’s not his fault.
“Do you want to step out?” he asks in the barest murmur, making a show of adjusting his chair.
I shake my head, forcing a deep, calming breath into my body. This isn’t my father. It’s Magnar, and he’d never hurt me. Sitting in his lap isn’t dangerous. I’m safe.
That’s what my mind keeps thinking, but my body is still frozen. I breathe and force my shoulders to drop, my lips to smile, my back to relax. It’s no use. The shame lives in my belly, a slithering, hungry beast, and it won’t let go.
“Thank you very much for bending your tradition just for me, gentlemen,” Magnar says smoothly, sitting back. “So, how does this go? I’ve never been to one of these.”
“And yet you make preposterous changes even before everyone gets settled,” Xander hisses out through clenched teeth.
I give him a careful look to distract myself from the snakes in my belly. He’s in his late thirties, so much older than Molly. His complexion is bad, chin double. He’s slim, but weakly built. Hismoustache is a pitiful affair.
Molly is a thousand times more attractive than her husband, not to mention almost twenty years younger.
“Men feel threatened by their betters, my prize,”my father speaks helpfully from my memory, phantom fingers stroking my thighs.“That’s why you should never let yourself appear better than a man, or he’ll do cruel things to prove you’re his inferior. Insecure people can be vicious. Will you remember?”
