Page 59 of Prize for the King
He’s a stranger. His hair is dark, falling in greasy clumps down to his shoulders. His face is unshaved and pale, dark, beady eyes set deep under sparse eyebrows. He might be anywhere between his forties and sixties. His build is tall and lean for a human, though after spending so much time among the Agnidari, I catch myself thinking of him as short.
He wears a tattered cloak. There’s a sickly aroma of unwashed skin in the room.
“Who are you?” I ask, balling my hands into fists.
I don’t have any weapons, not that they would help me. My stomach squirms with unease.
“A friend, princess,” he says with an ingratiating smile that reveals yellow, crooked teeth. “I’ve known your father. Poor Archie, to have failed so miserably at the end of his life. But we can fix it. I’ve come to save you.”
He steps closer, and I press my back to the door, my breaths coming faster and faster. The mention of my father makes familiar guilt and squirming fear swirl in my empty stomach.
“Save me? From what?”
He laughs, the sound rat-like, greasy. “He said you were funny! Oh, good joke, princess. Now we’ll wait here until they start searching, and when the coast is clear, I’ll smuggle you out the back. My sources tell me your union is unconsummated, which means it will be easy to undo. I always said the Agnidari are beasts, you know. A proper man would have fucked such a pretty bite of a woman before the priest was done with his blessings.”
He reaches for my face, and I turn my head to the side, slamming my eyes shut. The man scoffs and steps away.
“Timid thing, aren’t you? No worries, princess. It will all be fixed. There’s a proper husband waiting for you nearby. A prince. We’ll have you married before dawn tomorrow, and you’ll leave this nightmare behind.”
I take a shuddering breath, trying to make sense of this absurdity. “Who sent you?” I ask, my heart hammering as I look around to find the back entrance he spoke of.
“The Table of Kings, of course,” the man says indulgently, as if entertained by my need to ask. “Don’t worry your pretty head about the details, princess. All you need to know is that Farneer is an important piece among the Eleven and the key to taking back the stolen three kingdoms. We won’t let it fall into the greedy hands of the monsters.”
I pause my search for the back door and focus on the man, hiswords finally making sense. I look at him more carefully. He has a knife at his belt, a long, curved blade unprotected by a sheath. His posture is relaxed, hands held easily at his sides. Despite his scruffy appearance, I get the impression he’s competent and cunning.
I remember something my father told me once. He was tipsy that night, his hands heavy on my waist.
“And if all else fails, we can always send one of the Unmentionables. They take care of problems, make them go away. A peasant revolt spreading from kingdom to kingdom? All they need are the leaders’ names, and the revolt dies with them. Remember, my prize. Only ruthless serpents get to sit at the Table of Kings.”
“Who’s the prince waiting for me?” I ask, my hands sweating with a new kind of anxiety.
This is my chance to run.
The idea of someone rescuing me just to save me seemed laughable, but if this is about politics, I believe it. Even if I don’t trust the man and the powers who sent him here, I can trust their intentions.
Magnar marrying me is a serious threat to the integrity of the Table of Kings. According to their own laws, they must admit him since he married me and inherited the throne. I assume assassinating Magnar directly is too difficult, because they would have done it long ago if they could.
His only weakness is meand my virginity. An unconsummated marriage isn’t fully binding, and in theory, I could marry someone else. Whoever marries me gets the Farneer seat at the Table.
“Your future husband is Piter, the only surviving heir to the throne of Serilla,” the man answers. “He was abroad when the beasts took his kingdom. I saw him, princess, and I assure you he’s a fine man. Certainly better than the monster who currently calls himself your husband. Piter heard all about your beauty and gentle nature, andhe’s in love already.”
Gentle nature?So they don’t know I asked Magnar to exhume my father’s remains and stick his head on a spike. Suddenly, I feel like laughing.
“Does he have golden hair and green eyes?” I ask, keeping the mocking edge from my voice.
The man shrugs, looking at me with poorly disguised impatience. “More on the brown side, and I didn’t take a close look at his eyes. Let me tell you, though, you’re not in a position to get picky. It’s either the monster who’ll plow you open until you bleed, or the proper prince who will treat you with respect.”
Respect.I almost scoff. Magnar is the one who gave me the highest form of respect, offering to wait so I could grieve, even though immediate consummation was in his best interest. I doubt the brown-haired prince looking for a way to regain his throne will give me a fraction of Magnar’s attentiveness.
“Your sources are wrong, though,” I say carefully, still looking for that exit as I pretend to study the room. “The marriage was consummated. I’m sorry.”
I expect the man to give up now, since my marriage to Magnar can’t be annulled, but he scoffs, waving his hand like it doesn’t matter.
“Just don’t tell anyone and ask Mahara, the woman who will get you ready for your wedding, to give you the special cream. She knows the one. It makes used women as good as new.”
I gape at him, but he pays me no attention, his brow creasing with a frown. He walks over to one of the boarded up windows, faint shards of setting sunlight falling in through the tight cracks. While his attention is occupied, I turn in a circle, searching for that exit, a weapon,something.
Because I am not going with this man. He represents everything I hated about my father—the secrecy, dishonesty,deals made in the shadows, thelies.Magnar, for all his faults, is honest. This man thinks I’m a shallow girl who will fall for the lie of the perfect prince being in love with her.
