Louise shook my shoulder, dragging me from the depths of sleep. “Wake up, milord.”
I waved her away irritably and retreated deeper under my covers.
Her shaking grew more insistent. “Please, milord. You need to get ready.”
“Ready for what?” I mumbled groggily.
“Your audience with his Majesty.”
I bolted upright, throwing off my covers and startling Autumn awake. Tempest had managed to get us an audience? Already? I owed him an apology for underestimating him.
I raced for my bathroom, bouncing off the doorframe in my haste.
I had thought my usual wardrobe was fancy, but the clothes Louise laid out for me were a whole new level of opulence. The high-collared, long, pale peach silk jacket was heavily embroidered with pale silver waves and trimmed with tiny soft pink and pale grey seed pearls. White lace studded with even more seed pearls frothed from the collar and sleeves and tumbled from beneath the jacket’s tails. Even my boots were embossed with sliver and trimmed with lace and pearls.
I fidgeted impatiently as Louise took her time doing my makeup and styling my long hair. She wove strings of pearls through it, sweeping it back from my face and into a knot before letting it cascade down my back like a waterfall. Small mother of pearl clasps shaped like tiny flowers joined the strands, complimenting the dangling pearl earrings and massive pearl choker.
The second she was done, I ran from my rooms, too distracted to even think of my waiting breakfast, and paused only to put on the cloak a judgemental footman handed me. I practically threw myself into the waiting carriage at the bottom of the front steps.
And nearly landed in Tempest’s lap.
I scrambled onto the opposite bench, straightening my jacket as he sipped his coffee, a full breakfast spread out on the seat beside him.
My stomach rumbled.
He smiled and handed me a scone, then rapped the wall beside his head. The carriage lurched into motion. “I admire your enthusiasm, but skipping your meal was unnecessary.”
“And yet, you had one waiting for me?”
He huffed in amusement. “The entire estate is aware of your foibles. I didn’t even need to ask.” He took another sip of his coffee as the coach rumbled over the end of the drive and turned into the street. Sunlight poured in through the windows, bright and warm despite the winter chill. “I had hoped to give you longer to recover. I’m sorry, today will be stressful. Hopefully these will tide you over,” he said, handing me a pair of potion bottles; more of the fever medicine the Healer had left for me.
I shook my head, carefully devouring the pastry and washing it down with my own cup of warm coffee. “No, this is exactly what I wanted. I’m sorry I ever doubted you. Thank you.”
“I wish I could claim credit.” He leaned his elbow against his armrest, watching me closely. “You have been summoned to appear before his Majesty, King Roland Del Arcturus, Sovereign of the kingdom of Illestria at your earliest convenience.”
The last bite of my scone turned to ash on my tongue.
“W-why?” I asked faintly. I was an unremarkable third son. There was no reason for a king to have any interest in me. Unless… was this about me breaking up with Prince Victor?
Tempest calmly handed me another scone. I took a bite out of sheer habit.
“I’m not certain,” he replied, “but I doubt you have cause for concern. His Majesty tends to send soldiers to deliver those messages, not a footman.”
“… Great. I feel so much better.”
He sighed and rolled his eyes. “There’s no need for dramatics, Violet. Be respectful and polite, and everything will be fine. Miriam’s guide should have had a thorough section on the appropriate protocols.”
I remembered to book. Right now, it was propping up a wobbly flower vase on my mantel.
My stomach twisted. Breakfast may have been a bad idea.
“I… skimmed it…”
His elbow slid off the armrest. “You ski– You were meant to read it!”
“It was boring!”
“I’m aware it was boring! The only way to put someone to sleep faster would be to bludgeon them with the damned thing. That doesn’t make it unimportant!” He fell back against his seat with an exasperated sigh. “You managed not to offend Prince Victor. Just… behave like that.”
“I can’t! I was trying to insult him!”
“… why?!”
“I wanted to get rid of him. Pissing him off seemed like a good idea…”
Tempest stared at me in silent disbelief.
Our coach went over a bump, and something outside rattled. A loose screw, maybe. How fitting.
We took a sharp right turn, and the houses vanished, replaced by a snowy winter forest. We were on the long avenue that wound through the palace grounds up to the palace’s door.
”Tempest, please,” I begged. “What do I do?!”
He sighed. “Do not step forward unless his Majesty calls for you. Kneel before the throne, one knee will suffice, and do not get up until his Majesty bids it. Limit your answers to ‘Yes, your Majesty,’ ‘No, your Majesty,’ and ‘Thank you, your Majesty.’ Are you armed?”
I nodded shakily.
“Leave most of your knives here. Take only those.” He pointed to the long knives at my hip. “You’ll hand them over as you enter the throne room. And if all else fails, swoon.”
I gaped. “… What?”
”Swoon. You’re still recovering; it’s a plausible reaction. Have you taken your potions?”
I belatedly drank them, one after the other.
“Good.” He nodded as I finished the last one. The coach began to slow. “And, above all else, for the love of all the gods — please. Do not blow anything up. Thea’s lab was bad enough; I can’t afford a castle wing.”
“That was technically your fault!” I pointed out indignantly.
He ignored me.
The coach rolled to a stop and he shot me a warning look as the royal footman outside opened the door.
I had only ever seen the castle from a distance, across the knight’s training field. As I stepped out, I finally got to admire it in its full splendour. It was a breathtaking masterpiece of soaring spires and elegant arches that would have done any shitty fantasy romance game proud.
Almost immediately, a cadre of servants and guards surrounded me and whisked me into the palace. I was rushed through the grand entryway and shown to a small, lavishly decorated waiting room.
They left me alone to fret and wear a hole in the expensive rug with my nervous pacing. The long rug in front of the fireplace was just the right length to get up a good head of steam before I turned around.
Son of a duke or not, I was a nobody. I had a good enough grasp of the social pecking order to understand that a penniless, titleless third son was at the very bottom. Why would a king care enough to talk to me?
Someone cleared their throat directly behind me.
I spun and nearly punched the Royal footman standing there. He dodged my flailing fist with ease.
“I’m so sorry!” I said, flushing with embarrassment.
He bowed. “My own fault, your Lordship. I should have made my presence known sooner. If you are ready, would you please follow me?”
“I… uhm, yes. Let’s go.
He began to turn but stopped, looking over at me in concern. “If I may beg your pardon, milord, but — perhaps your Lordship might like something to calm his nerves? We can spare a moment if you require it.”
I shook my head. “Thank you, but no.” Alcohol and drug interactions were bad enough. I didn’t need to find out how weird alcohol and magic potion interactions were right before I met a king.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“Very well. This way, Lord Dusk.”
He opened a discreetly placed door I hadn’t noticed, assumably the one he’d used when he’d scared the shit out of me. Tapestries and gorgeous paintings lined the short hallway outside. The footman opened a door at the far end, the guards flanking it snapping to attention.
I stepped into an opulent antechamber. More guards lined the walls, eyeing me warily. A tall set of doors stood open in one wall leading back to the palace’s grand entry hall. A second set of tightly closed doors stood opposite.
One of the guards stepped forwards and sharply rapped the gilded doors. They slowly swung open, admitting me into the throne room.
Banners lined the walls, interspersed by beautiful stained-glass windows that glowed in the morning sunlight, filling the throne room with a rainbow of warm light. A wide, plush carpet cut a path through the assembled ranks of nobility, leading to the foot of a dais at the far end. Three thrones stood on the dais, flanked by massive banners decorated with Illestria’s royal crest.
The king sat regally in the central throne. The throne to his left was empty, but his heir, Prince Victor, sat in the one to his right.
Even from here, the resemblance between the the two was remarkable.
As I stepped through the gilded doors, the half-dozen guards lining the rear wall just inside slammed the metal butts of their ceremonial pikes against the slick marble floor. I nearly jumped out of my skin. The guard that had let me in stepped up right behind me and screamed my name in a ringing voice, right beside my ear.
“Lord Violet Briar Dusk! Scion of the House of Dusk!”
I glared at him and discreetly rubbed my ear. Was he trying to make me go deaf?!
Someone cleared their throat loudly, and my attention snapped forward. I blushed.
So much for my dignity.
A Royal Knight in a formal uniform stood in my path, blocking my way forward. Autumn. He looked surprisingly dashing. His gold-trimmed and medal bedecked white coat complimenting his bright red hair. He smiled at me, holding his hand out expectantly.
Right. My knives.
I managed to unbuckle my scabbard with only a minor amount fumbling and handed my blades over.
He solemnly accepted them, then winked as he stepped aside to let me pass.
The red carpet that led to the thrones seemed a mile long. I tried to keep my steps stately but not too slow, ignoring everyone’s stares. As I approached the thrones, I sank to one knee, just as Tempest had instructed, bowed my head, and waited.
There was a swish of fabric from the direction of the thrones, and a pair of expensive, gold trimmed shoes appeared in my peripheral vision, a scant few paces ahead of me.
An uneasy whisper ran through the court.
I broke into a nervous sweat.
“It is a rare honour for a king to stand before his court and pay homage to those who defend Illestria and her people.” The king’s deep voice echoed though the silent throne room. “In my time, I have stood before knights and soldiers, many of whom I have been honoured to name ‘Hero.’ It is an even rarer honour to stand before one so young. Not a knight or a soldier, but one who stands as a hero nonetheless. A young man whose deeds have lived up the noble virtues to which we all aspire.”
… Holy shit.
I did my damnedest to keep my expression serene and humble as the king continued his speech. All I’d done was survive a kidnapping, not kill a rampaging dragon or stop a war.
This felt less like an honour, and more like a statement.
“Lord Violet Dusk.” The king addressed me directly. “In recognition of your valour and courage, and in honour of the service you have done for our people, I grant you the title of Earl and entrust you with the stewardship of Southsea and the Necklace Isles. Rise, Earl Dusk.”
My knees felt a bit shaky as I rose and bowed once more. “Thank you, your Majesty.”
This close up, King Roland was a handsome man, even with a bit of extra weight around his gut. Silver streaked his short golden hair and lightened his beard, but his emerald eyes still twinkled with mischief and humour. No doubt Prince Victor would look a lot like him when he grew older.
He smiled at me benevolently and placed a fatherly hand on my shoulder. The entire court inhaled.
“Illestria owes you a debt of gratitude, and one not easily repaid. A mere title seems little recompense for your actions in her people’s service. As her ruler, I bestow upon you my favour. You may ask me for anything, and if it is within my power, I shall grant it. I believe tradition demands my daughter’s hand,” the king joked, “but seeing as you already have my heir’s, it feels somewhat redundant.”
I glanced over at Prince Victor. He flushed slightly and refused to meet my eyes. Apparently our little talk hadn’t stuck.
“Or perhaps,” the king added with a knowing smile, “There is something else you wish to ask of me?”
I licked my suddenly dry lips, meeting the king’s expectant stare. Did he already know what I wanted to ask for?
… Did I dare push my luck?
“There is, your Majesty.” I took a deep breath. “Cael Mattis, one of the imprisoned slavers in your custody. I ask that you spare his life and grant him his freedom.”
Frantic whispers erupted behind me.
King Roland smiled serenely and nodded towards one of his Royal Guards. The woman vanished through a door partially hidden behind one of the banners.
“Your Majesty. I beg your forgiveness, but fear I must object.”
I glanced over as a paunchy man with a greying beard in an extravagant fur-trimmed robe forced his way through the assembled nobles, only to be stopped by the king’s guards.
“Councillor Raleigh.” King Roland acknowledged. He looked unimpressed at the interruption, but nodded at his guards.
“I beg your forgiveness, your Majesty,” the councillor bowed curtly as the guards let him pass. “I would be remiss in my duty if I did not advise you against such a course of action. An esteemed lord if the realm languishes under threat of the headsman’s axe, and yet to release a confessed criminal solely on the whims of a child…” He paused and glanced at me in veiled disdain. “I fear the Earl’s youth has blinded him to the nature of his request.”
“‘Esteemed lord?’” I snorted in derision. “I may be young, but I can guarantee that Cael doesn’t have the corpses of children feeding his flowers.”
Lord Fatso huffed, puffing out his chest. His gut made the move a lot less impressive. “A wild rumour,” He denied. “Unsubstantiated, as of yet. The prisoner, however, trafficked in slaves by his own admission. I cannot allow him to escape his Majesty’s verdict. Such a precedent would be disastrous.”
“I believe that is my judgement to make.”
Councillor Asshole flinched at King Roland’s words. “I beg your forgiveness, my king. I did not mean to overstep.” He bowed apologetically.
“Then I request an alternate form of punishment. Please, your Majesty.” I bowed deeply. “Cael’s as much a hero as I am. He deserves a chance to atone. Leaving him to rot isn’t justice. He was a member of their gang for months; he had information that can help us track down others.”
“He knows nothing,” Councillor Raleigh pronounced, his eyes flashing with contempt. “If he knew anything of value, the prisoner would have revealed it during interrogation in a futile effort to save his skin — just like the others.”
Ice slithered down my spine. “You tortured him,” I whispered, my voice tight with fury.
He shrugged, dismissing Cael’s suffering as if it meant nothing. “I could hardly trust any of them to divulge the truth voluntarily.”
“And I’m sure the information is reliable,” I spat with a disgusted snarl. “Did you learn even a single thing of value? Or did you just prod them until they told you whatever lies you wanted to hear?”
“I oversaw the interrogations myself. We were able to recover a significant amount of information,” he informed me with a superior sneer. “All of which is consistent across all the prisoner’s accounts, and all of which I’m in the process of checking and corroborating. Personally. Unlike you, young Earl Dusk, I’m well aware of exactly what sort of filth I’m dealing with.”
A door slammed open. Two guards pushed their way forwards, dragging a third person between them. The manacles binding his wrists jangled harshly as the guards forced him to his knees before the king.
Cael looked like shit. He was still wearing the same clothes I had last seen him in, now torn and dirty from his prison stay. Bruises marred his face and neck and ringed his wrists. And his poor hands… I shuddered.
“Hey.” I crouched in front of Cael and smiled softly.
“Hey, Princess… You look good,” he said quietly. He offered me a wan smile, his eyes dull.
“You look terrible.” I gently lifted his bruised and bloody hands to examine them. The story his injuries told was horrific.
Cael shrugged, not meeting my eyes. “I’ll be fine,” he lied.
“Of course you will.” As soon as I got him to a Healer.
His bloody fingers tightened around mine. “Princess, I’m sorry.” His head hung, and he refused to meet my eyes. He sounded broken, almost sobbing.
Lord Dickwad smirked, gesturing grandly. “As you can see, Earl Dusk, the prisoner had nothing left to offer. Anything of value will be in my final report to his Majesty and the Watch investigators. Best dispose of the lot of them.”
“And maybe if you would shut the fuck up for thirty godsdamned seconds, you might actually learn something!” I snarled back.
Raleigh flinched and went pale, but did as he was told.
I could see Tempest rubbing his temples. Did this count as blowing something up, metaphorically? At least King Roland looked amused.
Cael’s knuckles had gone white. His grip on my hands was almost as painful for me as it must have been for him. “Princess,” he whispered, “he’s right. I don’t know shit.”
“You know more than you think you do. Can you trust me?” I asked gently.
He nodded.
“Good.” I thought fast. Lord Dickhead would have already gone over everything directly related to the slave ring. I needed a new angle. “When you worked for the gang, what sort of things did you do?”
“I… dunno. Boring shit, mostly. Go there, fetch that. Most exciting thing they had me do were a couple break-ins.”
“Where did they ask you to break into?”
He shrugged. “Usual crap. Jeweller’s. Couple warehouses. Dockmaster’s office, once.”
That … was unexpected. “The Dockmaster’s?” I pressed gently.
“Wanted a couple logbooks. Guess they wanted a leg up on the races. Got sent to their bookie a few times too.” He snorted. “Not that it helped. Morons had ‘em for months and still couldn’t pick a fucking winner.”
“River races, you mean?” I asked, scenting blood. “And they’re still happening this late in the year?”
He nodded. “There’s more of ‘em in the summer, but they keep going so long as the river doesn’t freeze over.”
“Do the races ever run past the docks?”
“Yeah. They have to shut down half the godsdamned docks for all the nobs- nobles,” he corrected himself. “Show up with all their fancy boats to watch.”
“How long ago was the last one?”
“Dunno. Dunno what day today is. About a week before I met you, I guess?”
“Is there a point to this, my young Lord?” Councillor Jackass sneered, apparently having found his voice. “I’ve already confirmed the slavers have a small craft — something that can pass unnoticed on a moonless night, based on the timing of their last shipment. The point of an interrogation is actionable intelligence. Names. Dates. Locations. I have better concerns than obsessing over a criminal’s petty errands or poor gambling decisions. Or do you believe the criminals race on their days off?”
He chortled loudly at his own joke, drawing a few chuckles from the assembled audience. “This farce is a waste of his Majesty’s time,” he announced.
I stood, making a show of brushing off my knees. “Or the slavers were using the races as cover, and the bets are some type of code. The last new moon was… eight days ago? Around the same time as the last race, in fact. Either their customers blended in with all the other craft and picked up the merchandise while everyone’s distracted by the race, or the slavers have something that could pass as a pleasure craft that would go unnoticed by the Watch.” I stepped up to him, getting in his face and jammed my finger into his sternum, none too gently. “Which means there’s a chance you’re about to waste everyone’s time and energy sending them to look for a fucking boat that doesn’t exist. Which you could have figured out if you were the slightest bit competent!”
Someone in the crowd gasped. Not the king — he looked like this was the best show he’d seen in ages. His usual audiences must be boring as hells.
Raleigh’s features twisted with rage. I’d gotten under his skin. Finally. “This is all wild speculation! The court requires more than a young Earl’s hopeful declarations that—”
“Oh, for the gods’ sakes! You want a guarantee?! Fine!” I nearly screamed in his oh-so-punchable face. “I’ll stake my life on it! Give me a year. One year for Cael to prove himself, or… or you can fucking execute us both!”
