“I need you to listen to me, Tiern.” The seriousness of Lord Alvi’s voice brought back Tiern’s earlier feelings of unease, but his next words were a punch to his gut. “Keep your distance from the younger princess.”
Tiern clenched his teeth. “I have no intentions of courting Princess Vixie.”
“And yet, it seems she has every intention of being courted by you. And after giving his first daughter away, I daresay theking would be remiss if he gave his other daughter whatever she wants. Unless, of course, there is a need to offer Vixie’s hand in a future proclamation.”
Tiern’s hackles went up in an uncanny moment of ferocity. “He can’t do that!”
“Oh, he can. And if necessary, he will. But settle down, lad. It’s not on the table yet.”
Tiern’s chest felt as if it were caving. If the king wanted to kill Vixie’s bright spirit, giving her away would be the way to do it.
“You’d do well to rein in your feelings for the lass,” Lord Alvi said. “You wear them openly. Think of the future of the kingdom. Think of your bloodline and what the people will do if one of their precious future royals turns out to be Lashed? Imagine the kingdom revolting, ready to tear down the monarchy and replace it. Always imagine the worst and never underestimate the people.”
“Enough!” Tiern leaned forward, hands on his knees, afraid he might be sick. “You’re only saying this because the princess preferred a Lashed over you.”
Tiern felt Lord Alvi’s hand press firmly against his shoulder. “I’m saying it because it is the truth. As royals we must think always of the people and the kingdom. What they want or don’t want will always be most important. Aerity understands this, but Vixie has not yet grasped it.”
Tiern stood upright again. As much as he hated Lord Alvi for saying it, he knew the man was right, and he could readbetween the lines. Princess Vixie would not leave him alone, so it would be up to him. The thought of hurting her feelings in any way was a massive blow to his system. He’d been a fool to pretend there was a drop of a chance between them to begin with.
He gave Lord Alvi a nod and made his way down to the docks to be alone.
Chapter
11
Rozaria Rocato and her supporters were thorough about weeding through the people at the camp to be sure they were loyalists, willing to do any sort of menial work for the cause of Lashed rights in Eurona. She’d given rousing speeches about the worthiness and necessity of her cause. She made it sound damn good, as if it were truly the only way—that peaceful tactics were a waste of time and not an option. Paxton was not swayed, but he watched Konor succumb, eyes alight with worshipful vehemence.
The sun was setting, dulled by the thick surrounding trees and vines, like walls of green surrounding them. Paxton, Konor, Chun, and his family sat on one side of an unlit pile of sticks while Rozaria faced them, front and center, hermen around her in a large semicircle. Paxton noticed that one woman was never far from Rozaria’s side. She was shorter and thinner, and always kept the hood of her cloak up, hiding her face. The woman turned away from the others when she ate and never spoke to anyone, but her attentiveness to Rozaria was unmistakable. He kept an eye on her, knowing the silent ones were not to be underestimated.
Paxton also noticed that the largest man of the group, who was always at Rozaria’s right hand, was overly attentive as well, but in another way. He gazed at the Rocato woman like a lovelorn sap and sought her approval in all things. Paxton couldn’t understand everything the man was saying in Kalorian, but he imagined it was something like “Is the meat cooked to your liking, my lady?” “Shall I strangle anyone for you today?” “Here, let me rip down this tree and hack it into a comfortable seat for you.”
And anytime Rozaria turned her attention to Paxton, he could feel the brute’s jealous eyes boring into him. Paxton paid him no mind, and sweetened his disposition toward the Lashed leader a wee bit, hoping he could cause smoke to curl from the man’s ears.
But for Paxton, a sweeter disposition simply meant he was willing to nod his head, make eye contact, and pretend not to hate her. He even spared a couple half grins for her sarcasm. Throughout the day, her keen eyes had followed his every move as he’d set about helping in the camp, skinning a rabbit, tending the fire, and fetching buckets of water to boil. He wascertain she didn’t trust him, but he felt there was a warmer undercurrent in her interest—something he was willing to use in his favor if needed.
His heart nearly stopped as he watched a Kalorian man lean over the sticks, just as he himself had in Toresta, and light them with his hands. It was a wondrous thing. And to do it with no fear of repercussion. Paxton wanted that open freedom for himself and all Lashed everywhere.
But not for the price Rozaria had put on it. He couldn’t let himself forget how she sent the first beast into Lochlanach, having taught it to kill men. And kill it did. Hundreds of hunters, commoners, and soldiers, all dead so that she could manipulate King Charles into succumbing to her demands. There had to be a better way.
Once the fire was crackling, people put their catches on the end of long sticks and turned them over the flames. Paxton, like most of the others, had fish from the freshwater lake, striped bass and catfish. One of the men had a snake, and another had gutted a turtle.
Rozaria’s lovesick goon had two fish over the flames, no doubt cooking one for her while she sat back, her legs crossed, assessing the campers until her eyes stopped on Paxton and a mischievous smile bloomed.
“What do you think of our kingdom of Kalor, hunter?”
He rubbed the half inch of scruff that had grown on his chin. “I like your heat but don’t care for the muggy air.” Lochlanach had its bad days in the summer, but nothing like this.
Her oaf must not have approved of Paxton’s tone, because he gave a grunt and glared hard at him. Even Konor and the other campers watched their exchange with interest. Paxton kept his eyes on Rozaria.
“You grow accustomed,” she said.
Paxton nodded, though he doubted he could get used to the dampness. Rozaria watched him for another quiet moment before turning her gaze to the former chef of the Cliftonia royals in Toresta.
“Mister Chun Aval . . .”
He bowed his smooth head. “Yes, Miss Rocato.”
She stared at the man, as if contemplating. Then she stood and began to pace before the fire. Everyone’s dinner was cooked by then, but nobody ate. They watched the woman, waiting to hear what she would say, what grand scheme she was plotting. Finally, she decided to enlighten them.
