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"Oh, yes, I see that." She turns to Elva and asks, "How was it? It's not every day you get to ride a beast as powerful as that one."
Elva darts toward Maren like they're already old friends, gushing about the incredible journey, how fun and fast it was, and how beautiful Drakken is. All I can do is stand and watch her, completely lost in her own world, talking about all the new things she's been able to experience in her time here.
And yet, she's only counting down the days until she can leave. Just as I should be, but I fear that nothing will be the same once she's gone. I'll just have to soak in her beauty for as long as I can before going back to my life before she came in and turned everything upside down in only a matter of days. I'm not sure I'll recover from her being here for weeks.
But this is the price I have to be willing to pay to protect my kingdom, and when all is said and done, I'll send her home safely, thinking of her and our brief time together for the rest of my days.
Shaking me out of my misery, Maren clears her throat, looking at me expectantly. "Okay, now for the reason I needed you to meet me."
I raise both brows. "Yes, please tell me why we needed to fly all the way out here rather than just meeting in the palace, the place already prepared for us to have meetings."
"Oookay," she draws out, ignoring my impatience. "You have a spy in your home. One that is going to kill Elva."
"That's impossible. Due to the..." I pause, thinking of how to phrase this without telling Elva that almost all of my staff are undead servants, "nature of my staff, having a spy is almost impossible."
"And yet, Onala has seen it." Maren shrugs." Elva will be attacked before the end of your proposed ball in a few weeks' time."
A growl escapes me. "No."
"I am sorry. Truly. To both of you," she assures us, reaching out to smooth an errant wave from Elva's hair. "Onala says she can't interfere but that I needed to know. Why, I'm not sure."
"Then I'll simply cancel," I announce. "No ball, no opportunity for murder."
Maren's sorrowful eyes reach me again. "The attack will take place either way. There is no future in which it's completely avoidable."
My face fills with heat, followed by my chest. My anger is an inferno there's no hope of smothering. "And you had to bring us all the way out here just for that, Your Majesty?"
"Yes," she matches my tone. "Because you needed to know, but your spies cannot be made aware that you know. There are ears in your walls, according to Olath. This is the only place free from them because no one else knows it's here."
Elva's completely frozen, face devoid of all color, staring at the ground before her. "What can I do?" she asks.
"I don't know, child. I wish I did." She sighs. "The two of you can't trust anybody else, though. Kairon, you have to ensure your staff is loyal by any means necessary. I do not want my country pulled into this war with you and Rhyma, but we both know my hands will be tied if Elva dies."
I nod, already contemplating how many more undead guards I can keep under my control. Even now, we are far enough from the palace that they would all be resting, the still-living ones taking over for the time being until we return.
"Is that all?" I bite, already dragging Elva back to Drakken. Neither one of them will be happy making the journey home yet, but I need Elva somewhere safe and warm and locked away from any other living person.
"That's all. Speak of this to no one," she reiterates as if I needed the warning.
The journey home is silent. Tense. Sorrowful. Elva stares into the ocean again. This time gazing into it as if it's the last time she'll ever get to see it. But she doesn't know who I am. She thinks the myths and legends are just that, like everything else her countrymen have told her.
But I am the most feared king to exist in centuries, The Horned King, the scary story parents tell their children to make them behave, and nobody fucks with what's mine.
Fifteen
Kairon
Prince Tirriel has been here ten minutes, and already I'm reminded what a little shit he is.
Twenty-two, maybe twenty-three years old now. Doesn't really matter.
What does matter is that in the ten minutes he's been here, his blue eyes have landed on Elva's ass no less than four times. He's so distracted by it that he doesn't even seem to notice me burning holes into the side of his fucking head with my gaze, imagining those fucking curls bursting into flames.
"Your Majesty, are you even listening to me?" Colm asks.
"Yes. I'm. Listening." I bite at him, his tone a little too casual for my liking. He's never dared be this brazen with me before. Something has changed since last year, leaving him feeling far more confident that I won't kill him than he should be.
"Then what did I just say?"
