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"And the supposed disrespect?" I ask.
He shrugs. "That I know nothing about. Obviously, I knew he disposed of some of your men who were carrying messages, but he never told me their contents. He only relented when a letter suggested sending a representative."
"Disposed of?" I scoff. "Is that how you all talk about people? As if they're disposable?"
A breath whooshes between his teeth. "Things are... different here than they are in Rhyma. Killing is as natural as breathing to anyone who has power here. It has to be."
I raise a brow in question. "Including you?"
"Yes, including me." When I say nothing, he sighs. "Only the killers survive in my world, Miss Aistin. So let me ask you a question. Are you a killer?"
"No."
He looks at me with pity in his eyes. "Well, that's going to have to change if you want to survive your time here."
"I'm here less than two weeks." I blink a few times in misunderstanding before adding, "What could possibly happen in a few days' time that I might need to kill over?"
With another heavy sigh, he shrugs. "You're in Oksangui now, Miss Aistin. Only the villains make it out alive."
Three
Kairon
Well, that was unexpected.
When Shan mentioned someone was coming from Rhyma, I hardly expected someone so vivacious. So full of life, she nearly blinded me with it. She might be relentlessly haughty, but at least she's lively.
Truth be told, until she introduced herself, I had entirely forgotten about the possibility of them sending someone. Their last several attempts had been less than successful, and I had assumed they knew better than to keep pressing on my last nerve.
Peace talks with a nation that continues to encroach on my land? Absurd. Until they agree to stop burning the towns on our border and follow through, peace is out of the question. And if I have to keep their little Elva— and play along with this fuckery of meeting with all of our neighbors— until they agree, so be it.
If I have to send her body back to them in pieces, I'll do that, too. Though I'd rather not. Most bodies don't look like that, and it would be a terrible waste to turn hers into a corpse.
I could almost hear her fuming as I rounded the corner to the stables, and I had to stop myself from chuckling at her adorable fury.
Coming upon the stable, Drakken's feet shake the ground, loudly disrupting the hay as she stomps her feet in preparation for our excursion.
We've received word that yet another village has been razed by our neighbors to the west. And while I can't be certain, every time we've gone to investigate thus far, it has proven to be true.
While I gather my materials for the ride, I wonder if our little house guest knows just what her country is up to while she's here playing nice. Doubtful. Her emotions were written all over her face, and her indignance tells me she would never be a part of something so dastardly. Which means she might be innocent. And that would make killing her even less pleasant.
She could just be a talented actress. It wouldn't be the first time a pretty face was used to try to take down a kingdom.
But that's a problem for later. For now, I get to do what I do best.
"Hi gorgeous," I coo to the powerful creature before me. Drakken whinnies, rubbing her face against my palm. Her black-as-night coat shines where the sun reaches through the slats in the ceiling. "You ready to go for a ride?"
It would be immensely faster if I had someone else saddle her before I came, but doing it myself calms me and helps me focus on the task at hand. I don't trust a single other soul to take care of Drakken like I can, and neither does she.
Once she's prepared for our journey, I take her reins and pull her out into the warm sunshine, running my palm across her neck as I do. The warm sun hits my face, and I feel the relief in it, just as Drakken must. This is the best part of my job as king.
While the killing can be cathartic, nothing feels as right to me as riding my powerful, winged companion into the sky, adventuring out to protect my people.
I long to ride without the helm and cloak, to find freedom in the sky on this winged beast, but I can't risk coming across enemies, or even allies, without it. So, with great effort, I take the wicked thing in my hands, staring into my other face. The discolored bone reflects the sun, the slight imperfections where the skulls of my first victims were fused together with their mounts creating a gruesome tapestry of my finest work.
Killing their elk was far more painful than killing them, but in making my moniker, in creating this facade for the world to fear, sacrifices had to be made. This monstrous, beautiful thing has made countless people fall in reverence for me. They worship this mask, ride to certain death for it, and give their hard-earned money and resources for it. The helm is as much a part of me as it is a part of the fabric of this nation.
But I find myself wondering if the people who kneel before it would do so if they knew the man behind it. If I would be as terrifying to my enemies without it.
