Page 26 of Kingdom Of Veil And Vow

Chuckling, I stand from the cot and stretch my arms over my head, dropping them quickly when the stench of myself stings the air. “You’re welcome, and he is not my guard.” She gives a noncommittal noise of disagreement before she shuffles on her cot. “Immie, the last time Xander was here, you made a comment about the king. About being around him when he was very young.” I hadn’t broached the topic of King Dolian with her before—partly because I’d forgotten in the wake of my own conversation with Xander, and partly because thinking of the king only ever ushered in thoughts of how I might kill him should I ever get my hands around his neck.

“You mean when I mentioned that I wiped his royal butt before he became whatever monster he is now?” She laughs, amused at her own words.

Walking to the front of the cell, I lean a shoulder against the bars of the door, folding my arms over my chest. “Did you used to work in the palace?” I still don’t know much about Immie, despite our conversations since her arrival. I think she is intentionally holding back, and I suppose I can’t blame her. When she doesn’t answer, I sigh. “Please, I am so bored! Don’t leave me to be stuck with only my own thoughts.”

“If I tell you a little about me, will you do the same?”

“You heard a lot about me when I spoke with the guard last,” I counter, chest lifting with a deep breath.

“I was asleep for some of it,” she says back, making me snort. Weighted seconds pass as I stare down the corridor, contemplating what I might say. “I do not care for how you came to be here or how you might benefit the king and whatever it is he wants. I care to know the girl stuck in the dungeon who is protecting the princess. I care for the white fox.”

I smile as I look down at the dirty ground. “You remember me?”

“I do, and I bet you have quite the tale to tell.”

An understatement.

“But, in the meantime, I shall regale you with my own story, if only to keep our boredom from slowly killing us. Yes, I worked in the castle as the head maid.”

“How long were you there for?”

“I was hired right after the birth of the first born, Prince Conrad. He was Dolian’s older brother and—”

“Rhea’s father,” I interject, to which Immie hums in agreement.

“Though my duties kept me mostly in other areas of the castle at first, eventually, I worked my way up so that I was in charge of the queen’s wing. She was a good woman, but life as the companion to a monarch can be a lonely thing, and she was often struck with bouts of sadness that would leave her bedridden.”

I draw my brows together, resting my temple against the cold metal of the cell door. “Bouts of sadness?”

“Aye. It would be the strangest thing. One day, she would be on the floor playing with the boys. Chasing them in the gardens between their lessons. Watching them practice archery or spar. Then the next, it would be as if she was a shell of herself. Pale and unable to keep her eyes open for more than a few minutes at a time.” She pauses to take a deep breath, her voice thick with emotion over the memory. “When the sadness would hit, the king would ignore her for weeks after. He viewed it as a weakness. A defect that stained his good name.”

“What about the boys?”

“They loved their mother, but when she was not around to shield them from their father, they absorbed the weight of his attention in awful ways. Conrad had it easier, being the firstborn and the heir. His father pushed him but also allowed him to have freedoms that he didn’t allow Dolian.”

“You would think it would be the other way around.”

“King George might have been a good man at one point in his life, but by the time the boys were in their teens, he had become jaded by his power. Cruel to a fault. And then their mother died.” Immie’s voice hitches on the last word. “Queen Morgana’s death was unexpected, and the king did not allow his sons to mourn her. He pushed Conrad into taking on more responsibilities, and he directed his leftover ire on to Dolian, who would often not be seen for days at a time. The boy was constantly scrutinized and punished for any misstep, large or small. It doesn’t excuse the man he has become,” she says, and I imagine she’s paired a shake of her head with the declaration, “but I can understand why he was so drawn to Luna when she showed him a speck of positive attention.”

Luna. “Rhea’s mother?” I ask incredulously. Why would she give Dolian attention unless… “Gods above, is King Dolian actually Rhea’s father?”

“No, no. Rhea is very much the child of Luna and Conrad. However, it wasn’t Conrad who first noticed Luna when she arrived at the castle.”

Brows furrowed, I tuck this information away, the need to learn as much as I can about Rhea’s parents prompting another question. “What was Rhea’s mother like?”

“A wild thing,” she answers fondly. “I found her wandering the streets of Vitour, bright-eyed and barefoot at seventeen. Everywhere she walked, her unique looks garnered stares and whispers. She was ethereal. But it was clear that she was lost, and when I approached her, she told me that she had just arrived in town with the clothing on her back and not much else. I pushed to know where she was from, and she always answered the same. That it didn’t matter because she wasn’t going back. I can’t say why I offered her a job in the palace, what drew me to her or why she knew I was someone to be trusted. Back then, things were different, I suppose.”

“Indeed.” I wonder how a woman like that—so vibrant and lively—could be drawn to even speak to someone like King Dolian.

As if reading my thoughts, Immie lets out another heavy sigh. “She caught his eye when she ventured into his wing to retrieve more towels. She didn’t tell me much about their first encounter, and it wasn’t until months later that I realized a friendship had sprouted between them, but it was clear that the two of them found a sort of kinship with each other.”

“Rhea wondered a lot about her mother,” I say, closing my eyes as I picture her sweeping the living room, speaking to me as if she thought I might answer. “She didn’t know much about her, nothing beyond the small crumbs Alexi—her King’s Guardsman—could tell her.”

“Perhaps in the Mage Kingdom, she can find some answers.”

A knot works in my throat as my head tilts to the side. “You think her mother was mage?” A creaking hinge punctuates my sentence before bootsteps follow. Guards are coming.

“Where do you think Rhea got her magic from?” Immie answers quietly.