Page 26 of Fated to the Wicked King

In any case, His Majesty never spoke of our one-time frustration-charged late-night chess match. It was as though that small moment had never happened. A memory swallowed within the darkness of the shadowy castle.

For a brief moment, those steel-blue eyes met my gaze.

Against all good sense, I kept hoping to see something in them. Anything. A hint of the man he used to be. The man I knew.

I wished I’d listened to that voice of common sense nagging in the back of my mind. Until quite recently, it had always been the loudest. I wished I could stop hoping. I wished I would prioritize my own safety, my own well-being.

But moreover, I wished I had learned something sooner.

It was a hell of a thing. That once you opened up your heart to someone, it was incredibly difficult to keep them out again.

Even if Chez didn’t believe me, I was going to keep believing.

The king was not going to hurt me.

I endeavored to keep my expression neutral as I moved closer to take my usual position by the line of guards to the left.

For now, I was going to have to be satisfied with making sure I could keep at least some citizens of Wünder safe from his tyranny.

The massive doors to the hall creaked open again. With a clatter and clanking of boots and swords, two more guards marched through before standing at the ready.

Not looking weary at having to go through this tedious exercise over and over again, His Majesty raised his hand. “Bring in the next group of prisoners.”

Nine

REMNANTS

Ivaguely recalled reading studies which noted that insufficient sleep severely impacted brain function by as much as forty percent, causing a cumulative daily decline of one’s IQ, which in the long term could lead to faster brain atrophy.

That must have been why I’d woken up the next afternoon near the bushes in the gardens. Apparently, I’d fallen asleep against the hedges in the front courtyard—passed out, more likely.

My body was heavy as if I carried sacks of sand on my shoulders. I peeled my eyes open.

The fuchsia hues of sunset were streaking across the sky. Shadows lengthened beneath the archways that bordered the lawns. At a distance, a handful of guards were doing their rounds.

I was glad at least that they never bothered me outside of official business.

I only wished that the majority of my daily interactions weren’t with a terrified group of people whose bleak futures would likely end with execution, as part of the efforts to purge the kingdom of traitors, as commanded by a notoriously powerful, revenge-hungry, mad tyrant.

“Something wrong with your quarters?”

Gasping, I jumped about a mile high. My heartbeat pounded in my chest. I didn’t need to look to recognize whose deep, rich velvet voice it was.

The king was half-leaning against the wall right behind me. He looked effortlessly noble in a pale linen shirt beneath a deep green tunic. It draped over his perfect frame and broad chest, the leather accents straining his well-muscled arms. His silky hair fell in untamed waves over his shoulders.

Completely disoriented, I smoothed down my clothes. “I—Your Majesty, um, of course not. My quarters are very comfortable.” I put my hand to my head. My sudden movement was making my head pound.

“Then why are you sleeping here in the gardens?”

Frowning, I rubbed my eyes. “I… I must have…”

Not waiting for my answer, the king tossed me an apple. It materialized in mid-air as it arced toward me.

I caught it awkwardly, but I did catch it. “What…” My brain was still waking up, exhausted from the lack of sleep, and likely also food. The mere sight of the shiny red apple in my hand made my mouth water.

He shifted in his stance. “One of the farmer tenants reported that a certain grove of apple trees was bearing chalky fruit. I told him that if they were, I would have him beheaded. What do you think?”

WHAT? Eyes widening in alarm, I took a quick bite of the apple. Its sweet, juicy flavor exploded on my tongue. The apple was fresh, crunchy. Oh god… I took another bite, then another.