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“I want to cry,” I say, my voice breaking.
Reiks take a biscuit and bites into it. By some miracle, he doesn’t lose a tooth. “You get used to it in time.”
I don’t want to.
He fills our cups with tea, and though I expect the worst, I bring it to my lips. I’m relieved to know tea, even in this hellscape, is still tea.
I’ve only placed my cup down on its saucer when two heralds walk in, their trumpets blasting so hard my ears hurt, before one of them screams, “Hear, hear. The king.”
I stare at the door and watch Reiks walk in.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
THE INNOCENT
It's not actually Reiks; he’s still seated next to me. But the man walking in looks exactly the same. The same strong chin, square jaw, prominent cheekbones, and bright eyes. The shape, at least. Here, I find the first difference between father and son: the man walking in doesn’t have silver-blue eyes filled with a cold storm. His are empty, and dark as night.
This is King Natheran VI.
Suddenly everything about this mausoleum starts to make sense.
He walks at the head of a company of women, all of whom keep their gazes firmly fixed on their delicately folded hands. They’re wearing quite of lot of fabric, and yet remain practically naked. Red gauze, golden lace, and there’s a great deal of frilly tulle to some of their more daring outfits. All seven of them are beautiful, though in a great array of shapes and colors; some have skin as dark as ink, covered in gold foil and specks of red dusk; others are pale as moonlight, and painted with silver and blue. Some are thin as rails, while others boast voluptuous curves spilling out of their outfits.
The king’s harem is a sight to behold.
I’m disgusted. Not because he fucks these women. There’s nothing shameful about a good old fucking as far as I or any witch is concerned. But their subservient demeanor says a thousand words about this man’s tight hold on their bodies and minds.
I don’t need further proof. Natheran Reiks the sixth is a tyrant.
The woman entering last is covered from neck to toe in complex layers of heavy lace. Her hair is shielded by a thick veil falling to her eyebrows. A royal blue headband anchors it atop her head.
I’ve never seen her before, but I know she’s Reiks's sister, just as anyone glancing at Mar could have guessed she is Valina Frejr’s kin. They favor each other. Dyfina has his square chin, plump lower lip, and straight nose.She doesn’t have his confidence, nor his innate ability to bring the attention of the entire room to him. She’s shy, which makes little sense for a young woman of her station. I suppose it might have a thing to do with the fact that she follows her father’s seven concubines.
To my dismay, the king joins us, seating himself next to Reiks. He doesn’t bother sparing me a glance.
I’m horrified to see the seven concubines sit at his feet. There are several tables in the room. They could have been allowed a degree of dignity.But I don’t suppose that’s the rage in Anderkan.
“I trust you had a pleasant journey, son.”
I don’t know why I expect the king’s voice to sound like Reiks’s. They’re physically so similar, it would stand to reason. But it isn’t. It’s smooth as silk, in a way that might almost have seemed pleasing. Because he has half a dozen women at his feet, caressing his shins, it’s slimy. Haughty.
“Adequate.” Reiks has never been one for sticking to one word when seven would do, yet he does just that today.
A space has been left empty between the farthest wall and the window. Dyfina sets up a retractable stand without aid. She fumbles and I ache to assist her, all the while knowing that giving her any help would make her seem weak. So I remain on my seat and sip my tea.
The king and his son are silent, both of their eyes focused on the princess, ignoring each other. I could cut the tension with a string.
Finally done with her stand, Dyfina rushes out of the room. I hear a great deal of racket, before she comes back with a light case. “Sorry, sorry.”
She’s so painfully awkward I wince on her behalf.
“When’s your history paper due?” I ask Reiks.
He’s frowning when he turns to me, visibly confused. “Sorry?”
“The one on Dorath. Or was it a test?”I’m just attempting to fill the silence, and perhaps divert some of the attention away from this poor girl. I feel like the entire room is weighing all of her moves, ready to find her lacking. Anyone would fumble under such scrutiny.
“It’s a presentation I need to make,” Reiks replies. “And it’s due in a couple of weeks. I have plenty of time.”
