Guard—I still haven’t learned his name—doesn’t need to be told twice. He offers a curt “Your Highness,” and marches away.
“I don’t think he likes his current assignment,” I mock whisper.
“I think you may be correct.” Elisaf falls into step beside me. “But Her Highness seems delighted.”
“I’m happy to see you’re not dead. I was worried about you.”
He offers a bashful smile. “No need to worry yourself. The priestess is more than capable of managing a mild wound.” He lifts his arm as if testing it and winces a touch.
“Right. Mild. And would Wendeline have been able to reattach your arm?”
“I do believe that would have been more problematic.”
I shake my head at his glibness. “And you’re not the least bit annoyed at your friend for maiming you?”
“My friend’s thoughts are weighed down by many challenges presently, one of which I’m leading into his throne room. I do not begrudge him for his miscalculation. Besides, I knew his head wasn’t clear. I should have stopped it.”
We turn down a grand hall, empty save for the royal guards that bank the sides every third gold pillar, standing sentry. At the end of it is a tall set of double doors that I assume is my destination. The rash of nerves that have accompanied me since leaving my suite come back with a vengeance. “What exactly does ‘receiving my formal absolution for all crimes’ mean?”
“His Highness did not explain?”
“I think he was more concerned with getting away from me as quickly as possible.”
Elisaf mutters under his breath. “Permission to speak freely, Your Highness?”
I groan. “You don’t have to ask me that.” I’m about to scream with all these formalities.
With a slight head dip, he lowers his voice. “Most of Islor’s immortal population despises Ybaris. Some of the more powerful lords and ladies openly challenged this union to begin with.”
“They don’t want peace between the two countries?”
“Peace is not so simply secured through a marriage. Our history is fraught with hatred that is deeply ingrained. It took great effort by King Eachann to convince the court this arrangement would be beneficial to Islor, but after what happened here and what Neilina did to her own husband, those lords and ladies will not be swayed again. Others want to believe but are wary. And now there is no benefit unless you and Zander can negotiate with Neilina.” He hesitates. “The Islorians have grown accustomed to living a certain way, and they fear change. They want the power of the casters returned to Islor, but they deem a union between you two is a trick for Neilina to seize our land, and the most recent assault only confirms that.”
“But he’s the king. Does it matter what they want or say?”
“He is the king,” Elisaf echoes. “No, he does not need their permission, but he also cannot rule a realm as vast as Islor on his own. The lords and ladies are the stewards of this land and its people. They ensure crops are sown and harvested, taxes are collected, and the king’s laws are upheld. Their soldiers may be bound to the king, but first and foremost, they are loyal to those they know. If the nobility does not respect the monarchy, ruling over Islor becomes more difficult for Zander. His laws are not upheld without challenge, uprisings and rebellions stir, allegiances with enemies prevail.”
“Like with Lord Muirn.”
“And whoever else feels they can do a better job of ruling in his place.”
“Are there others?”
“Always.”
“And could they? Rule better, I mean.” It’s a provocative question.
Elisaf’s firm “no” followed by a resolute head shake and a stern expression tells me he believes it wholeheartedly. That, or he would never want to be caught saying otherwise.
“Zander must make a formal declaration in front of them all, as king, that you are innocent, and that you will be queen of Islor.”
“And then they’ll accept it?”
“No. But it is a first step and one he feels he must take to travel down this path he sees himself heading.” Worry blinks in Elisaf’s brown eyes.
We’re approaching the doors, and I feel ill-prepared. Elisaf slows, bowing toward me to ensure only I can hear what he has to say next. “Walk in there with your head held high as your evil Romeria would. Do not speak more than necessary and do not forget proper salutations. The last thing the king needs is Boaz losing his temper and barking at you like some feral dog in front of the court.”
“I think that guy would kill me in front of the court if allowed.” Again.
“Likely. Though, he is not so bad.”
I can’t keep the soft snort from escaping.
Elisaf’s lips purse. “A plot unraveled beneath his nose that killed the king and queen he is charged to protect and ravaged a city his men are trained to keep safe. The burden he shoulders is heavy.”
I’ve been too busy despising Boaz for his cruel treatment of me, I never considered that. “He feels responsible.” As Corrin feels responsible, being a part of the queen’s staff whose duty it was to care for her. “Well, if it’s any consolation, he did kill me with that arrow.” I just didn’t stay dead.
Elisaf gives me a look. “He begged Zander to take his life as punishment for his failure.”
“That’s messed up.” But I suppose it speaks to Boaz’s honor and sense of duty. I’ve been so focused on my situation and how to be free of it, I haven’t thought about others within these walls who are in their own dreadful situations, still mourning losses. While I may not be guilty, Princess Romeria is, and that’s the only person they see when they look at me. I’m a conniving murderess within their midst, who they’re now forced to guard and feed and serve for the sake of Islor. Whether some invocation has wiped my memory or not means nothing to them. How would I react in their place, other than with anger and hate?
I swallow against that sobering thought. “What did Zander do? I mean, besides not killing him, seeing as Boaz is still around.”
“Zander has few people he trusts. Boaz is one of them. He served King Eachann for the entirety of his reign, as well as his predecessor, never taking a wife, never fathering a child. That is a loyalty to the crown that you cannot buy for all the gold in the kingdom.”
“For how many years?”
Elisaf smiles. “I think you mean to ask for how many centuries?”
The set of doors parts then, distracting me from giving his shocking words the attention they deserve. Guards dressed in full livery push either side open, the strain visible in their faces and arms suggesting it requires strength. Beyond them, a grand ballroom and a crowd of well-dressed people stands between me and Zander, who sits in his throne upon a dais at the far end, his expression stony. He gestures at me with a slight wave of his hand. You may enter, he’s saying.
The muscles in my legs tighten, the urge to run overwhelming.
“I’ll be behind you the entire time,” Elisaf whispers. “Stop before the first step. Remember what I said.”
“That they all hate me,” I whisper back. “Got it.”
His barely concealed snort gives me a second’s respite from the tension coursing through my limbs. Taking a deep breath, I tilt my head and begin my trek forward, reminding myself that this is no different from slinking into a hotel ballroom full of strangers and pretending I’m someone else. Except I’m the center of attention, strolling down a makeshift aisle banked by a hundred people, all eyes on me.