“You were quite wonderful during your Trial today. Tell me, have you ever faced a beast as large as a lion before?”
Tempest had to assume he knew she hadn’t. Who else could have set her up against a lion than the king himself, after all? Which meant she could only conclude that King Destin was testing her—to see what she would say in the face of such an obvious attempt on her life.
“No, Your Grace,” she said, forcing a smile to her face. “Never. A wolf once, in the woods, but that is all.”
“You did not seem frightened by it.”
“I would not make a very good Hound if I displayed all my emotions on my face.”
Thank you, Maxim, for your training. She was putting it to use right now.
King Destin smiled, and amusement glinted in his amber eyes. He waved a hand back toward the center of the party. “The people clearly adore you. It is good that you secured such an outstanding victory today.”
Tempest snorted in derision before she could stop herself. “I am but a novelty to them. A female Hound. Soon the novelty will pass, and I’ll be naught to them.” How she prayed for that day.
“You give your opinion freely, even to your king,” Destin said, cocking his head to one side as he regarded Tempest. There was something akin to admiration in his gaze that had been decidedly absent during her Trial. “It is a good trait to have in a wife, if one wishes the marriage to be fruitful. And you are quite beautiful. Truly, any man would be lucky to have you. Any man indeed.”
Wife? Marriage? Fruitful?
Tempest felt as if a spider was crawling up her spine when the king reached forward and stroked the back of his huge gloved hand against her cheek.
Do not flinch. Do not flinch. Do not flinch. He is testing you. He never wanted a female Hound. He is seeing if he can scare you. Fear does not rule you.
“You are kind to say so,” she replied, curtseying slightly. Relief rushed over her as his hand fell away. “However, I must profess to finding myself not at all ready for marriage quite yet. I have only just embarked on my future as a Hound, after all. I will not lay my sword down for hearth and home for quite some time, if ever,” she tacked on, not able to help herself. What would he make of that?
There was a long, drawn-out pause. And then King Destin said, quietly, “You are a fascinating woman, Tempest. I would very much like to discuss your future as soon as possible, in a setting a little more private than a corridor. Come up to my chambers in an hour—I shall have a servant escort you.”
Tempest stared at him, torn between dread and curiosity. If there was ever a time for her to use her new-found position to begin looking into the Talagan shifter, now was that time. But she wasn’t stupid. The way King Destin was looking at her… well, he wasn’t thinking of the kingdom.
“Of course, Your Grace,” she said eventually, careful to keep her voice as level as possible. She could not allow the man to know she was afraid of him, nor could she refuse him. He was her sovereign, and she had to obey, whether she liked it or not. And she had chosen this path. “I look forward to continuing our discussion.” Lie.
Tempest wanted nothing more than to run away from the grin he flashed her way, but she forced herself to stay rooted to the spot until the king turned and left her, blessedly, alone.
She’d never thought she’d wish to be back in the arena with the lion, but there was a first time for everything.
Tempest
It wasn’t until the servant calling her name was practically standing on Tempest’s toes that she finally broke from the panic clinging to her heart. Truly, it was a testament to just how nervous she was—and, perhaps, a sign that she’d had one glass of wine too many as she had not sensed the servant’s presence.
She eyed the silver goblet distastefully and set the wine on the table to her right.
King Destin was even quieter when he crept up on you. Get your wits about you.
“The king will see you now, Lady Tempest,” the servant said, inclining her head politely. “If you would follow me?”
“I’m not a lady,” Tempest mumbled, following the woman from the hall. Temp had been raised with crass, rambunctious men. The ladies of court would have swooned at some of the things she’d seen growing up.
Tempest had been to the palace just once before, when she was five. Dima had taken her to see the king so the Hounds could work out what to do with her. Much of that time had been a blur. The bizarre thing was that the king looked the same today despite the passing thirteen years. Her lips curled as she remembered how he’d ordered her to be placed with a governess of the court, a fine lady who’d preened like a peacock. It hadn’t taken long for the woman to throw Tempest out. She’d complained that all Tempest did was cause mischief and mayhem—that she was too unruly to become a lady of the court. She might have Madrid blood, but she was just as wild and crass as the poor she’d been raised with. Now that Tempest was older, she had a sneaking suspicion the woman had been his mistress because it only took one or two words and Tempest had been thrown in with the Hounds.
It would have helped her nerves to know the layout of the palace better. She glanced over her shoulder and hiked up the silver silk of her skirt before catching up with the servant. They wound their way up a helical staircase lit by torches set into recessed sconces. The shadows writhed and danced like pagan wraiths and put Tempest on edge. The staircase was too dim and narrow to be a main access point to the king’s chambers. It felt too confining. It was either reserved for servants or… Her gut twisted.
For the women sent up to see the king under the veil of night.
Tempest gulped.
Don’t dwell on such things. You’re not here for that. Humor your sovereign and then you’ll leave with your honor intact.
It was a good plan. All she had to do was keep up a strong, self-assured front during her meeting with the man, lest he take advantage of her. It was Tempest who would get something out of their talk about her future, not him.
Living and being raised by men should have prepared her for this moment, but each step closer to the king’s chambers made her question her decision to visit.
There was never a question of obeying.
“The lion was definitely easier than this,” she mumbled, only narrowly avoiding tripping up over the skirt of her dress in the process. The servant turned her head slightly to raise a questioning eyebrow.
“Pardon, Lady Tempest?” she asked politely.
“It’s nothing. Just talking to myself.”
“My lady, may I offer a word of advice?”
“Yes,” she drawled.
“Do not let King Destin know that the lion was easier to handle than him.”
Tempest hesitated before responding. That wasn’t what she expected. And it was a gross breach in protocol, not that she cared. “And why is that?”
The servant sighed. “He will take it as the highest of compliments. So, please, keep in mind that less is more in some situations. It will be to your benefit.”
Translation: don’t talk to the king more than you have to or you’ll encourage his attentions.
Tempest’s gaze locked with the young woman. The servant was bold and her words alone could get her a lashing.