“I want the north side,” Fulke declares, his pale purple leggings and matching tunic only embellished with the leather belt wrapped around his sagging middle.
Midas arches a brow at him, and his own advisor frowns uneasily, but instead of countering like I expect, Midas tips his head. “Very well. The north side of Blackroot will be yours.”
Fulke beams and claps his hands together once. “Ah, then we are agreed! Now all we must do is wait for our armies to meet tonight, and win ourselves a kingdom.”
“Indeed,” Midas says with amusement.
“What’s next on the agenda?” Fulke asks, turning to his advisor.
The gangly man in similar purple leggings pulls out a scroll and launches into a list of the things they still need to discuss today, but my mind stays behind, wheels turning over what could be in those mines that has these men so worked up, so willing to breach a peace pact and risk the defeat of their armies. And why now? They’re either very confident, very desperate, or there’s something else I’m not seeing.
Movement catches my eye, pulling me from my spinning thoughts, and I look over at Rissa who’s dancing by the window.
In true King Fulke fashion, he brought her and Polly along today. He’s had at least one saddle with him up here every single day during their council. Rissa and Polly must be his favorites, because it’s usually one or both of them. Sometimes he has them massage his back or serve him food, always at his beck and call.
Today, the women both have their light blonde hair coiled in thick ringlets and they’re wearing matching dresses that are slitted at the sides from their feet to their hips, with plunging necklines all the way down to their belly buttons.
Polly has been making sure to refill the wine goblets in the room, earning handsy touches from the men as she does. But Rissa was ordered to dance almost as soon as she arrived. Right now, she’s still swaying over by the window with seductive gracefulness, moving her body to soundless music.
Fulke gave her the order to dance over three hours ago and hasn’t let her stop yet. Hell, he’s barely even looked at her, aside from the passing glances. All her effort for nothing.
As I watch her, I notice what the others don’t. Although she dances as if it’s effortless, I can see that it’s not. Every so often, she’ll wince a little, like she’s sore from the nonstop movement. And there beneath her pretty blue eyes, I can see dark circles, revealing her lack of sleep. King Fulke probably keeps her busy all night, and then doesn’t let her rest during the day.
I hear the men begin to talk about what routes they’ll have their armies take back to their kingdoms after the attack, completely distracted by the sounds of their own voices. I close my book quietly, looking down at it in my lap. The binding is such shiny gold that it could be used as a mirror, and I swipe over it with my hand, feeling its smoothness, looking into my reflection for a moment before my eyes are drawn back up to Rissa.
I get to my feet, hefting the book in my hand as I stretch slightly, acting as nonchalant as I can. I meander across my cage, heading over to Rissa at the other end.
When I get closer to the window that she’s dancing in front of, I lean against the bars, holding my book in front of me again to feign reading before I turn my head in her direction. “You know, if you drop to the ground, you can just pretend that you’ve fainted from exhaustion. I’ll back you up,” I tell her, my voice barely above a whisper.
Rissa’s hip-swaying falters for a half-second before she shoots me a glare. “Don’t talk to me, Gilded Cunt,” she replies coolly. “I’m working.”
“What is it with people’s obsession over my cunt?” I mumble.
Rissa rolls her eyes and speaks under her breath. “Exactly what I’ve always wondered.”
I shoot her a scowl, but a weary sigh escapes her lips, and I feel bad for her all over again.
“Look, I know you must be tired. I can make a distraction somehow,” I offer lamely, looking around my cage. I don’t have much in here. Just some accessible bookshelves both inside and outside of my bars that I can reach, my chaise lounge, and some silk blankets and pillows strewn around.
“I don’t need help from you,” she says between clenched teeth, keeping her eyes firmly on a point in the room nowhere near me. But she stumbles, nearly losing her footing, and my lips press into a hard line.
She’s obviously determined to hate me, but I’m so tired of it. She’s weary of dancing, but I’m weary of always being looked at like a hated rival. I want to help her, and I’m going to, with or without her permission.
Glancing down at the gold-plated book still clutched in my grasp, I make a split-second decision. No forethought, no planning. I simply thrust my hand through the bars, and then I chuck it at her.
Bam!
It hits Rissa right in the face.
Shit.
Rissa’s head snaps back, and she goes down with a yelp. It’s not the usual way I see her going down, but still, she somehow manages to make it look pretty.
She falls, landing on her ass, her sheer dress tangling up in her long legs as she screeches and clamps her hands over her lips.
I stare in wide-eyed shock, really wishing I’d thought that through more. Or at the very least, I should’ve aimed. Rissa looks mutinous.
I give her an awkward thumbs up, my face in a tight smile. “Distraction complete,” I whisper, as if I meant to do that. I mean, I did. But I didn’t mean to hit the poor girl in the face. I thought it would just bounce off her chest, and she could act like her boobs needed a lie down. Midas likes them, so it seemed like a sure thing.
She shoves her waylaid hair out of her face, and I see the first drops of blood dripping down her chin and coating her fingers, her mouth bleeding. Great. Not only did I hit her in the mouth, I also didn’t account for how damn heavy that gold-plated book was.
“What the hell are you doing, Auren?”
I snap my head over to look at a furious Midas as he glares at me from the table where the men are all circled around. Ten pairs of eyes are locked on me, and I fidget under the frowns.
I blink at my king, opting for innocence. “My hand jerked, and the book just slipped out of my grasp, Your Majesty.”
His jaw grinds. “It slipped,” he repeats evenly, his brown eyes like rusted nails.
I dip my head, though my heart is pounding. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
I can hear Rissa crying beside me, and I try not to cringe. I really didn’t mean to hit her so damn hard. Where was all of that arm strength when I was trying to break out of my damn cage last week? Useless muscles.
Polly is glaring at me with hot hatred, but King Fulke chuckles. “A little saddle contention, eh, Midas?” he jokes.
“It would appear so,” Midas says flatly.
I worry my lip as my king continues to stare at me until he finally looks away. “Take the saddle back to the harem wing,” Midas barks out to one of the guards before he turns away from me again.
Two of the guards quickly rush forward, a little too eager to head to the saddle wing, if you ask me.
“See? It worked,” I whisper, trying to show her the bright side. “No more dancing.” She shoots me a furious glare, blood still gushing from her lip. If I had to make a wager, I’d say she’s not quite ready to look at the bright side yet.