Page 22 of The Truth-Teller's Bargain
Setting his fork down on his plate, he leaned back in his chair. “Go on,” he urged, steady and composed, curiosity stirringbeneath the calm. His attention seemed to draw the air tight around them.
She drew in a deep breath and searched for her remaining courage. “I can offer my services to you, Nakir Hasan. I can help you take the throne. I can help you to become King of Lenorea. I’ll tell you everything I know. And in exchange, when you become king, you can grant me my freedom. And enough gold to start a new life somewhere else.”
Nakir stroked his chin, considering her offer. “You’re certain about this? You would betray your own mother for someone you’ve known for a few days?”
Guilt gnawed at her insides. She had no words for how desperately she wanted out, only the bone-deep certainty that she could not go back.
“I told you. I can’t go back there.” Alethea shook her head. “If I join you and you fail, well...” She would hardly be worse off than she was now, would she? “But if I help you and you succeed... then we can all get what we want.” A part of her doubted her mother would ever execute her for treason; she was far too valuable as a tool. But she could hardly think of a life that was worse than the one she had now. Perhaps Zenobia would lock her in a cell, leave her to suffer alone until she was needed. Either way, she was a prisoner—here, at home, no matter where she went.
“Have you considered running away?” Nakir asked. “I could give you a horse, some rations...”
Alethea laughed dryly. “You think I’d make it far?”
He regarded her for a second before shaking his head with a sigh. “No, I don’t.”
She knew that was honest. Even if she were able to leave Lenorea, she had no money or connections of her own. The simple truth was, she could easily end up in far worse, far more inconceivable fates. But with the protection of the LenoreanCrown—of King Nakir Hasan—she might stand a chance at having a life she could call her own.
“I’ll consider it.”
Her heart fluttered, but Nakir leaned forward again.
“You should spend the day around the encampment. Get to know the soldiers here. Speak with my friends about why they chose this. I want you to know what you’re getting into before you commit yourself.” He rested his elbows on the table. “But I’ll admit, I’d be a damn fool to turn you down. Still... You might want to fully consider what aiding me will cost you. Give me your final answer tonight.”
He wanted her to... just wander around his camp? Interview his soldiers and his friends? Nakir must be confident in his people’s faith in him and their cause. Then again, they all lived under the same rule and saw the queen for who she really was.
Alethea bit the inside of her lip nervously. “Does that mean I’m... free to go where I please?”
“Yes, Pri— Yes, Alethea. You’re no prisoner of mine. Roam as you see fit. Take your horse and run off into the woods if it suits you. Just know that I would be devastated if you left without a goodbye.”
She smirked, shaking her head in disbelief. His unexpected generosity left her both stunned and appreciative. It was a freedom she hadn’t tasted in years.
“I’ll be busy with preparations for most of the day, but find me if you need anything at all.” He stood, readying himself for departure.
“Nakir?”
His expression shifted for a moment, unreadable. There was a depth to him she couldn’t quite grasp—but she wanted to.
“What do I call you?”
“Everyone calls me Nakir,” he told her with a warm expression. “Maybe after you’ve crowned me, you can call me ‘Your Majesty’ in front of the others.”
Alethea smirked, skeptical, but feeling more at ease. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
He laughed—a beautiful sound that had her smile growing. “I’m certain I would.” He stood, his own smile lingering, and hesitated at the exit. “You seem not to care for honorifics. Shall I refrain from calling you ‘Your Highness’?”
The thoughtfulness of his question caught her by surprise.
“Just Alethea,” she told him, her voice carrying newfound conviction, emboldened by her decision to leave her title behind. “If this works, no one will ever call me ‘Your Highness’ again.”
“Very well, Alethea.” He bowed his head in her direction and made his usual graceful exit.
She was already finished with her breakfast, but she had no idea what to do with the wooden plates she’d eaten from. Determined to be useful, she piled them into her arms before setting off to find out where they belonged.
In the heart of the wilderness, the camp sprawled beneath the open morning sky. Carefully arranged tents fluttered gently in the breeze, their muted colors blending in harmoniously with the natural surroundings. The air resonated with the rhythmic sounds of blades being sharpened and the soft murmur of soldiers bantering and chatting. Amidst this, there was an aura of readiness and vigilance; an unspoken understanding that the calm was but a temporary reprieve while they prepared for whatever challenges their commander asked of them.
Alethea did her best to orient herself, swallowing nervously as she realized exactly how out of place she really was here. She took stock of her ragged, dirty dress and scuffed boots, grateful she’d at least had the sense to dress comfortably. As disheveled as she was, she would feel worse in one of her usual gowns. Her hands full with their plates and cups, Alethea was summoning the courage to ask the next passerby where she could take them when a sharp, raspy voice sounded behind her.
“There you are.”
