Page 27 of Of Bargains & Betrayal

Why did I have the most sickening suspicion that Streja saved my life?

7

FOUR REMARKABLY TERRIBLE OPTIONS

MAKSYM

Enora was dead silent as she climbed the stairs at a forced speed ahead of me, her frazzled blonde braids swaying and the dirty soles of her feet kicking back with each step.

Denying Odessa’s bastard princess the grace of shoes as she trekked over stone and dirt may have seemed like an unnecessary cruelty to some, but it was an act done with measured purpose. Or so I reminded myself when the princess stopped to pluck a crushed piece of stone out of her foot and took the rest of the stairs with a clear limp.

Purpose. Purpose. Purpose.

All in due time.

“To the right, Miss Wynn,” I said as we reached the top of the stairwell, crossed through the entry landing, and Enora came to a stop in the hall.

“I don’t need an escort,” she muttered with hefty disdain as she pivoted with no elegance and continued her hobbled march towards the cellblock down the hall.

“Highly debatable. You’re half high fae, if our records are correct. Daughter of a High Seer.”

“So?” she scoffed.

“So…” I drawled. “You could be hiding many of their gifts, and you are our prisoner. It would be rather unwise to leave you unsupervised.”

Again, she scoffed. “Gifts. I am as void of magic as can be. But thank you.”

I was aware of that well-documented fact, but perhaps I should have been more aware of how hit or miss my attempts at casual humor could be.

Less than halfway down, Enora splayed a hand against the wall, and her pace slowed dramatically. It was quite a fight the princess put up, truly—her clearly ravaged mind, warring against a body that was doing her no favors. The medicine Gallan slipped into her water hours earlier to soothe a bit of everything ailing her was bound to be waning, seeing as he had to find a rather delicate balance between dose and obvious taste.

I just hoped she’d make it the rest of the distance back to her cell without me needing to carry her there, again. Not that she’d be likely to remember the first time. That was right after Eilir and Jasper dumped her, charred and half-naked, on my war room table, and left me to summon the witch while they vanished in a fucking panic.

Their crowned sovereign for years now, and they behaved like we were still prowling the Wastes half the fucking time. Jasper would call me his liege one moment, only to curse me up and down as Max the next. The road from begrudging best friend to king was clearly a difficult one to navigate.

Mina, take me; I was more tired than I had realized.

My thoughts had me so wrapped up, I hadn’t noticed Enora walked straight into her cell, dropped on the cot, and had the waste bucket clutched in her arms like it may stem the tide of the feverish purging I’m sure she was facing again. The medication from earlier had definitely worn off, and I was curious if Jasper had sourced up any answers in Embervale on what exactly had the princess’ body in such a state of revolt. We were blessed with our own veritable pantheon of scholars and skilled magic practitioners in the coastal city, and I had good faith we’d find some kind of answer there.

Enora cast one miserable, sidelong flicker of her hazel eyes in my direction before she closed them and blew out a lengthy breath.

“Three days, Miss Wynn. Weigh your options carefully,” I said as nonchalantly as I could from her cell door as she continued with her measured breathing. “Yell for Gallan if you need something. I’ll be back for you at some point.”

After waiting for acknowledgement that never came, I hauled her cell door shut with an awful, echoing screech and clank. Enora didn’t even look up from whatever solace she found in that wastebin, but Gallan cursed quietly from where he was slumped in a chair by the small hearth, flickering away with blue nytefire. He waved a hand back toward me as he made some overt attempt at righting whatever rumpled mess he’d become during our brief absence.

One of the most trusted of my Elixia, but you’d never know it on the surface. The man could flip so violently between conscious and asleep, it was almost impressive. But he could also lull just about anyone into a false sense of security with his unique mix of warmth and gruffness and a touch of rare magic. That had come in useful more times than I would ever care to count.

Case in point, he had Enora drinking right from his hands only moments after she’d woken up.

I waited until I had a sliver of confidence that Gallan would remain upright before peeling out of the dungeon block and taking a brisk pace across the courtyard.

A better king would have taken the time to give his passing denizens the proper measures of attention that they deserved, but I, occasionally, was a selfish man. My sights were set firmly ahead as I steamed through the dark stone hallways of the Keep, illuminated only by dim light pouring in from overcast early evening skies and the flicker of pale blue nytefire lanterns strung high in the rafters.

Sure, it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for my trusted advisor to disappear for hours on end, not when he’d get lost in tomes and texts and magic I did not understand in his crypt—or when he’d seek reprieve from the weight of all those combined. But ever since he and Eilir dumped the battered princess days ago, Jasper had been unacceptably scarce.

A couple of frantic minutes here and there where he’d word-vomit a plethora of Odessan intelligence at me, and that was it. Poof. He’d be gone again. Eilir was just as absent too, but at least they had the justification of trying to clean up the mess the Odessan camp’s fire had caused, in both a literal and figurative sense.

How the princess’ party had intersected two hostile lands and a nation that typically killed trespassers on sight was beyond my comprehension.