Page 31

“If you want, I can help find—” Jinon began to simper. Ever the opportunist, looking for a way to worm into what he assumed was the prince’s good graces. I didn’t bother correcting him.

“You’re fucking useless to me.” I kicked his now-wet leg to the side to move it out of my way, stalking around him to the study’s exit. He needed to feel like I was done with him before he went running off to whoever was really pulling his puppet strings. “Give your wife my regards. She seems to be the only one in this house in actual mourning.”

Maids gasped and guards tensed as I stormed by them in the hallway toward the front door. I’m sure the word had spread about my last visit, and they wanted nothing to do with me this time. It was for the best; the rage and bloodlust pumped so thickly through my veins right now, I wasn’t entirely sure what I would do to the first unfortunate soul who got in my way.

Maybe I was too close to Trisne’s tragic death. Maybe I was acting irrationally when it came to finding her killer. But if it wasn’t me, who would find justice for her?

Chapter Eleven

Irin

I wish I had seen Julra in its prime. Even as a hollow shell of its former glory, I now understand the love and

admiration its people have, regardless of the harsh climate. Rolling hills covered the land, now covered with the

green sprigs of new growth after the Chilled season. And the Clifftombs… I’m not sure if I could adequately describe

the majestic, stalwart beauty of the Julran palace. Backed by the Hirania Sea, its architecture was all sweeping lines

and arches reaching to the heavens. The walls surrounding it seemed to have grown from the ground itself, built

with the very stone that made the cliffs it stood on. The drawbridge was closed, despite the refugees’ accounts that

the Clifftombs was stormed. Was it possible there were survivors hidden here, after all?

-"The Tragic History of Julra," by High Scholar Yuret Wend, Year 39 of Ber's First Reign

If there was a way to get out of court hearings without maiming myself, I wish someone would tell me. Father used to love this part of being a ruler, having everyone in the land come crawling at his feet and simpering to get into his good graces. As soon as I was old enough to fill my time with tutoring, I would beg my instructor to schedule my lessons so I could avoid attending court with him. This was literal torture.

The only saving grace was being able to keep Behar at my side and Beolf’s supportive presence by the column ten paces to my right. My fingers tunneled through the thick fur on top of Behar’s head to scratch at his scalp, and his black tongue lolled out as he panted in contentment. Maybe it was a side effect of being bonded to him as a beastwalker, but I was always more irritable and high-strung when I couldn’t have him near me. It made for many miserable council meetings. They couldn’t tolerate having what they called a "beast" in their precious sessions.

The burning memories of being with Haron filled the rest of my absent daydreaming as I tried to appear attentive to the whining nobles. Even three days later, her moans still rang inmy ears and sent chills down my spine. That may have been the only time I was grateful for the beast and its heightened senses, because I got to experience sex in an immersion I never had before. And I couldn’t wait until the next chance I’d get to drown in Haron.

“Your next guest is Highlan Gennel Rhen, Your Highness.”

Something about that name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “Please send him in,” I called from the throne, trying my best to hide my profound disdain at being pulled from my thoughts. “How many are remaining?”

“Twelve, sire.”

Beolf tried to hide his laugh behind a cough and failed miserably. “Don’t worry, Prince Irin. Your schedule is completely clear today. Don’t feel like you have to rush through your visitors.”

Behar whined as if sympathizing. The scathing glare I shot over my shoulder as the butler turned to let the Highlan in made his stupid lips twitch in his stupid beard. “Thank you for the reminder, General Zirch,” I grated out between clenched teeth.

His response was cut short by the creak of the grand hall’s doors echoing through the massive room. My shoulders threatened to climb up my neck from the nerve-grating sound. I must have done a good enough job, because the man who walked through had a pleasant—if not absolutely beaming—smile on his face.

“Your Highness.” He stopped and bowed low. It felt a bit ridiculous that he called down the hall instead of waiting to move closer before speaking, but such was common practice. “Thank you for the gift of your attention this afternoon.”

I waved a hand to invite him forward. “Of course. I am honored you took time to come and speak with me.”

That familiar twinge of speaking a half-truth twisted my stomach. As subtle as I could manage, I clenched my fist tightenough to send a shot of pain up my arm, in hopes that was enough to quell the reaction. The same ring I wore for the ball was set in place on my middle finger, its thorns digging deep into the sensitive skin. But now the sensation was coupled with a slight tingle, a taunt of heat, thinking of Haron pulling the ring off to admire for herself. And the night we spent after that… I had to catch myself from wandering down that lust-cobbled path, if I was going to bear another civil conversation with a noble.

This Highlan was not one I was familiar with, but that was true for half of the nobility. He seemed close to my age—maybe somewhere in his early-to-mid thirties—with the typical blonde hair and brown eyes of Resparian stock. His skin lacked the tanner shade of pure Resparians, making the freckles sprinkled along his nose even more prominent against the paler color. Gennel kept with the popular clothing trend of a loose, long-sleeved tunic cinched in at the waist with a vest corset. Intricately-stitched red berries and golden fall foliage lined its edges, and it was paired with tight-fitting leather pants and knee-high riding boots. A heavy cloak dyed a purple so deep it bordered black was pushed back from his shoulders and lined with dark trebegnon fur. Its sheen caught in the bright light of the everflame chandelier and wall mounts and showed a brilliant multicolor shift across the dense hair.

Again, that nagging feeling in my mind grew even stronger, seeing that cloak. Trebegnon was not a particularly popular fur choice this far south, due to its extreme density. Most of them lived in the north, closer to the border of the Hollows and the ruins of Julra. A memory tried to break loose, but from where I wasn’t certain.

When he reached the bottom step of the raised platform I sat on, the Highlan bowed low again. “I have yet to meet you in person, and I am very grateful to be received.”

Surprisingly, that did not rub against my senses as a lie. I was shocked to hear a growl rumble from Behar, though. Confused, I glanced down to see what could be upsetting him. He was still sitting on his haunches, but his large, ridged ears laid flat against his head as his eyes stayed locked on Gennel. Behar’s teeth were fully bared to the point as saliva began to pool and drip from his curled lips. Even as I watched in bewilderment, his hackles began to rise with every step Gennel took.