Page 8 of A King’s Trust (Heart-Mage Trilogy #1)

8

THE SCARIEST MAN ALIVE

B eau’s mother invited him to a state dinner with the two ambassadors recently returned from Paibona. As his father stubbornly refused to lift the high order, it would be a long, awkward meal two seats down from the king where he couldn’t say a word.

As soon as they filed into the dining room and Beau saw the place cards, he searched for his mother and found her staring levelly at him. She raised an eyebrow at his scowl. The king, as usual, sat at the head of the table, and Queen Acier at his left. The senior ambassador, Kent, was seated at his right with Beau one seat further down. Across from Beau was the other ambassador, Bhatt. And on Beau’s right—Lady Penamour.

It was not at all the logical arrangement of guests for the discussions the king wanted. Lord Courdur and the marquesses of Mont Alban and Rouaneaux should’ve been close, since they controlled the land bordering Paibona, but they were shoved down the table to make room for Penamour. This was entirely his mother’s meddling. Having rejected Haydée, he’d be shoved at the duchess.

“What a lovely night this is going to be,” he hissed to Elias as his father greeted the line of noble guests on his way to his seat, cutting it fine with the high order.

El gave him a sympathetic look, but he could do nothing more than stand back against the wall alongside all the other guards.

Ambassador Kent spoke to the king as Beauregard settled into his seat, waving for his wine cup to be filled. One glass wouldn’t hurt, and he was not making it through this night without wine.

“…she’s gathering more support than the queen would like, but Almeida isn’t concerned at this point that this upstart will succeed,” Kent said as he, too, sat.

Lord Courdur leaned across Ambassador Bhatt to say, “If she’d simply take a strong hand with them, make a few examples—”

“Without a standing army, she’s having some difficulty. She’s sent two parties to capture Chaban, but the woman is slippery and her followers are devout. Queen Almeida doesn’t feel she can spare the resources for a full assault on their pockets of resistance.”

“Those ‘pockets of resistance’ cross our border!” Lord Courdur snapped. “Does she expect us to entertain this ruffian’s attacks without complaint? If she can’t keep her problems confined to her own borders—”

“It’s not entirely her problem,” said Ambassador Bhatt, a slim woman with deep brown skin who deftly shifted in her seat to get Lord Courdur out of her space. “Chaban’s Destiny Riders believe they’re entitled to all the lands that were once the republic of Coeurserd, which covered a good portion of Granvallée as well. They’re only starting with Paibona. We can and should send resources to help her put this rebellion down.”

“I’m sure the queen would be very grateful,” Lady Penamour interjected. “We could negotiate better terms with Paibona.”

The king waved his hand as though to physically dispel her suggestion. “Almeida has assured me she can take care of this herself. What I want to know is how this ragged girl from the back end of nowhere has gotten as far as she has. She has no noble backing?”

“No, Your Majesty,” Ambassador Kent said, but Bhatt set her hand out toward the middle of the table to interrupt.

“None publicly, Your Majesty, but she’s too well funded and well equipped to be on her own. I don’t know what she could’ve offered—or threatened—but someone is bankrolling the Destiny Riders. There are rumors, even, that they have Maurilel artifacts.”

Beau shivered. Artifacts had the potential to be so destructive on the battlefield that Paibona, Granvallée, Sharzhakaman, and Altagna had agreed not to use their greedily hoarded stockpiles in war so they wouldn’t fall victim to them in return—mutually assured destruction. If these Destiny Riders broke that seal, and it was revealed that Granvallée was unarmed…

“Unconfirmed and unfounded rumors,” Kent said, frowning at his counterpart.

“Dangerous all the same,” she insisted. “Even if they’re not true, they add to Chaban’s mystique and momentum. She’s already picking up speed with the common folk everywhere she goes. They hide her, supply her. Queen Almeida is out of her depth when it comes to the kind of guerrilla tactics and messaging war Chaban is waging. She’s ill-equipped.”

Beau had questions—many—but he couldn’t say a word with King Fortin sitting there. He raised his hand to grab the group’s attention, locked eyes with his father, and gestured toward his mouth. The king stared back as though he had no clue what Beau was asking for, although the faint tightening of one corner of his mouth said he was ever-so-slightly amused.

Beau sighed, stuck his tongue out, and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger. “Fine,” he said, words mangled, “I’ll hold my tongue.” To Bhatt, he said as clearly as he could, “How long has Chaban been operating? Are all Paibona’s attacks her work?”

He felt ridiculous. He sounded ridiculous. His father was gearing up to be angry and his mother hid a laugh behind her hand. Nobles down the table stopped to look at him. But the ambassador he’d addressed answered as if he’d done nothing at all strange.

“We believe so, Your Highness, though it would be easy enough for the queen to disguise a few of her own pokes and prods.”

“They burned and salted an entire viscounty,” Beau said. He paused, released his tongue to work some moisture back into his mouth, and then reclaimed it to speak again. “I wouldn’t call that a poke. What do they gain from ruining land they want to claim? Doesn’t make sense.”

The ambassador shrugged and began to answer, but the king cut her off. “Beauregard, stop making a fool of yourself. If you’re going to mock serious affairs, you can go to the far end of the table and eat with the dogs.”

Beau released his tongue again and swallowed with as much dignity as he could muster. Queen Acier tutted and said, “By the Twelve, Fortin, lift the order.”

“Fine. Speak.” He sounded resigned, like he expected Beau to tell an off-color joke.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said formally, keeping all trace of sarcasm out of his voice. Then he ignored his father completely, focusing on the second ambassador. “You were saying, about the Destiny Riders ruining the land?”

“Well, there is a rumor—and this is even more poorly substantiated than the rest, so take it with a grain of salt—but it’s rumored they’ve obtained an artifact to enrich the land, make it more fertile. Some in Paibona are whispering that that’s how they’ve gotten the common folk on their side: making their farms and gardens flourish. Maybe they believe they can repair the ruined land, once they’ve weakened us enough to take it from us?”

Beau swallowed hard. He didn’t like the idea of previously unknown artifacts floating around in the world. What if it was true, and that had once been part of Granvallée’s trove? Who the fuck had taken all their artifacts? Their wards had seemed impenetrable to Beau, Beau had been the one responsible for it and hadn’t been here to lend relics out, and Char had had the keys.

Char had had the keys.

His stomach churned again, confusion blanking out everything except those words: Char had had the keys.

“I hardly think we need to entertain every bit of tavern gossip,” Kent said. “Your Majesty, perhaps you and I should discuss the queen’s letters further. This merits caution.”

Fortin nodded, and he and the ambassador spoke quietly, heads together so their conversation had the illusion of privacy. Beau sighed, irritated at being excluded again. He nodded to Bhatt and leaned forward, making his own conspiratorial band across the table. “How urgent do you think the situation is, then? Is it escalating?”

“Queen Almeida is afraid. She’s putting on a good face because she doesn’t want our intervention—or, rather, the price we’d exact for our intervention. But I believe she’ll lose control of parts of Paibona in the next year, and I think the queen believes that, too.”

“Would Chaban treat with us?”

Lady Penamour snorted. He hadn’t realized she’d leaned into the conversation as well. “Do you want a war with Queen Almeida? Because reaching out and legitimizing her rebels by treating with them directly is a good way to start one.”

Beau tilted his head to one side and the other, considering. “The queen has no standing army and the Destiny Riders are, at the very least, causing considerable violence on our borders. If it came down to who I’d prefer to be at war with…”

“Think, too, about who you’d prefer as a neighbor,” Bhatt said. “Chaban’s people are extremists who believe they’re owed half the continent. Not people I’d turn my back on.”

“True enough.” Beau studied her profile for a moment. She was a handsome woman, strong-featured and tall. “Are you part of a noble line, Ambassador?”

She shot him a wry, knowing look. “I am not. And I’m not in the market for a husband, either, so ply your troth elsewhere. I understand you’re up against a deadline.” Lady Penamour’s arm brushed Beau’s; she’d leaned into his space to hear the ambassador. The duchess seemed to realize the proximity at the same time he did and immediately sat back.

“There are a couple of weeks yet left in the season,” Beau said. The spot where his arm and hers had touched tingled. He rubbed at it, but the sensation didn’t fade.

“The buzz when I stepped off my horse yesterday was that you’d snubbed Lady Macabrie. Who’s the leading aspirant now?”

“Um…” Beau’s awareness of Lady Penamour next to him grew until it was the only thing he could think about. She said nothing, but he felt her judgment all the same. “I suppose that depends on who you ask.”

“What if I asked you?” Ambassador Bhatt said, smirking now.

“I’d hate to single anyone out. They’ve all been charming.”

“Don’t bother trying to get more out of him,” Lady Penamour said. “Ask more than two questions and you arrive back at nothing but secrets, lies, or pure disdain for other nobility.”

“Excuse me? You want to talk about disdain , Penamour?” Beau said, stung. “You’ve been relentlessly cold to me since our first conversation, and I still don’t understand why.”

She sat up straighter, dark eyes flashing in the candlelight. “You may call me ‘ Lady Penamour’ or ‘Your Grace,’ Highness.”

“I think you’ll find I’m the prince and I can call you whatever I want,” Beau said. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me more about these lies you’re imagining you hear when I speak. What exactly have I lied about, Penna ?”

“Lady. Penamour. I think the quicker answer would be what you’ve told the truth about. You’re never the same person from one conversation to the next. With Lady Macabrie, you were by turns saccharine, vicious, or barely in the same room as your body. Your masks are constantly changing. And with me, you pretend to be friendly and interested, when I know—”

“Have you considered, Peppaninny, that maybe I am friendly and interested?”

“I have not,” she snapped, “because I know that’s not true. You keep coming back to needle me, but I don’t know why. You’ve al ready gotten what you want. You’re the next king—congratulations! I have nothing to offer you.”

Even in his outrage, Beau knew enough not to address the congratulations on a job he did not want at this table. “ Needle you? What, thanking you for speaking up in court? Having brunch with you at a brunch event? Of the two of us, Pimento, who has intentionally set up events where the other would be uncomfortable, hmm? Which of us is needling ? And, while we’re on the subject, how the hell did you know I’d be uncomfortable with the fighting ring?”

“ Lady! Penamour! ” The duchess stabbed him hard in the chest with a finger. “I knew because I have eyes. You’re hiding something—you wouldn’t wear the stupid robes at the picnic and I saw how quickly Elias jumped in to save you from wearing that gladiator monstrosity.” Beau recoiled. “Not to mention every time someone turns the subject to violence or fighting, you start scrambling like you’re looking for an escape hatch. We all know you’re an accomplished fighter. You were good before you ran away from the capital and I’m sure you’re better now. So why don’t you want anyone to think about you eliminating your opponents with violence , hmm?”

“You’ve clearly got some theory—” He scrambled for another annoying nickname. “—Purloiner. So why don’t you just tell me why you think I don’t like to talk about some of the worst moments of my life with casual acquaintances?”

“Oho, do you really want me to get into my theories here ? You want me to spill your secrets in front of your mother and father?”

“What secrets? You don’t know me!” Beau whisper-shouted.

“Yes, I do,” she hissed. “ Yes , I do. And if it puts me in danger for you to know, fine. I don’t care anymore. I can’t keep watching you…just…get away with it!”

“Get away with what?!”

Too loud. Beau had said that much too loudly.

Conversation stopped; every eye turned to him. He raised a hand in mute apology, embarrassed and irritated. Ambassador Bhatt had rested both elbows on the table and propped her cheeks in her hands, watching them. Beau dared not turn to look at his father.

“I’m sorry, Ambassador,” he said, “I believe you asked a question but I have no idea now what it was. Clearly, the lady and I have some disagreements to work through.”

“Clearly,” Bhatt said dryly.

Lady Penamour’s chair scraped back and she said, “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I’m not feeling well. I’ll bid you good night.”

Beau scowled up at her. She was leaving? She hadn’t answered a single damn question for him. And she was still so wrong about him! He wanted to correct her. He wanted to fix it. He wanted her arguments with him to be the smiling, intense things she had with Lord Arshakuni over Maurilel lore, not this . He wanted…

Penamour didn’t turn back as she left, her regal bearing spoiled only slightly by the constant shaking of her head, as though she were arguing with herself. Beau turned back to his plate, desperate for dinner to be over already.

“Beau. Beau .” His mother waved to get his attention without speaking more loudly than a whisper. She pointed after Lady Penamour, then jerked her eyebrows up significantly. “Go after her!” she hissed. “Talk to her.”

Beau raised his hands helplessly. What could he possibly say? She didn’t believe him. But the queen’s eyes were insistent, and then King Fortin looked up from his meal with a scowl and nodded toward the door as well, a clear dismissal. Beau tried not to see the way all the diners’ eyes followed him as he crossed the room.

By the time he emerged, Lady Penamour was already halfway down the next hall and moving quickly, but she was nearly a foot shorter than him, so his long stride caught up easily. “Slow down,” he called. “Don’t make me chase you the entire length of the palace.”

The duchess swiveled, hands raised as if to fend off a blow. Beau stopped six feet from her. “I’m not going to hurt you, Pandarast. Why are you afraid of me? What did I do to you?”

“It’s not what you’ve done to me , as you know perfectly well.” Her eyes went to El and back to him; she was shaking, terrified. Nilah wasn’t with her tonight. Beau edged back another step. “I know what you’ve done. And you know that I know. So if you’re going to silence me—”

“Can I also please know what it is that I know you know?” Beau demanded.

“You killed your brother!”

Silence.

Beau turned the sentence over in his head, trying to examine it from different angles until it became something with meaning. “What? What are you talking about?”

She threw her hands up. “More lies! I should’ve known—”

“My brother died falling off a horse!” Beau said, stepping closer so she was sure to hear him. “It was an accident. You were there ! I’ve worn a lot of hats in my time, but I’ve never been gravity . The only responsibility I have for Char’s death is that I’m the one picking up all the pieces of what he left behind.”

The duchess shook her head. Her eyes were glassy with fear or grief or something entirely beyond his ken. She didn’t believe him. There were few things Beau hated more than not being believed.

“Please help me understand why you could possibly believe I killed him.” Beau tried to come closer, to look in her eyes, but she edged toward escape.

Her face contorted. “Forget it. I will find the truth, and I won’t let you chip away at the things I do know with your lies.”

“No, not ‘forget it,’” Beau snapped. “You’ve accused me of something both horrifying and impossible, and I want to know why! I want to—I want—I want you to stop hating me!”

“Why?” she demanded.

“Because I need a wife!”

What? Why the fuck had he said that? He wanted her to stop hating him because he hated to be hated, because it wasn’t fair, because he liked her more than he’d thought he would, not because he… He couldn’t marry her! Right?

She agreed with the frantic voice in his head, by the way she jerked back from him, horror in every line of her face and body. “Well, it won’t be me. And if I do my job right, it won’t be any lady of this court. No one deserves to be married to a man who’d murder his brother for a crown.”

“But I don’t even want the crown!” It was a pointless addition; Lady Penamour was already walking away—practically running, actually. Beau reached back for Elias, needing something steady. “What the fuck is going on, El?”

His First wrapped an arm around his shoulders, but El wasn’t looking at him. Face carved in stone, Elias watched Lady Penamour turn the corner. When he didn’t speak, Beau shrugged his arm off and nudged him. “What’s wrong?”

“Hmm?” Elias emerged from deep in his mind. “I don’t like things I don’t understand. And I don’t understand Lady Penamour. We should head back to the rooms. You need to relax.”

“Relax?” Beau asked incredulously, but he let Elias lead him back anyway.

When they passed Jude at the door and went in, both maids were in the study, laughing quietly as they stacked books in front of the shelf so they could dust. Uriel popped his head into view from the bedroom and smiled. “Oh, you’re back early!”

“Everybody out,” Elias said. “His Highness needs to be alone.”

“Of course,” Master Uriel said. “Last of the water’s over the fire, so you have a hot bath. There’s cheese, fruit, and wine on the sideboard, and I’ve turned down the bed.”

“Perfect, thank you, Uriel,” Elias said. “Good night, Aloise. Good night, Capu.” The guard saw everyone out, locked the door behind them, and marched Beau to the dressing room by the shoulders. “Strip. I’ll finish the bath.”

Beau dropped his jacket and waistcoat on the floor and unbuttoned his shirt, but the cuffs of his sleeves stymied him. Uriel had used fancy looping cufflinks, and he couldn’t get them undone one-handed. He was prying them with his teeth when Elias returned with a smirk.

“The bath is ready, and I already took the food in there, so there’s no need to eat your jewelry. Give it here.” Elias took one of his arms and unfastened the sleeve neatly, dropping the cufflink on the bench, then did the same with the other arm. He hooked his finger in the back of the collar and pulled the shirt off, and Beau shivered. He wanted .

“Go get in the bath if you’re cold,” Elias said, bending to pick up the other discarded clothes with his back to Beau.

When the prince sank into the steaming tub, he groaned involuntarily: it was precisely the right temperature, heat biting into his skin, soothing the tension in his muscles. Master Uriel was a bath wizard. He settled in, afraid Elias meant to leave him alone with his thoughts while he soaked. But the guard dragged a chair in from the study so he could sit against the wall and talk.

“What do I do with that?” Beau asked. “She earnestly believes I murdered Char. Why?”

Elias shrugged. “You can’t reason with crazy people. Did you mean to imply that you wanted to propose to her? Because…you said you weren’t going to do that.”

“She’s not insane,” Beau said, ignoring the question he had no answer for. “She’s too smart and competent to be imagining something like this. It came from somewhere . Something happened that made her think Char was murdered and that I could be responsible.”

“Highness, her fiancé died,” Elias said. “Grief affects everyone differently, and it’s rarely rational. Maybe it drove her to need Char’s death to be someone’s fault. She latched onto you.”

Beau shook his head, idly drawing hot water up over his shoulders. That didn’t make sense to him. Lady Penamour would’ve had to be in love with Char to be driven mad with grief, and his mother said they barely knew each other.

“The more important part of that conversation is the threat she made,” Elias said. “I want to know how she’s planning to make sure none of the noblewomen marry you.”

Beau shrugged. “Make sure they won’t marry me, or that I won’t marry them? She sabotaged Lady Macabrie, but all that did was further highlight Haydée’s faults. It doesn’t really matter, though. I’m low on options even without her intervention. The only two unmarried duchesses are Lady Penamour—obviously a no—and Lady Andremiere, who’s well out of childbearing age. Daughters of dukes are thin on the ground, too. Haydée Macabrie’s already out, her younger sister’s too young, and Lord Lamont’s oldest daughter isn’t even six.”

“Doesn’t Courdur have an unmarried daughter left?”

Beau swiped wet hands over his face to rinse away the salt of the day. “Cecilia Courdur was born with a man’s name. She’s working with the wrong equipment, unfortunately. One of Penamour’s younger sisters is unmarried, but I’m sure she shares the duchess’s opinion of me. And also, I’m fairly certain she only likes women.”

“Go one rank down.”

“Okay. Lady Roben is a marchioness. And she’s…fine. Still young enough for children, pretty. She’s good friends with Penamour, though, and she’s been courted by Lord Blanchet all season. Plus, she’s less interesting than paperwork. Lady Ovanne’s a countess, but she and her husband had no children before he died—no way to know if that was her fault or his. All the daughters of counts and marquesses are too young, too old, already married, or on Dubois’s list of abusive nobles.”

“Who else showed up on the nice list?”

Beau sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Scores of married women. Of the single ones—Penamour. And about a dozen viscountess and below who I can’t seriously consider.” He slicked his hair back from his face, blinking drips of water out of his eyes. “Maybe I should marry Queen Almeida? That would solve the Paibona issue. Strengthen our ties with our neighbors.”

“And take an incredibly long time to negotiate, possibly delaying your marriage in perpetuity,” Elias said, smirking. “But I’m sure that didn’t factor into your consideration at all. I was under the impression your brother already tried that and was rebuffed by the queen before he proposed to the duchess?”

Beau rested his hands on the water, letting the surface tension tickle his palms. That was true, but not common knowledge at all. “Is that palace gossip as well?”

“You’d be amazed what servants hear, especially when the crown prince makes several trips back and forth across the border.”

“I swear, you’re better than Father’s spymaster,” Beau said, chuckling humorlessly.

“Yes, I’m sure the head of the kingdom’s entire intelligence network is quaking in his boots because a guard periodically listens to kitchen chatter.”

“Her boots,” Beau corrected. “Or slippers, rather. Mistress Isely. Funnily enough, I spied on her on a couple of her visits to my father when I was a kid. Strange woman. Very quiet. But I suppose that’s normal if you’re in the spy game.”

Elias hissed air in between his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut in a sharply pained expression. He tapped his fist against his forehead a couple of times and then said, “Highness…the identity of the king’s spymaster is literally the most closely guarded secret in Granvallée. And you…said it out loud.”

Beau performatively looked left and right. “There’s no one around to hear, for once. And besides, I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“You just told me. Now I know that, too. The thing even you are not supposed to know.”

“Yes, but telling you isn’t telling anyone. You’re…Elias.”

The expression his guard turned on him was so fond, so baffled, so tortured, that Beau didn’t know whether the man was going to kiss him or hit him. El did neither, of course; he dropped his head and shook it, hair falling out of the knot he wore it in to hide his face like a curtain. “Maybe you shouldn’t trust me that much, Your Highness. I’m a guard.”

“You can pry my trust for you out of my cold, stiff corpse,” Beau said bluntly. “I don’t want to talk about marriage anymore. It’s depressing. What do you think of the Destiny Riders?”

“Oh, they’re much less depressing,” Elias snarked.

Beau ignored him. “I think Ambassador Bhatt is right: if we can send Almeida what she needs to put down Chaban, we can also negotiate help for those on the border who’ve had to put up with the Riders’ raids. And we could recover any magical relics they might have. I’m not sure what’s holding Father back. It’d take coordination, but if Courdur called up the men of Suteneir and I called up mine in Verdmont, we’d have the whole border secured, and we could pull men from duchies farther north to supplement their guards and farmhands in the interim.”

“That requires a lot of lords agreeing to call their men to arms,” Elias said.

“They’ve pledged to do so at the crown’s order. And this is hardly a whim—they’d have to take up arms once the Destiny Riders started claiming land on our side of the border anyway, and this way we catch them before they’ve shored up their power and resources in Paibona.”

Until the water grew too cold to comfortably sit in, Beau talked through the problem and Elias poked holes in his plans. As Beau dried off and redressed, Elias made tea.

Beau took a sip as he climbed into bed. “Dreamroot?”

“I figured you could use the help sleeping.”

“Hmm.” Beau grunted in assent. He drained the rest; Elias knew the dosage of dreamroot for him well enough by now that he assumed it wasn’t dangerous. While El put the lamps out, Beau settled in.

“I hope all that fighting skill wasn’t for show. If any of my problems come to a head, you might have to kill people. You ready?”

Elias chuckled in the darkness. “I’m always ready.”

“Don’t sound so damn cocky.” Beau yawned, feeling the tug of the dreamroot already. “You haven’t had to do anything like that for at least seven years. How are you staying keen?”

The silence of the room was broken only by the creak of the chair near the bed as Elias settled into it. Beau blinked his eyes back open. “El?”

“I stay sharp. Don’t worry.” Elias sounded strange.

“Why do you sound like that?”

The guard sighed. “I…am realizing you think I haven’t had to kill anyone the entire time I’ve been in your service.”

The words sank in through the dreamroot haze, and Beau sat up abruptly, blankets sliding off the side of the bed. “Wait, what? Have you? You’ve been killing people, and you casually drop this on me when I’m half asleep? What happened? When?”

“Lay back down, Highness.” Unseen in the dark room, Elias put his hand on Beau’s chest and pushed him back to the mattress. “You hired me to be so good at my job you never had to notice these kinds of things.”

His skin tingled in the outline of Elias’s hand. He squeezed his eyes shut. Not now . Not that there was ever a good time to want his guard’s hands on him, but definitely not when said guard was telling him about the people he’d murdered. Beau had hired him and he was good at his job and that made him an employee and off-limits and on the count of three he would stop thinking about Elias’s hands. He counted himself off sternly and opened his eyes again.

“Just because I don’t notice doesn’t mean I don’t want to know.”

“You don’t want to know. Stop asking questions—just be confident that I am very capable of keeping you safe.”

Beau hauled the blankets back up. “Be serious. You’ve actually killed people?”

“Yes.”

“Recently?”

“Exclusively recently. I’ve only needed to kill people since we came back to the capital. Most of the powers that be ignored you while you were a non-issue on the isles.”

“When? How many?”

Elias sighed, and Beau could picture him pinching the bridge of his nose as he always did when Beau badgered him. “I’m not going to tell you how many. I’ll give you an example. A week after you told Courdur not to levy taxes, two men showed up at that croquet game on the lawn, waiting for you to leave. You remember when I excused myself to the trees?”

“I thought you went to piss! You weren’t gone ten minutes!”

Elias sounded amused. “Should it have taken longer? It was only two men.”

“Longer than a bathroom break !”

There was a rustle in the darkness as Elias slid down on the chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. He said only, “Nah.”

“You didn’t have blood on your hands when you came back!”

“They didn’t die bloody. And Courdur hasn’t tried again, so—”

“He tried to have me killed because I wanted his people to survive the fucking Destiny Riders?” Beau reeled. “Who else—” Despair nearly swallowed him. They didn’t just hate him; they wanted him dead . His nobles, his kingdom; they wanted him dead.

“No, no no no,” Elias said, and his hand found Beau’s chest again. “Stop that. Stop spiraling.” His thumb rubbed along Beau’s collarbone, and because it was dark and El couldn’t see, Beau closed his eyes and let himself enjoy it. “It’s not you. Everyone’s trying to kill someone. Everyone’s spying on everyone. We guards are working . A couple weeks ago, I put down an assassin waiting for Lady Penamour. I assume it came from Macabrie, but I’m not sure.”

“You protected Lady Penamour?”

Elias’s hand stilled, lifting slightly away from Beau’s skin. “Should I…not have?”

“No, I’m—I’m glad you did. Has she tried to kill me?”

“No. She hasn’t. As far as I know, she’s not trying to have anyone murdered.”

The dreamroot dragged Beau’s eyelids down heavily, but his heart was pounding fast enough to keep him thuddingly awake. “This is a lot, El. This is—this—how do I talk to them, when they’re sending assassins? How do I…”

“Nothing’s changed, Highness,” El said, resuming the soothing motion of his thumb. “They’ll play whatever games they play. I won’t let you marry someone I’ve had to fight death threats from. And in the meantime, you are not in danger. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

He wanted to reach up and set his hand on Elias’s, but he knew better. “What if they send more than you can handle? We don’t always bring the rest of the flight. Should I tell Jude and Oria to come along when—”

“Highness.” Elias’s sternness was faintly amused. “I’m not being cocky when I say I am the best. They can’t send more than I can handle. They’ve tried; they didn’t come close. You didn’t even notice me killing them. I’ve never had so much as a scratch, and neither have you. If you wanted me to, I could take out every enemy you have tonight and be perfectly ready to have breakfast with you in the morning and start our day.”

A moment of silence stretched into the darkness as Beau considered the easy, confident way Elias delivered the news of his own deadliness. “You are the scariest man alive.”

El laughed, a dark rumble of a chuckle that made the skin under his palm burn . “Not to you, Highness. But to your enemies? I fucking hope so.”