Page 9 of A King’s Trust (Heart-Mage Trilogy #1)

9

A COCKROACH

“I don’t have to take the day off, Highness. It’s not like I have anything in particular to do. Today’s going to be—”

Beau cut his First off. “Today will be fine. It’s your leave; take it.” He shoved Elias toward the door, and though he and the guard were of a height, El was remarkably difficult to move. “Go send your sappy love letters to whoever it is you’re always writing to.”

Elias paused, and Beau realized the other man had been letting him push him before; when he didn’t want to move, he was immovable. “You…know about him?”

Him? Lights sparked up in Beau’s brain, unworthy thoughts. Beau had never known if it was a man or woman Elias penned his letters to. The man was secretive about it, as he was about almost everything, so Beau hadn’t asked. And he’d forced himself for years not to try to find out who Elias was attracted to because it didn’t matter to Beau, obviously.

“You’re allowed a life, and it’s none of my business. Don’t worry about me today. By tonight, I’ll be engaged, I guess. To somebody. I’ll figure it out. So when you come back you can congratulate me.”

Elias turned and raised an eyebrow. “You do not want to be alone today with Jude or Oria. I know you.”

No, he didn’t want to be alone with them. He wanted El with him like he wanted all four limbs still attached. But Elias was human, and if Beau didn’t force him to take a break every two weeks, he’d run himself to collapse.

Still…Beau couldn’t shake their conversation about the assassins. Ashamed as he was to admit it, Beau was scared. Reluctantly, he said, “What if you took your break tomorrow?”

Elias beamed at him. “I’ll take it tomorrow.”

A knock sounded at the door, four quick taps, then a small, dancing sort of rhythm. “Your Highness?” Theodore called. “Got a message for you.”

Elias opened the door as Beau prepared himself for Theo’s boundless, jubilant energy. “Morning, Theo.” The runner fished a thick piece of creamy paper tied with ribbon and sealed with wax out of the pocket of his apron.

Beau took it with a frown; his father’s seal. “Thank you. And by the way, you can wear whatever you like in my service,” he said absently as he cracked the wax. “If gowns and aprons are more comfortable, fine, but if you’d prefer trousers…” He trailed off as he scanned his father’s message:

Due to a poor night’s rest, I will not be attending court this afternoon. Please convey my regrets to any petitioners and let them know I will next hold court in one week’s time. I’m sure you will find something worthwhile to fill your empty afternoon.

—F

Beau could taste the sarcasm dripping from that last line. A poor night’s rest? He didn’t like that at all. His father hadn’t canceled court once in Beau’s memory. For him to do so now spoke of a progression in his illness Beau didn’t want to think about.

But then…he hadn’t exactly said to cancel, had he? Clearly that’s what he intended, but since he hadn’t explicitly ordered it, there was a bit of room for Beau to finagle a different result.

Beau’s mind raced. If he held court alone, he could do something about Paibona and about the troublesome nobles in one fell swoop—something his father wouldn’t be able to reverse in the moment. Excited to have a problem before him that he could solve, Beau slapped the paper against his hand and grinned. He would indeed find something worthwhile to fill his afternoon. It was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up.

“Theo,” he said, all urgency, and the boy perked up immediately, “I need you to bring me Mistress Dubois, as quick as you can.”

“You’ve got it, Highness!” Theo gave a quick nod and took off at a dead run, as always.

“Don’t run anyone over, please!” Beau called after him before darting into his study and bending over his desk to scribble furiously on the closest piece of paper at hand. “If we send…” he muttered to himself, and later, “...but then who would…?”

Elias came to peer over his shoulder but said nothing, leaving Beau to swirl in his own thoughts. Theo slammed into the room a few minutes later, announcing Mistress Dubois loudly at the same time Oria did. The guard was annoyed. “Hello, thank you for coming,” the prince said, and he immediately launched into his plan.

She listened intently, and though her head shook and a frown creased her face, she didn’t interrupt. When he’d poured it all out and stood silent, she said, “It’s bold. With nothing to connect them, they’re not going to understand why they’ve been singled out. They’ll think you’re mad, Your Highness.”

“When I die, they can put Mad King Beauregard on my tombstone,” Beau said with a shrug. “I told you I’d ask for your approval before I moved. But it needs to be today, or it may have to wait for…a while.” He wouldn’t summon a worsening of his father’s condition by speaking it aloud.

Mistress Dubois spread her hands. “I don’t see how this would endanger my girls. But,” she squinted at him, “at the risk of speaking treason, you know you are not unkillable, yes?”

“I’m immortal until proven otherwise,” Beau said with a grin that made Dubois’s concern visibly deepen.

“He’ll be fine,” Elias said, setting a hand on Beau’s shoulder and staring Mistress Dubois down until she made a small, concerned sound in the back of her throat and spread her hands.

“If your only issue is me, I’ll consider it approved. You don’t have authority over whether I make people angry with me.” He clapped his hands and blew his breath out noisily. “All right. I’ve got to get ready for a court to remember!”

He prepared, Elias watching him more quietly than normal. Beau suspected the man was mentally preparing for the next wave of attempts on the prince’s life. When they stepped out and met Jude and Oria in the hall, Beau said, “Whichever of you is joining us, you should know I’m about to make some people very unhappy. In fact it might…well, just be ready.”

Oria’s eyebrows shot up in alarm, though Jude looked, as always, like a carved block of stone. “Are we going to have to fight our way out of the hall, Your Highness?”

“No,” Beau said, shaking his head. He hesitated, then repeated, “No, I don’t think so.”

“Come on, Jude,” Elias said.

In the petitioners’ chamber, El and Jude followed him to his usual chair to the right of the throne, flanking him as he sat. A large crowd had gathered today; Beau broke into a sweat. He raised his hands, and those facing him quieted, frowning.

“Welcome, everyone,” Beau called. “If you could take your seats, we’ll begin.”

Confused, they sat, conversations petering out raggedly in a wave that spread from Beau’s seat. Some swiveled to find the king, muttering to their neighbors when they saw only the prince.

“King Fortin sends his regrets that he’s unable to attend this afternoon,” Beau said, “but I will hear your petitions, after I make an announcement of my own.”

That stilled the room quickly enough. All eyes were on him, expressions ranging from neutral to baffled to sneering. Lady Penamour sat near the front, and the combination of her bronze silk dress and the steely look in her eyes made her seem armored. Beau tried not to look at her; it only made him more nervous.

“Many of you will have heard that Paibona is plagued by a group called the Destiny Riders, led by the rebel Chaban. While there are many rumors about this group, what is true is that they’re causing difficulty for Queen Almeida, and they’ve also caused no small trouble for our southern border lords. I intend to do something about that.”

Murmurs rushed through the group, cutting off abruptly when he swallowed and spoke again. “Every lord and lady in Granvallée is pledged to defend our borders and our way of life when called upon. Some of you are better positioned than others to do so, in this case. I speak now to these families—”

He listed each of the noble Houses on the list, dropping the names into the utter silence of the room like stones in a pond. No one moved, as though drawing his attention would add their names to the list as well.

“These families hold land in all parts of Granvallée. We won’t weaken any one part of our kingdom when our northern neighbors speak of allying with each other and could turn their eyes to us.

“The named Houses will have the honor of sending no fewer than one-third of their liegemen to the southern border to aid those marches in protecting their land and their people from the Destiny Riders’ attacks. Each of these parties will be led by the patriarchs and matriarchs of the noble families themselves.”

Shocked and outraged susurrations swept through the room like an undammed river. “They’ll carry with them the supplies needed to cross Granvallée and to protect the border for a period of three months, after which time we’ll reassess the situation. No one may strip the lands they pass through on the march, even for coin.”

Several nobles spoke out at this point, but since they spoke over one another, it was impossible to know quite what they said.

Beau waved them to silence and continued, “I understand this may be a hardship, and I wouldn’t want men on the move burdened by staff who cannot withstand travel. Any servant from these households who wishes to may put in a request with our steward, Mistress Dubois, for assignment here in the capital. A suitable replacement will be provided for servants that exercise this option.”

True silence fell again. It was such an unusual thing to include that none of the assemblage knew how to respond. Beau spied a few of the people he’d named seated throughout the hall, their faces darkening with anger. Two, Lord Abadie and Lord Harcine, walked out without being dismissed. Most of the rest appeared stunned. Lady Penamour sat all the way forward, almost spilling out of her chair as she watched his every move and expression with painfully intense attention.

“I’ll hear your petitions now,” Beau said, waving for the clerk to read the first in queue.

The named woman stood, cleared her throat, and said, “I cede the floor. It’s clear there’s more pressing business than what I bring today. I’ll resubmit at another time, Your Highness.”

Beau made a small, exasperated sound, but nodded. “Very well. Who’s next?”

They all ceded the floor, and one by one, they trickled away until so few remained that slipping out would make a large, obvious statement. They did think he was mad. Or perhaps they didn’t trust Beau had the authority to hold court without his father.

In irritation, he waved a dismissive hand. “All right, this session is adjourned. My father will hold court in a week.” He stood while most of the room was rising and descended the narrow spiral staircase at the back of the hall to the garden door. He couldn’t stand still. He’d expected some argument, some fight; he’d been ready to defend himself. The nobility leaving in silence left him with too much restless, antagonistic energy and nowhere to put it.

“Well, you didn’t have to carve a path out for me,” he said over his shoulder, glancing back to see if Elias would respond.

To Beau’s surprise, Jude spoke. “What did they do to you? Those nobles?”

“To me? Nothing.”

“But you’re…punishing them,” Jude insisted.

“Perhaps they’ll see it that way,” Beau said carefully. He didn’t trust the big guard enough to tell him the truth. “We’re all called to do things at times that feel like punishment. Speaking of…” He glanced north but couldn’t see the clocktower from where he stood. “I’ll have to head back to my rooms soon and let Uriel make me presentable for the grand event.”

Elias and Jude followed his winding, circuitous route through the gardens and outer halls of the palace. He wasn’t precisely avoiding the corridors likely to hold other highborn, but he certainly didn’t take any of the main paths.

“Highness! Your Highness!” Theodore careened breathlessly around the corner, rebounding off walls in his haste. “Thank the gods I found you. Thought I’d have to tell the king you were lost.”

“Did he send for me?” That was fast. One of the lords must’ve run straight to him.

Theo leaned over, hands on knees, and sucked air. “Yes, Highness. He said, uh—well, it wasn’t very nice, but he said you were supposed to come right away.”

Beau hunched his shoulders and glanced behind him for support. Elias met his eyes steadily, giving him the smallest nod. “Take a break, Theo. You look like you’ve been running for an hour straight. Jude, head back to my rooms. El can accompany me.” He didn’t want any more witnesses than he had to have for whatever was waiting for him with his father.

His feet didn’t move as quickly as they ought to. The weight of dread made them drag along the floorstones. When he finally stepped into the royal wing, the guards on the door announced him when he was still yards away. Like a poisonous gas, the king’s voice seeped into the hall. “ Beauregard .”

Beau edged into the room, bracing himself. His father was not at his desk; in fact, there was no one in the parlor. He stepped further in and saw his parents’ bedroom door was open. He hadn’t been in that room since he was barely old enough to walk.

King Fortin sat in the massive bed, blankets piled three-deep atop him. He was grey, his skin chalky, but his eyes flashed bright and furious. His mother sat in a chair to the side, but Beau’s eyes were on the almost unrecognizable man lying in that bed. He’d never seen his father look frail. He was the king; he was unimpeachable, unchangeable, unshakeable.

“Father,” Beau said, bowing. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” Fortin said, bending to cough and then straightening his shoulders again. “I wanted to look on the death of my legacy.”

A frisson of pain jolted through his middle. “Excuse me?”

“It was bad enough to have a worthless son when I still had an heir who would build on what I created,” Fortin said, voice thin but clear. “But now I have only you. You, who wasted yourself, wasted our fortunes, wasted your name. But like a cockroach, you survive the disasters that kill your betters. Gods, I’ve tried to imagine you doing this without bringing Granvallée to ruin. I’ve tried to coach you, tried to teach you. But you can’t shape a pile of shit and pretend it’s a lump of clay. Every tiny bit of responsibility or trust I’ve given you has shown that all the kiln’s flame will do for you is make you crumble to dust.”

Beau’s mind was completely blank, the cold cruelty of his father’s words echoing inside his skull. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing fell out.

“Nothing to say now? Nothing else you wish to ruin?” Fortin hissed. “You had plenty to say this afternoon as you destroyed every scrap of goodwill and loyalty the crown has built with its nobles. Plenty to say about our ally Paibona, who you cast aspersions against. And now you rally our people to war against them!”

“Not war,” Beau croaked out, finally finding a thread of voice. “Protecting our own people, our own lands.”

“You dare imagine that sending the best of our leaders out against these chicken-thieving rebels is going to protect—” As a coughing fit seized him and shook him in its jaws, Beau seized the opportunity to speak.

“The ones I named are the worst of our leaders. They not only don’t care about the people they’ve been charged to govern and protect, they actively hurt them. They abuse their power, and they have to be made to understand—”

“You could teach them a masterclass on abusing power!” The king’s voice was hoarse as he tried to shout. “What kind of delusions do you play in your head, that you think you’re better than them? After years of draining the treasury to spend on your whores and whiskey and whatever whims struck you?”

“That wasn’t me!” Beau said. “It was…I think it was Char. I’ve been working with Ferrial to try to get it sorted out, but—”

“You dare blame your brother for your faults? You stand here and lie to my face? You conniving little …” He took a deep, shaking breath, then coughed again painfully.

“Why won’t you listen to me?” Beau asked, desperation making his voice break.

Fortin shook his head, disgust in every line of his features. “Because I know what you are. Truly, I’ve shamed myself and this kingdom when the best I can give it is you.”

Beau shuddered. Horror made the world foggy, unreal. Was he really standing here, hearing his father say these things to him? He couldn’t feel his hands or feet, couldn’t feel the ground underneath him. “What is happening?” he whispered. “I’m trying my best. I know I’m not Char, but I’m not a cockroach , I’m not—”

“You’re going to make a mockery of my throne,” Fortin said. “Our best—our only hope is that you marry a better woman than you’re worthy of and let her rule through you. Here.” The fingers of his right hand took hold of the ring finger on his left, a tremor running through them as he pulled off his wedding ring. “For your proposal. Maybe magic will sweeten the pot enough that whoever she is will accept you.”

He flung the ring on the floor in front of Beau’s feet, and it rolled a few inches before knocking into Beau’s boot. He stared down at it, stunned. “I’m sorry,” Beau said. “I just want to help people. I want to be a good king. I’m sorry to have disappointed you.”

“Get out of my sight,” Fortin said, the words coming out of him like a sigh, rattling in his throat. “Do not let me see you again unless I summon you.”

Numbly, Beau bent to pick up the ring and turned, unsteady on his feet. His own blood rushing in his ears made his footsteps inaudible and also blocked out the sound of his mother following him out into the hall. She touched his arm, turning him back to her.

Beau felt a moment of relief as he looked down into her grave, glassy-eyed face. Hopeful, he waited for the gentle, soothing words that would salve the wounds his father had made. She reached for his hand, and he let her take it.

She put another ring in his palm, the matching one she always wore. “For tonight.”

He looked down at the ring and then back at her as she released his arm and took a step back. He blinked; he waited. After a brief nod, she swept back toward the bedroom. With a swallow that tore at his throat, Beau said, “That’s it?”

She stilled but didn’t turn back. Beau felt fragile in the middle, like if he took too deep a breath, he’d crack in half. After a few more shallow breaths, he realized she wasn’t going to speak or soothe. His hand tightened on the rings until the metal bit bruisingly into his flesh.

These rings had been a part of his mother and father his whole life. The flickers of understanding and silent communication passing from one to the other as they caught and reflected each other’s emotions through the rings were Beau’s entire picture of love, of partnership. “You were wearing this,” he said, a thin crust of calm barely covering the waver in his voice. “Is he just angry? Or did he mean it?”

He could see only a thin sliver of her face, but it was enough to see her crumple. She inhaled in pieces, ratcheting herself up to speak, her shoulders rising, and Beau knew whatever she said next was going to be a lie.

He fled.

There was a butler’s pantry beneath the royal apartments; he and Char had snuck in once when Char was fourteen and Beau was nine and stolen two bottles of wine each. Beau hadn’t liked the taste at the time, but he loved when Char included him in his schemes, so he drank along, swig for swig. It wasn’t until Beau was throwing up on the carpet that Char, laughing, revealed he’d been spitting his into one of the planters.

Beau found his way down to the pantry, feeling almost as sick as he had at nine with his first bellyful of alcohol. He grabbed two bottles at random out of the racks, ignored the serving men, and walked straight back out.

His feet followed the same track he and Char had taken years before, down the servants’ stair and out a small wooden door into a courtyard draped in drying laundry. It was growing dark; laughing women plucked sheets from the line and folded them into baskets.

Beau walked through the courtyard and back into the palace on the other side, a shortcut to the library. Because he expected no one there, he was unsurprised by the dim silence once the door shut behind him. It smelled of ink and binding glue. In the dark, he couldn’t find a chair, but the floor suited him fine.

Kneeling, he pulled his knife from his belt and stabbed the tip into the cork of one of the bottles at an angle, twisting and pulling until it was halfway out of the neck. He yanked the knife out and tried to stab the cork through the side to pry it further, but in the darkness, he missed. A sharp line of pain drew itself along his thumb where the blade bit him.

“Ah, fuck,” he hissed, dropping the bottle with a thud to clutch his thumb. It bled, but the cut was shallow. He’d never made a habit of cutting his fingers; they hurt too much and got in the way as they healed. People noticed when you cut your fingers.

He ignored the sting as he grabbed the bottle again, working the blade more carefully. The cork popped free and rolled across the floor, and Beau took a long, thirsty gulp from the neck of the bottle and inspected his thumb in the dim light. He’d need a bandage, but he wouldn’t lose any meat. He turned his hand so the blood would run into his palm and not drip on the carpet.

Blood pooling in his hand and wine pooling in his stomach. Beau felt a dark twist of amusement; just like old times. This was what he’d been afraid of when he came back to the palace. He’d gotten better in the isles, let go of self-destruction. Five years since he’d hurt himself on purpose. Four since he’d gotten too drunk to stand. Two and a half since he’d needed a drink to get through the day.

And here he fucking was again. A cockroach, outliving all the good things, even his own best efforts.

He hefted his dagger in his palm. Char had given it to him on his thirteenth birthday. It had drawn a lot of Beau’s blood. He’d taken it off and put it in a chest in the isles, afraid if he carried it on his hip that he’d use it too much, too quickly—too permanently.

“What are you doing, Highness? You disappeared so fast.” Elias’s voice in the dark was gentle, quiet; it didn’t startle Beau.

The prince raised the bottle in mock-celebration, not sure whether El could see, and downed another mouthful. He paused only long enough to swallow, ignoring the burn in his throat, and drank again.

El lifted the wine out of his hands and knelt down in front of him. “What did he say?”

“Everything he’s been holding onto,” Beau said. “Let’s see…worthless, pile of shit, insect, shame to the crown? Something to that effect. More words, obviously.”

Elias took a swig. “You scared him with your announcement. He doesn’t mean it.”

“He does.”

When Elias handed the bottle back, Beau reached across to take it with his uninjured right hand. His guard noticed the motion immediately. “What’s wrong with your other arm?” He didn’t wait for an answer, grabbing Beau’s wrist and inhaling sharply when he touched blood.

“Just an accident with the knife,” Beau said lightly. “Corks are slippery buggers.”

With a growl, Elias released him and stood. Beau craned his neck to watch him. “What are you doing?”

Under his breath, Elias muttered, “Contemplating treason.”

“Sit down. It was an accident. I’m fine.” Beau sighed and sipped more conservatively. “I just needed to be alone for a minute.”

“Alone, bleeding, and on the way to drunk,” Elias said, voice low enough that he clearly hadn’t meant to be heard, but annoyance dragged up the volume. “I’m sorry I let you get ahead of me.”

“S’fine. I move fast when looking for a place to fall apart.”

“You don’t really have time to fall apart right now, Highness. What say we get you bandaged up and dressed?”

Stalling for the time to take another gulp of wine before his guard hauled him to his feet, Beau asked, “What time is it?”

“I don’t know—getting dark?” Elias pulled him up and Beau curled his arm against his belly to keep his palmful of blood from spilling everywhere. Setting the wine on the floor, Elias took hold of Beau’s elbow and walked them both toward the pool of light from the lamps in the main corridor that cast warmly through the glass on either side of the library’s doors. “Uriel will be losing his mind.”

“Ah good,” Beau said. He didn’t feel tipsy, just warmer and looser. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt tipsy. “Someone else to disappoint by being the shittiest crown prince today.”

Elias stopped, pulling Beau short before they left the library. “Please pull out of this. You’re not your brother, Highness. And I know you think that means you’re less than he was. But you’ll do things he couldn’t have dreamed. When the day comes that you’re king, you may be a reluctant king, but you’ll be the right king. And I’ll be proud that you are my king.”

“You’re setting your expectations way too high,” Beau said with an abysmal laugh. “Now I’ve got to disappoint you too.”

“Shut up, Highness.”

Beau reeled back, scoffing in his throat. “I’m sorry, what ?”

“Stop repeating the meaningless trash people say to you,” Elias said. “Will you listen if I’m cruel? Fine, I’ll be cruel. You’re too intelligent to be such a trusting moron. Your father is a sick, bitter old man who treated you like shit and justified it in his own head by making up some grand narrative about you deserving to be treated that way, and your brother made it worse, constantly. He hates that you’re going to change all the worst things he and his ilk brought about. He hates you . Why the fuck would you listen to him?”

The warmth and looseness from the wine evaporated, swept away by a cold wind. Beau took a deep breath and then said levelly, “I know he hates me. I know Char and my mother barely tolerated me. But they’re my family; they’re what I have.”

Elias tried to speak, but Beau raised a hand. “You will be quiet now, Elias Batesian. You’ve said your piece. I ask your counsel because I like to have it and because it’s easier to reason things out when we discuss it. But at the end of the day, I’m the crown prince. I see what needs to be done, I do it, and I bear the consequences of it—so if you feel I’m not listening to you, I’ll ask you to bear in mind that you’re my guard, not my advisor.”

Elias’s chin rose, but Beau couldn’t tell if it was defiance or an acknowledgement. He continued, “I’m not, as you so skillfully put it, a ‘trusting moron.’ I know people are lying to me. I try to surround myself with people who tell me the truth, but here in the palace, no one tells me the truth. Even you. You lie to me constantly; just not about the things I care about. I know you want me to succeed, and I know you’ll protect me. That’s true and you’ve proven it, and you can keep whatever other secrets you want.

“My family despises me, the nobles despise me, the majority of my own guards despise me, the staff despise me and have to be won over one at a time. Those who don’t hate me still lie to me.” Beau shook his head and reached into his pocket, pulling out the two rings. “I’m supposed to go out on that lake tonight and put one of these rings on a lady’s finger so I can feel, every second of every day, how much she loathes me. Her contempt for me if I accept her lies; her frustration if I don’t. So she can feel a constant feed of my despair.”

Beau folded his hands around the rings and fought the desire to launch them into the dark library. Instead, he stuffed them into his pocket. “Several people warned me today that sending nobles to the border would get me killed. And all I could think was what a fucking relief that would be. I can’t kill myself, because this kingdom is my godsdamned responsibility and I can’t abandon it the coward’s way. But if they murder me, it won’t be my fault I didn’t fix every problem in Granvallée alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Elias said.

“No,” Beau agreed bitterly, “you’re always here to keep me from escaping by any route.”

For once, Elias had no response. Beau clenched and unclenched his hurt thumb inside his fist. It throbbed with his heartbeat. “If you really want to protect me , not the future king of Granvallée, but Beauregard , find some way to get me out of this tonight. Find some way to help me escape the pressure of this fucking marriage so I can figure the rest out.”

He pushed out of the library, leading the way to his rooms as El ghosted along behind him. When they were two turns away, Elias said abruptly, “I can’t do that.”

Beau laughed darkly. “Then this trusting moron will just have to trust you to keep me alive while I become a king they all despise.”