Page 30 of A Monarch's Fall

“Don’t speak to me like that,” the woman warned. “I’m not some low-level cannon fodder. She wants her awake. We can’t know if any of our efforts have worked until she’s awake, and we can’t continue the treatment with her unconscious.”

I knew they were talking about me. Unless they had someone else injured or asleep in a nearby room. Talk of treatment had my attention. What treatments? For my leg?

The man laughed.

“I know who you are. You’re nothing special. Are you? If you were, that old hag wouldn’t need her, would she?” he mocked.

What were they talking about?

“If that ‘old hag’ heard you, you’d be dead and skinned. Nothing but a rug at her feet,” she replied. “We all know what you are.”

“I make no attempt to hide my ambitions,” he replied. “The same can’t be said for you and yours.”

Silence.

“I know all that goes on in my home,” his voice took on a sinister tone. “I know you’re a let-down. They all are, but not precious Percy. No. That girl, that naïve little flower, left to grow wild and free, and you hate that, they all will, until plucked by your own nightmare, she’s something special. I wonder how special. Oh, did I scratch too close to something?” He laughed obnoxiously loudly. I wished I could see the interaction, know the expression he was responding to. “Remember whose hospitality your lot enjoys. You are welcome because it pleases my ambitions, and our goals are equally met in this alliance. I am not an old witch’s servant. That role belongs to you. If Lady Flores is growing impatient, you can appease her discomfort. The flower girl will wake in her own time according to the advice of my personal healer.”

Lady Flores? They weren’t talking about me.

Angry footsteps momentarily stomped in my direction before turning and drifting off. I had stopped breathing in my attempt to be silent, and I took a harsh breath to refill my lungs.

More footsteps followed, no anger to the steps, a slower pace, but these steps grew closer and closer.

A man in a navy suit, trousers, black shoes and a white shirt, the top buttons undone and revealing chest hair, turned the corner.

I remembered his smirk, his dark hair and sharp yellow eyes instantly. His hair was slightly longer, styled as would be expected of a Lord of House Halvorsen. It made him look younger, but then I guess he could only have been in his mid-twenties.

“Lord Arvid,” I greeted as he turned the corner.

“Percy,” he returned, with a sly smile, not a hint of surprise.

“How nice to see you awake, and up and moving too, without assistance. I should never have expected anything less from one of such an indomitable spirit,” he continued. “I was on my way to wait for you to awaken, but you seem to have awakened earlier than expected. I was surprised to catch your scent.” His smile morphed into something almost sinister, something cruel.

“What were you talking about?” I asked.

“Oh, I’m sure you're familiar with the main subject of our discussion,” he replied.

“Me,” I supplied.

He nodded and looked to the window beside him.

“It is almost lunch, and the recruits will be returning soon. Would you like to join me for lunch this afternoon, Percy? I can provide you with a private shower, more fitting clothing,” he grinned and looked me up and down, “and a fine meal, before you're swept up by the chaos of waging a civil war,” he offered.

Civil war?

“The New Foundation wants a civil war?” I asked, shocked. Dylan, Harris, and even Ana wanted a civil war?

“Oh, now, girl, don’t use affectation with me. It’s hardly surprising, is it?” he asked.

“You’re hardly surprising,” I told him. “Who are you planning to double-cross for power this time?” I asked.

He laughed, and it seemed genuine.

“She told you?” he asked with slight surprise.

“Why wouldn’t she?” I asked.

Selene had told me the role that Arvid had played in Valen’s death. She had been upset that she hadn’t been able to personally kill Valen.