Page 46 of Blood King, Part I (Crowns #4)
Chapter thirty-six
Cyrus turned the letter over in his hand and eyed the green wax seal on the back as he sat on his throne.
The throne he hated. But this was where he was expected to sit to receive visitors.
A ship had unexpectedly arrived in the port, boasting banners of green and gold—a war galleon, manned by a full crew, a host of guards, and this one messenger, who now stood in front of him.
His councilmen aligned themselves closely behind the visitor, still within Cyrus’s direct view, no doubt putting themselves in position to silently communicate their reactions in hopes of persuading him.
Best of luck.
Kord positioned himself among them, although for an entirely different reason. He waited, ready to act at Cyrus’s cue.
“Gregor, king of Japheth?” Cyrus asked as he eyed the messenger who stood with his head bowed low.
The messenger bowed even lower. “Gregor the Lion, king of Japheth, king of Hetahl, king of Aleon and the united kingdoms, rightful heir and high king of the Aleon Empire.”
That was a mouthful.
Kord’s mouth tightened to suppress a chuckle.
Cyrus narrowed his eyes on the messenger. “I thought Aleon’s colors were blue.” It was an important distinction to make. Japheth was an ally of the Shadowlands. Aleon was not. This man claimed to be king of both.
“I’ve heard of the king of Aleon,” Cyrus added. “His name is not Gregor. It’s Phillip.”
“Phillip is a usurper!” the messenger said.
“A usurper?” The faintest of smiles tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Those are the worst.”
This time Kord did chuckle.
“Forgive me, King Cyrus,” the messenger said quickly as he shifted. “I meant no offense, nor does High King Gregor question your claim to the throne.”
Cyrus would have to want the throne to be offended. And there was something else he would find much more offensive. “Is the king of Japheth still allied with the Shadow King?” he asked.
“You should read the letter,” the messenger said.
Cyrus was starting not to like this man. “Should I?”
The messenger caught on and quickly shifted again. “High King Gregor provides answers to all your questions.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
The king of Japheth wouldn’t be so forward as to outline his full intentions in a letter before even meeting.
However, it wasn’t a stretch to assume these intentions.
Cyrus had expected other kingdoms to reach out—to try to learn him, understand his motivations, explore the potential for political and trade relationships.
In the darkest corners of his mind, he’d imagined Mercia reaching out, sending their lord justice. Sending his brother.
Delivering Alexander directly to his sword.
And Cyrus would take his head. He wouldn’t be able to resist, even if it meant immediate war. His blood heated again at the thought of it, but Cyrus steeled himself. He wasn’t looking at Alexander right now, he was looking at this messenger from Japheth.
The messenger glanced nervously around the room.
He should have been nervous the moment he’d set foot in Rael.
His early confidence betrayed his assumptions—his king’s assumptions.
New kings were often eager to form alliances, to establish themselves and build their strength.
No doubt this was what other kingdoms expected of Cyrus.
But Cyrus wasn’t interested in an alliance.
He didn’t want one more thing he was beholden to, and he wanted absolutely no association with an ally of the Shadow King.
In fact, an ally of the Shadow King was an enemy. Yes—this messenger should be nervous.
Councilman Verin subtly flicked his hands that had been clasped at his waist to prompt Cyrus to read the letter.
Cyrus ignored him.
“High King Gregor is most eager to explore a friendship with your majesty and Rael,” the messenger said as he bowed again.
Kord gave Cyrus a brief jut of his head, and he finally broke the seal and opened the letter to find Gregor’s words.
King Cyrus,
I hope this letter finds you in the best of health and comfort. I must admit, Rael’s news came as a surprise, but Japheth celebrates with you! Let me be one of the first to warmly congratulate you on your coronation.
Did kings really talk this way? And coronation sounded so ceremonious for what had essentially been a massacre of the previous regime.
You may or may not be aware of the histories between our kingdoms, but Japheth and Rael have always—
Words, words, words. Cyrus skipped to the bottom of the letter.
As the world remains in a constant state of change, it continues to open opportunities for new pursuits and new friendships. I’d very much like us to meet and discuss what I’m sure will be a mutually beneficial friendship between Japheth and Rael.
I look forward to your acceptance.
That was presumptive.
Signed Gregor the Lion, king of Japheth, king of Hetahl…
Cyrus skipped the rest.
He caught movement from the corner of his eye and glanced up to see Essandra discreetly slipping in along the side of the hall. Had she seen Teron for him to heal her?
She wore a different dress. Had she had enough time to do that and see Teron? He hadn’t left her for long. She held her hands clasped in front of her, her forearms hidden from view, and stared back at him with a raised brow. Defiantly? Had she not gone?
Kord cleared his throat.
Cyrus turned his attention back to the letter and folded it closed. “Is Japheth still allied with the Shadowlands?” he asked the messenger again.
The man hesitated, his mouth moving silently before he finally said, “While these may seem straightforward questions, there are many—”
“Are they still allied?” Cyrus asked a third time, more sharply now.
The man’s throat bobbed, and he pinched the inside cuffs of his sleeves between his folded fingers and palms as he gave a short nod. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Cyrus stood. “Go back to Japheth,” he said.
A couple of councilmen shifted, and the messenger glanced around in surprise before fumbling a response. “Would you like me to bring a reply to High King Gregor?”
“If I decide to reply to King Gregor, I’ll send my own messenger.”
“Sire,” Verin said, stepping forward, “it’s a matter of your convenience. We’ll have the messenger stay the night, so you can think on it.”
“No need,” Cyrus quipped back. Firmly.
The messenger glanced around again, as if expecting the council to further intervene. Cyrus almost dared them to try. But no one did.
The man gave a stiff nod, resigning, and bowed. “I’ll return, then. High King Gregor eagerly waits to hear from you.”
Cyrus watched him depart the hall. It was interesting that the messenger portrayed the relationship between Japheth and the Shadowlands as not a straightforward one, but it didn’t really matter.
The fact that Gregor declared himself as king to a kingdom he didn’t hold, and that he’d chosen to ally himself with the Shadow King to begin with, told Cyrus everything he needed to know about him.
“We’ll wait for you in the council room,” another councilman told him.
Cyrus almost told them just to stay, since everyone was already in the throne room, but there was something else he needed to do first. He took advantage of the break to head off Essandra, stepping in front of her before she reached the doors.
“Did you see Teron?” he asked.
“That was an interesting interaction,” she said, ignoring his question. “Is that how you’ve always made friends?”
“I have no desire to make friends with the king of Japheth. Did you see Teron?”
“What do you have against Japheth?”
Cyrus grabbed her wrist and pulled her arm up to look at it.
The skin was healed.
Good.
“Satisfied?” she snipped.
He was. His hand lingered a little longer than it should have. He let her go before she could notice.
“Sire,” Fatim called, prompting him to join everyone in the council room.
Cyrus sighed and followed.
The room had more people than he thought he had councilmen, but he didn’t care enough to reconcile.
“Sire, do you really intend to not respond to High King Gregor?” Verin asked.
“He’s not High King if he doesn’t actually hold Aleon. And what does it matter?”
“What does it matter? We should be taking every opportunity to build relationships with other kingdoms, promote trade, fortify ourselves.”
“Form alliances, you mean,” Cyrus said.
“Yes, exactly.”
Cyrus shook his head. “I don’t want to be obligated to another person, let alone another kingdom.”
“We’re not talking about obligation,” Fatim said. “We’re talking about cooperation.”
“I don’t want to cooperate with the king of Japheth.” His patience was cracking.
Verin sighed, exasperated. “We need trade relationships.”
Cyrus slammed his fist on the table. “Not with the king of Japheth! Or anyone else who sees the Shadow King as anything other than an enemy.”
The room grew quiet.
“We’re done,” he said firmly.
Cyrus sat on a grassy knoll on a cliff overlooking the Aged Sea.
In the distance, he could see the harbor.
It was a lengthy ride from the palace—out of the capital, past the port city, and up along the hills where the mountains met the coast. He liked it here.
It was quiet and away from everything—a good place to think.
And with the thick dune grass covering the sand, it felt different from the rest of Rael.
The dogs liked it too. One and Three rolled in the grass, while Two found a place to dig.
Cyrus smiled as he watched them. It was easy to forget about the rest of life here, easy to slip into believing he was happy, or could be happy.
But what was happiness, truly? He’d never known it, and he was pretty sure he never would.
The dogs perked at something behind him but didn’t growl.
“Thought I’d find you here,” Everan’s voice called. He took a seat beside Cyrus in the grass.
“You’re going to make me regret telling you about this place.”