Page 49 of Blood King, Part I (Crowns #4)

Chapter thirty-eight

“Try to find at least one thing to agree with.” Essandra showered him in a flurry of instruction as they made their way toward the council room. “And try listening to them,” she added.

But Cyrus found himself barely able to listen now . He was still riddled with anger. Earlier that morning, Essandra had taken him through the portal to the stone circle, where they were supposed to meet Jaem and Bravat and the rest of the men to bring them back.

Except Bravat and Bravat’s men hadn’t come.

Only Jaem had been there to meet him, along with the men who’d been trapped when the first portal had collapsed.

“Bravat isn’t coming,” Jaem had said.

“Why not?”

“He just said no .”

Cyrus knew why. Bravat was enjoying his newfound freedom, with no one to rein him in.

And he was enjoying all the gold he was collecting with each raid on a Mercian temple.

He’d probably never dreamed of such wealth.

But the longer Bravat stayed in Mercia, the greater the risk of him being caught, and the greater the risk of Mercia discovering Rael and taking retaliatory action.

Cyrus needed to pull him back, but really, what could he do?

He had neither the time nor the ability to hunt Bravat down right then.

He’d have to deal with him later. In the meantime, he brought the waiting men back through the portal.

He left Jaem, giving him a few more vials of blood, to keep an eye on Bravat and keep Cyrus informed.

As they returned, Cyrus quickly found the limit of how many men he could tether to himself at one time.

Three. He could tether only three men before the bond started to fall apart, leaving them with burns as they passed through to the other side.

So Essandra taught him how to create the tether, and he traveled back and forth, shepherding three men at a time, growing increasingly frustrated as he went.

And now, after quite a long morning, he was late to the council meeting.

They walked quickly. Essandra’s footsteps were silent beside his own.

Cyrus tried to push away his earlier frustrations and focus on the agenda.

Things had been rocky as of late with the council, made even rockier by Cyrus ignoring them all together.

He hadn’t attended a proper council meeting since…

Kieve.

But he’d committed to taking things more seriously now. To trying.

Cyrus pushed through the doors of the council room. The councilmen stood in greeting.

“ Listen ,” Essandra whispered to him as a reminder.

He took his seat at the end of the table. She took her own along the far side, but still in his direct view.

Everyone seated themselves.

“Sire,” Lomas, his master of public works, said, “we’d like to start with the recommendations we’ve put together. There are a few infrastructure changes that the council feels strongly about—”

“Do it,” Cyrus said.

The councilmen all stilled and stared at him in surprise. Essandra’s head snapped up.

“W-which one, Sire?”

“All of them.” Cyrus’s gaze locked on Essandra. She narrowed her eyes.

“All of them?” Fatim asked.

Cyrus’s eyes traveled around the room. “Is there any concern with this? When you said the council feels strongly, I assumed you meant you feel strongly about all the recommendations.”

“Y-yes, Sire… I mean no,” Lomas stammered. “Yes, we feel strongly about all of them. N-no concerns, none at all.”

“Good.” Cyrus sat back in his chair. “What’s next?”

The councilmen shuffled, clearly reeling from the expectation they’d need to argue each line item, and they prepared for their next offense.

Verin handed him a letter. “From Morak, King of Pryam,” he said. “We suspect he holds the same intentions as King Gregor and wants to discuss potential alliance opportunities.” He refrained from including the king of Osan.

Cyrus glanced at Essandra.

“ Listen ,” she mouthed to him silently.

Cyrus broke the bronze seal on the back, and opened the letter, but as he read the words, unease rippled through him.

“What does it say?” Fatim asked.

Cyrus struggled for a moment. “He does want to discuss an alliance.”

“Ah,” Verin said. “As expected.”

“With the possibility of his daughter’s hand in marriage,” Cyrus added. He tossed the letter to the center of the table for the council to read.

“Princess Miriel?” Fatim said as he skimmed it. “She’s said to be quite beautiful.”

Essandra scoffed. “Cyrus has already made it clear that he isn’t seeking a marriage.” She took the letter from the councilman, and her face grew sharper as her eyes traveled the penned lines.

She was absolutely right. He wasn’t.

“Rael can’t keep refusing alliance conversations,” Verin said. “It’s proper these alliances come by way of marriage, and Pryam would be a powerful ally. They’re a small kingdom, yes, but they’re part of the Etrean Union. A collective of six kingdoms—can you imagine the trade opportunity?”

“Etreus is a slaving kingdom,” Cyrus said. Absolutely not.

“But the rest aren’t—Faulken, Nayalour, Cosar, Nestrana, nor Pryam. Only Etreus.”

“Etreus is as large as the other kingdoms combined. Why do you think it’s called the fucking Etrean Union ?”

“Cyrus,” Everan said quietly.

Verin sighed. “If you cut out everyone with ties to a slaving kingdom, you’d have no alliance options at all.”

“He’s right,” Kord said.

Cyrus glared at him. “You too?”

Kord shrugged.

Cyrus leaned back in his chair. “It’s an inopportune time. I’ve just approved a massive amount of work across the kingdom, we’re still facing challenges from the nobles, and the masses are demanding action against Serra.”

“On the contrary—it’s the perfect time!” Verin said. “This will alleviate some of that pressure—it would show the people that there are plans in motion.”

“Would Pryam lend me their army?”

The room fell silent for a moment, then Fatim said, “I’m sure there are implications with the Union that would have to be considered.”

Cyrus snorted. “That doesn’t sound promising.”

“You’ll never know if you don’t have a conversation, and this is an invitation to do just that,” Verin stressed. “For trade and for military strength. And in reality, the marriage would be such a small piece.”

Cyrus wasn’t ignorant of the political strategies to build power, and marriage between royals for this reason was commonplace.

He just hadn’t expected it to be something he’d have to deal with.

Yes, he was king, but he hadn’t planned on being king.

He hadn’t planned to still be alive at all.

But here he was—both alive and king. And expected to consider this possibility of a marriage alliance.

“He’ll think about it,” Essandra said. “A conversation, that is.” Her shadowed eyes caught his in a look that felt like daggers. Was she angry? Did she think he wasn’t taking this seriously? He couldn’t bring himself to agree immediately; his mind was still reeling.

“Sire,” Verin pressed, “it’s just a discussion—”

“He’ll think about it,” Essandra snapped, then she folded the letter.

“I will think about it,” Cyrus assured them.

The council broke for the day, and Cyrus followed Essandra out. She walked quickly, and he had to lengthen his stride to keep up with her.

“What do you think of Pryam’s proposal?” he asked as he followed her into his study.

She spun. “Are you seriously considering it?”

“Of course I am. You told me to listen—”

Her eyes flashed to something near feral. “Yes, but I didn’t say to agree to every idiotic thing they put in front of you.”

“What was idiotic?”

She stopped abruptly. Her breaths came shallower, and her words clipped. “Y-you were just saying yes to everything. You didn’t even read the recommendations—”

“I read them yesterday. Funds for masonry and agricultural training, four sessions per month over the next year. Two schools, one for children under ten and one for those aged eleven to sixteen. Two additional roads to make travel easier between the capital and outlying towns, a scholar of livestock planning, three additional water reservoirs, and a second infirmary.”

Essandra stared at him, her eyes wide.

“Did I get everything?” he asked.

She gave ever the slightest nod of her head.

“And I’m going to think about this King Morak,” he said. “I’m not interested in a marriage, but you’re right. I have to take this more seriously, and I am. I promise, I really will consider it.”

She swallowed. “Good.” There was a crack to her voice.

“That is what you wanted me to do, right?”

She nodded and swallowed again. “Of course. I’m… glad you’re taking this more seriously.” But the way she said it sounded strange. Did she not believe him?

“I am.”

She nodded again, biting her bottom lip. “Good.” Then she left him standing in the hall.

Cyrus sighed.

“Sire,” came a voice behind him, and he turned to see Verin, Fatim, and Lomas. Their postures were careful, but their eyes sharp. “Might we have a word?”

“What is it?”

Fatim bobbed his head. “We have some concerns about Lady Essandra.”

Irritation seeded itself in his chest. “What kind of concerns?”

The councilman swayed slightly. “Her influence. Her access. Her knowledge of the kingdom’s inner workings.”

Verin folded his hands. “Do you really think it’s wise for her to be so involved in Rael’s politics, lending her voice to our decisions? She is a guest in this kingdom.”

“She’s my adviser.”

“She’s also a witch,” Lomas added, “with loyalties we don’t fully understand.”

Cyrus’s jaw tightened. “She’s the reason you’re even here.”

Fatim gave a quick bow of his head as he swallowed. “Yes, of course.”

“And it was because of her I have approved everything you’ve asked.” Everything on that ridiculously long list of requests he’d have never looked at otherwise.

“We’re only saying that—”

Cyrus silenced him with a gesture. Essandra was the reason he listened to the council at all. She believed there was value in what they had to say, although, right now, he struggled to see it.

Fatim stepped in again, more cautious. “No one here questions your trust, Sire, but it’s the people—they don’t see her as one of us.”

No doubt the anti-witch campaign by the nobles wasn’t helping. Did the council view her the same way?

Cyrus nodded slowly. “Consider this my official statement,” he said.

“Essandra is not a guest. She is a citizen of Rael and adviser to the king, until the time she decides to leave.” His voice dropped, quieter.

Deadly. “If anyone challenges her place, or my authority, with which she speaks, they’ll deal with me directly. ”

Cyrus unbuckled his sword belt from around his waist and leaned the blade and scabbard against the wall beside his bed.

For once, he felt like if he were to lie down, he might actually sleep.

The dogs stretched across the floor, enjoying the cool marble over their bedding. Perhaps they had the right idea.

However, they hadn’t quite gotten comfortable before they jumped up, their hackles raised. A heavy knock on the door followed, and before Cyrus could reach it, it swung open. Kord stepped in, his face shadowed and sharp.

“Cyrus,” he said, his voice heavy with urgency. “Come quick. There’s a fire in the courtyard.”

Cyrus grabbed his sword and followed at a run, weaving through the halls and out the main doors of the castle.

What was even in the courtyard to catch fire?

It was open cobblestone with a bronze and marble fountain at its center.

But then he saw it—the blaze, already dying, smoke trailing into the night sky.

It had nearly burned itself out, but not before leaving its message.

Someone had roped together a crude pyre from splintered timber. Blackened cloth clung to the stake, shaped to resemble a human form—a witch. And nailed across the front was a sign, the lettering still visible through the ash.

BURN THE WITCHES.

A crowd had gathered, although no one stood close to it. No one spoke. There was no sound but the hiss of the dying flame.

“Who did this?” he shouted.

The onlookers backed slightly, shaking their heads.

“Who did this?” he roared.

Still, no one claimed it.

He would pull this kingdom apart brick by brick until he found out.