Page 68 of Blood King, Part I (Crowns #4)

Chapter fifty-three

Essandra was in her chamber, as she’d said she would be. She answered the door as she was pinning her hair back from her face.

Cyrus stopped when he saw her. She wore a green satin dress, the color of her eyes.

“There you are,” she said. “I thought I was going to have to go back and get you.”

He hadn’t seen this dress before. It hung from her shoulders, showing the curve of her neck and the hollow at the base of her throat.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, and he realized he’d been staring.

“No, not at all. You just look… very nice.”

She smiled. “Thank you.” And she swept out of the room.

They walked with purpose. “Have you talked to Everan?” she asked.

He hadn’t yet seen him. “Should I have?”

“He was helping Ruth deal with a bit of a vocal crowd earlier. The people are growing restless.”

“About what?”

“Serra. It’s actually one of the things—the main thing—the council wants to talk to you about.”

Now this was a topic that Cyrus was looking forward to.

He was eager to solidify a plan, also finding frustration in inaction.

Serra needed to fall, and the sooner that happened, the sooner he could focus on other things.

Other things like the Shadowlands. Other things like his brother. Was his council finally willing to act?

Cyrus stood at the end of the table in the council room, unable to handle the confines of the armed chair.

A tall man with gray-peppered hair leaned forward. “We can’t wait much longer,” he said. “The people grow restless.”

Yes, exactly. Cyrus liked this man. He’d employed him for one of the council positions at some point, but he didn’t remember when or which one. He also didn’t remember the man’s name. He’d ask Essandra later.

“And what are we to do with Serra?” Verin argued. “They’re one of the largest kingdoms in the world, if not the largest! We haven’t even stabilized Rael. How are we to be responsible for yet another takeover? And don’t forget—we’ve also committed ourselves to Pryam.”

“No one is talking about being responsible for Serra,” Fatim argued back.

“The people are only wanting us to help overthrow their rule.” He looked at Cyrus.

“You’re king, you’re obligated to the people of Rael.

You’ve promised them, and they’re waiting.

” He shook his finger. “But don’t misconstrue my words as my support for this effort.

I think it’s ill-timed. I just don’t know if we have a choice to wait longer. ”

Verin threw up his hands. “So, what’s the plan? Go in, wreak havoc, topple those in power, and leave?”

“That would suffice,” Cyrus said, finally speaking.

“With what men?” Verin asked.

“We have the original forty thousand fighters from the arena,” Everan said.

“Then we’re up to about twenty thousand refugees who’ve completed basic training.

Ten thousand more in progress. That includes freed men of Rael who’ve volunteered to join.

We also have new waves of about fifteen hundred joining each week. ”

“That’s hardly enough to topple a kingdom like Serra.”

Cyrus leaned forward, resting his weight on his fists at the ends of the table. “The point is that we will have enough, eventually. The army is growing quickly. But I don’t even think I need an army. I could do it with Serran slaves.”

All eyes turned on him.

“What?” Fatim asked.

Cyrus looked back at them coolly. “I could do it the same way I took the villas here.”

The councilmen glanced at one another, still not understanding.

“And how did you take the villas?” one of the councilmen asked.

“Simply by setting foot into them,” Everan said, “and pulling his sword.”

The man shook his head. “I don’t know how that would have—”

“It gave them the courage they needed to fight back,” Everan interrupted. “Slaves easily outnumbered the nobles; they just needed something to rally behind. Cyrus gave that to them. It worked every time.”

“But we’re not talking about a villa here,” the councilman said. “We’re talking about a kingdom.”

Everan leveled his dark eyes on the man. “It worked on Rael. Cyrus stood in the center of the arena and raised his sword, and everyone joined him.”

Verin leaned back in his chair. “Are you really proposing a strategy of simply walking into Serra and trying to inspire a rebellion?”

Cyrus shrugged. “Sailing, more specifically,” he said. “But, yes, I think I am.”

Verin shook his head. “Sire, we have to build the army.”

Fatim nodded. “And if people know we’re building an army, they’ll at least see it as action, and it will buy some time.”

Cyrus pushed out a frustrated breath. He didn’t want to wait to build an army. The longer it took him to bring down Serra, the longer it would be before he could focus his attention on Alexander and the Shadow King. But it didn’t look like he had a choice.

The graying councilman leaned forward again. “It won’t take long to build an army. In the meantime, we should properly plan—how big of an army we’d be up against, how many slaves might join us. We’ll need to send some men to find this out. It will be a dangerous task, though.”

Cyrus quirked his lips into a small smile. “I have the perfect person,” he said.

“We’re assassins, not spies.” Orion’s words were laced in venom. He stood across the desk from Cyrus in his study.

Orion’s steely gaze was sharp enough to cut him. Spies were the lice of the assassin world, which didn’t entirely make sense to Cyrus, as their work was just as important, if not more so.

“Your men are trained for stealth,” Everan said from where he leaned against the wall. “You know how to get in and out of places, generally speaking . That’s what we need.”

“I need to know what we’re up against,” Cyrus told him, “what Serra has in terms of defense, and how many slaves there are. I need to know anything and everything about their army, how big it is, what their capabilities are.”

Orion looked to Essandra, who stood behind the chair next to him with her hands clasped and resting on the high wingback.

A lock of hair fell over his brow, blond with a touch of copper.

He curled his fists against the edge of the desk and leaned his weight onto it as he contemplated.

Lean muscle corded his arms. Orion was an attractive man, in face and body, lithe and chiseled, if one liked that sort of thing.

Cyrus looked at Essandra. Did she like that sort of thing?

She gave Orion a nod. “You’re in a unique position to get this information for us,” she told him. “And you know we need it.”

Orion cut Cyrus another sharp glance, then softened as he looked back at Essandra. Cyrus hated how he looked at her.

“Fine,” the assassin said. “I’ll ready my men. We’ll sail in two days.” He made no effort to hide his shadowed scowl before leaving.

Essandra gave Cyrus a quirk of her brow, then followed Orion out.

Cyrus sighed as he leaned back in his seat.

“I’m proud of you,” Everan said, and he rocked off the wall and moved to the chair across from the desk, dropping down into it.

Cyrus snorted. “Why?”

“I know it’s not Serra that you want. But you’re putting Rael first.”

“I do want Serra. I just don’t want them the most .”

“I’m still proud.”

Cyrus chuckled with a shake of his head. “I’m sure I’ll find a way to fuck that up.”