Page 4 of Faeling (Monstrous World #4)

Ravenna spun around, pulling the hood of her cowl lower over her eyes to hide her blush—and her avaricious gaze from the perfect backside of the orc king. The moment offered a chance to claw back her composure, and she took it.

By the time she heard the slosh of him stepping from the tub, her glamoured mask was firmly back in place.

“Forgive me,” she begged, “I thought—”

“Indeed, I did,” he said in that brusque, deep voice of his. “My apologies, the afternoon slipped away from me. You’re punctual as always, kone .”

“Far be it from me to keep a king waiting.”

He chuckled, the sound rich and resonant. Ravenna’s toes curled in her old boots, and she cursed the little flutter of her heart every time he spoke to her like that. Intimate. Warm.

Such a tone featured often in her dreams. She heard that voice of his tell her a great many things, from mundane to wicked, and she listened raptly. The human fates and fae goddesses were all cruel cunts for blessing him with a body and voice made to make a woman come apart.

Straightening her heavy cloak, Ravenna ruthlessly squashed such thoughts. Orc noses were sensitive, and she didn’t need him sniffing out her consuming lust for him. No need to give him a reason to laugh at her.

“I’m decent now. Your modesty is safe,” he teased.

Ravenna turned to find a luxurious robe draped from his shoulders and tied loosely around his thick waist. Sumptuous white fur lined the collar, and the rich burgundy of the robe matched the other trappings of Balmirra.

As he crossed from the tub to an ornately carved set of table and chairs, Ravenna kept her gaze at his shoulders or higher—she definitely didn’t try to sneak a peek at what lay hidden beneath the red folds.

“You must save your flirting for a younger woman,” she chided, “my poor human heart can’t take it.”

He smiled roguishly as he poured two cups of mead into golden goblets inset with rubies. “As king, I take my flirting very seriously. I know I’m safe with you, kone .”

Kone, he called her. Seer. Although it was her position within his household, he didn’t say it like a title.

No, the way he said kone, he might as well have called her my darling or sweetheart .

That was the way with him, that informality, an intimacy.

It wasn’t hard to understand how he’d gathered so many clans already to his cause without having to use force.

In truth, Vallek Far-Sight didn’t need her and her power.

He’d been called Far-Sight long before she presented herself before him, offering her services as a soothsayer.

His own vision and confidence had seen him succeed where most others would fail—she supposed her little predictions were merely a nice reassurance.

That was all right. She didn’t need to be more. She couldn’t be more.

He extended one of his huge green hands toward the empty seat across from him. “Come join me,” he invited, although it wasn’t a request.

Bowing her head, she acquiesced. Someone had already anticipated her arrival, leaving a cushion and step stool for her. In the human world, she was a perfectly adequate height—to the orcs, she was positively puny.

Stepping up to take her seat, she settled on the cushion, sure that her cloak draped over as much of her as possible. Although she pushed the cowl back enough to reveal her face, she didn’t let it completely fall from her head, as the shadows offered a little more protection for her pointed ears.

She’d had enough practice by now to hold her disguise without the cloak, but only having to mask her face and hands made it much simpler.

As a half-fae, her grasp on magic had always been more erratic.

At the home she shared with her mother, in the territory claimed and saturated with magic by her father, it’d been easy enough.

Now, though, far away from the little life she’d once had, surrounded by stone and steel and orcs, it took concentration to utilize her inherent magic in such a focused way.

When he smiled at her over his cup, he would see an older human woman, perhaps in her forties or fifties.

A little weathered but still clinging to some of the beauty of happier times.

The glamour hid the soft lilac shade of her skin, replacing it with the bronzed color of a woman who’d worked long hours outside.

Her dark hair held streaks of gray, and her eyes were muted from their usual violet to a grayish blue.

Nothing like the striking lapis-lazuli blue of Vallek’s intense gaze.

She had tried to make herself plain, simple, unremarkable. What her glamour became, what was easiest for her to hold, though, was something she knew intimately. And that was her mother’s face.

So when the chieftain grinned over his cup, it was a facsimile of Aine’s face he smiled at.

Ravenna’s heart hurt to think on that too deeply, but she did like the notion that Aine’s face wasn’t forgotten. That this mighty king would remember it, even if he never knew how important she truly was to him.

Opening a lacquered box on the table, Vallek began pulling out the pieces for a game of talfon .

The board was set between them, a beautiful thing of polished black walnut, the diamond-shaped places inlaid with gold.

He lined up his pieces on the board, each figure a single piece of exquisitely carved stone.

“You’re not too tired to play?” she inquired. She’d heard he and his berserkers had only just returned that very afternoon.

“Never,” he said, “unless you mean to rally and present me a real challenge.”

Ravenna guffawed in offense. “It’s rude not to let a king win.”

“And imprudent,” he agreed, winking before he slid the box of pieces over to her.

Talfon was a game of strategy played between two parties. They each had the same number of figures, each with their own strengths and weaknesses. Although a bout was between two players and two sets, there were four sets to choose from, each with its own unique traits.

As always, Vallek had chosen the black set, built for speed and lateral movement.

Ravenna preferred the pink quartz set, at least when she played him. Much stronger in its defensive traits, she enjoyed making him test her defenses and find ways to make her bend.

Today, she chose the set of gold. This one was less maneuverable but powerful. She smiled to herself to see how one of his heavy brows arched in interest at her choice.

With the pieces all set, they began. Vallek always let her have the first move, and she always enjoyed squandering it. She often moved her pieces randomly in the first few moves, just to see how he would react—and she knew it vexed him.

Were he born with fae blood, she might have thought him gifted with a magical propensity for reading people. Behind his affability and charm was a ruthlessness she admired; through his smiles and banter, he was already reading his opponent, always looking for how to gain the upper hand.

This was on display most when he played talfon and when he played politics.

Elsewhere, the signs were far more subtle.

He was good with others in a way that made her almost jealous.

He saw their needs and wants, could rise to fulfill them or use such desires against them with the skill of a politician far older.

She supposed, with how young he’d been when he first sat upon the throne of Balmirra, he’d had to learn. Quickly.

Ravenna admired him for it. It spoke to a will to survive, one born of desperation and impossible chances.

She knew such a fate well.

Although she’d told him as little as possible about herself, perhaps he still sensed this understanding. Perhaps it was why he sought her company.

A king such as him didn’t need to share an evening mead and bout of talfon with his soothsayer. She’d tell him her visions with or without his friendship. That he offered it, inasmuch as a man of his position could to an old human woman, remained inexplicable.

Ravenna could hazard a guess, but that guess would indeed be hazardous. Whatever he might feel toward her, whatever bond they might share, it didn’t matter. It couldn’t.

She was using him, after all.

Not that he wasn’t using her right back, of course, but she suspected he’d be at least a little grumpy to know she intended to help him unite the orc clans, to build them up into a strong nation, and then aim their armies at the faelands itself.

She hadn’t quite worked out the logistics on that last part, but she had time.

An opportunity would present itself, she was sure.

Building the orcish kingdom had already taken Vallek some ten years, and she’d been with him for almost three of those now.

It would likely take just as many to finally solidify the alliances between the holdout clans and force the more intransigent ones into line.

She reckoned she’d have to give the new kingdom about a year for Vallek to put the final pieces in place.

After that—who knew, perhaps a war with the fae would be exactly what the new kingdom needed to rally together.

And while the orcs and the fae clashed, Ravenna would take her revenge. Whether Amaranthe would lead her armies and prove an easy target, or Ravenna would have to secret herself to Fallorian and strike while her armies were away, remained to be seen.

No visions nor opportunities had presented themselves to elucidate that part of the path, but again, Ravenna was patient. She was right where she needed to be, that she knew.

As their pieces moved about the board, Vallek regaled her with meaningless talk of his travels.

This most recent journey had been to the southernmost border of the orcish territories, along the southern Shanago River.

Mining operations had popped up all along the river; the human kingdoms had long been covetous of the minerals and ores found in the Griegens, and although these camps weren’t officially on orcish lands, the water they used flowed downstream to orcish villages.