Page 57 of Lord of Ruin (The Age of Blood #2)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Samuel

I t was still a strange thing to Samuel, having the Eternal King visiting in his own home. He poured the Eternal King a glass of fine whisky, then poured a second for himself, because appearances still mattered, even if he would hardly touch it.

“Thank you, Samuel,” the King said, taking his glass and drinking deeply.

He was settled in the large plush chair in front of the fireplace, his dark suit a stark contrast against the lush, verdant green of the velvet.

The King leaned towards the blistering warmth as they fought the harsh freeze that had settled over Dameral with the frigid breeze off the sea.

Even here, in the heart of comfort, the chill seeped in through stone, lingering at the windows and the edges of the house, fought back by sheer will.

Still, it was an indulgence that Samuel never expected to have, back when he saved his coal and logs for only the coldest nights of the year. But here he was, sharing a warming drink with his liege in front of a roaring fire.

In another life, in a world where he had been taken in by his family, a world where the Mad Aberforth wasn’t Mad, perhaps this would be a regular occurrence.

A fixture in a life of comfort and privilege that molded him into a true Lord, not this pretender play-acting at being more than he could ever be.

It would never feel natural, and Samuel didn’t know if he should feel grateful that his soul still hadn’t faltered, or fear that the endless exhaustion of a lifetime of lies would pull him to his downfall.

But he played the part well, perching in the chair across from the King.

“So, how can I help you today, Tristan?”

The name still felt odd on his lips, a too-personal touch that Samuel couldn’t help but feel was some sort of trap. A way to lull him into too friendly complacency, to pull on his good-hearted nature until he wasn’t even realizing he was being manipulated.

The King arched a brow, his mouth pulling to a too-calculated smile. “I cannot visit my only remaining relative simply for the pleasure of it?”

“You could,” Samuel agreed, taking care to sound as affable as ever, “but you are also a very busy man.”

The King hummed in response, holding his glass out in a mocking toast. “Astute as always, Samuel. I did come for a purpose.”

Samuel steeled himself for whatever was coming next, what task the King would lay at his feet, what horrible evisceration the King would place upon him this time.

“I came to apologize.”

Samuel did not expect that—an apology from the Eternal King himself was beyond even his most wild dreams, especially so freely and casually given.

He took a deep sip of the whisky, the burn of it shocking through him like a bolt of lightning to his spine.

This had to be a trick, even if Samuel couldn’t fathom the specifics. “I’m sorry?”

The King breathed out a soft laugh. “That’s my line, Samuel.”

“I…” Samuel spluttered for a moment before he found his footing, clearing his throat as he forced his thoughts into a neat and orderly row. “I meant that I don’t understand. What do you have to apologize for?”

“A lot, if I am being honest.” He downed the rest of the drink, staring into the empty glass before setting it aside. “I have seen how well you’ve been handling things these past couple of weeks. The Guard is beginning to flourish under you in a way it never had under Dunn.”

The King said the former Councillor’s name with a sigh, a kind of regret that Samuel didn’t think Dunn had earned.

“He was a good man, and a good Councillor, but more focused on the politics of the House than on minding his own roost. In a kinder time, he would have been remembered as fine steward of Dameral, but he was the wrong choice for a time of chaos. You, however…”

Samuel took another sip of his drink before getting up to refill the King’s glass.

Even with all the training he had with Shan, even with every scrap of refinement he had learned to wear, he did not trust his expression in this moment.

He didn’t trust himself to not give away every terrible doubt on his face.

“I am not doing anything special,” Samuel said, speaking directly into the liquor cabinet. “In fact, I thought I was doing poorly.”

The King hummed, thoughtful. “I’ll admit that some of your early proposals for the House were… unpolished, but I must accept my part in that. I threw you into a rip tide without even bothering to see if you could swim, and that was ill-done of me.”

Samuel bit the inside of his cheek so hard that blood bloomed across his teeth, stirring the power that slept deep in his chest. Blood Working and his insidious, dark gift twining together into a longing so intense that it threatened to tear him apart from the inside.

But he didn’t dare risk it now, this secret that he had to keep, lies wrapped within lies until he didn’t know where he stood anymore. “You did what you had to.”

“No more, no less,” the King replied, with chagrin.

He stood, swift and silent as a serpent, slithering to take his place next to Samuel.

“I should have taken you under my wing sooner, especially as Shan had to focus on being Royal Blood Worker. She is a masterful being, a once-in-a-lifetime kind of mind, but even she can only handle so much.”

“Shan is brilliant,” Samuel replied, with an ache deep in his heart. That much he could agree to openly. “She’s done so much to help me.”

“She has, and we are both very lucky to have her. But that doesn’t make my point any less true.

” The King clapped him on the shoulder, reached past to grab his freshly filled glass.

“I should have had stepped in sooner, we could have avoided so much strife. But I am here now—and we have much to plan for.”

“Plan for?” Samuel echoed. Not trusting that he wouldn’t make any foolish decisions, Samuel left his half-finished drink behind, turning to follow the King as he stood in front of the fire, one arm behind his back and the glass hanging from a loose grip.

He was as still and precise as a statue, as the burn of natural fire, untainted by the eerie glow of witch light, cast him in stark lines, so grim and forbidding.

The mask of kindness dropped for a singular heartbeat, revealing the truth of the man before him.

Ancient. Untouchable. Unknowable.

And despite the gentle way the King had been treating him, Samuel felt like nothing more than a pawn on his board—a tool to be used, again and again, as long as he was proving useful.

“I have need of the Aberforth estate,” the King began, drawing Samuel’s attention back to the present, “for some business with the Royal Blood Worker. I have already written ahead for all the particulars to be handled, but I think that you should come with us.”

The question fell from his lips before Samuel had even realized he decided to ask it, little more than a snarl. “What do you and Shan need it for?”

It wasn’t the right question to ask, hells, it wasn’t even a question, it was an accusation. Another secret that Shan had kept from him, coming back to roost. The sting of it had prodded the darkness in him, like a snake uncurling from its slumber, ready to strike.

The King didn’t so much as blink, as if he had expected this little outburst. No, there was a small smile curving the corner of his mouth. He was pleased by this, the cruelty in Samuel making a return.

But Samuel was too angry to feel shame over it, even as realization cut through him. This is what the King had been hoping for. He wanted to mold Samuel into something darker, something more like the Blood Worker and Lord he could have been, in a different life.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be too difficult to play into it. What was another mask, at the end of the day? He might never be as skilled as his beloved Shan, but he could try to do her proud.

“It’s… a complicated matter,” the King explained easily, “and it would be more effective to show you. Suffice it to say that the fruits of this labor will greatly affect your position, Councillor.”

The next step in the plan, the noose twisting tighter. Samuel huffed, a deliberate affectation that pleased the King. A small calibration to the persona of Lord Aberforth. “As you command. I will join you in the countryside and see what you have to offer.”

“Good.” The King clapped him on the shoulder, squeezing hard. “We’ll travel out at the end of the week. Clear your schedule and pack for winter—we might even see a true snowfall.”

“That would be delightful,” Samuel said, torn between an almost childlike wonder at the thought of a winter wonderland and the pure animal fear of being trapped with the King for an interminable amount of time. But what choice did he have?

Besides, he had a job to do, and if Shan wasn’t able to reach out to him—or to Isaac, if their little tryst the previous night had proven anything, her disappearing before they had woken, leaving behind only the bitter aftertaste of being used again—perhaps he could use this.

If she couldn’t bridge the gap, he would do it for her.

Before he lost her to whatever machinations the King was planning.

And if a little solstice trip to the Aberforth estate was what he needed, then he would embrace it.

Samuel found Isaac with Anton and Bart, huddled together in one of the small meeting rooms in the safe house.

Paper was spread out across the table, a plan being formed in three separate hands, scribbled notes that would eventually collate into something grander.

A revolution born in whispers and shadows, but it felt incomplete.

Empty without Shan there, parceling out her little bits of brilliance.

Isaac was the first to notice him, a soft smile on his face as he waved Samuel in. Anton looked up at the motion, barking out, “You’re late, Aberforth.”