Page 109 of The Chains You Defy

“Where’s the nuisance?”

“Your…Royal Highness, what—”

“Your mistress.”

“Oh. Oh, yes. Lady Danartha is almost ready for you, Your Royal Highness. She tasked me with…demanding patience while she ensures that she’ll present herself at her best to you.”

My temper flared and burned everything in its wake. Was every little thing designed to make me furious today?

The only saving grace for the female servant was her expression of discomfort and apology as she relayed her lady’s message. So, she would live. For now.

The male guard, though, dared to breathe in my direction, and I shoved him into the wall, where he slumped down. No idea if the cracking noise had been the marble or the male’s skull.

The quality of staff here in Alaiann was worrisome, considering that I hadn’t even used my magic, and still, the fae lying crumpled on the ground was unconscious, if not worse.

Finally, Danartha must have decided she’d flaunted her imaginary superiority long enough and emerged from her chambers, right after a cloud of jasmine wafting through the open door had nearly knocked me out.

As her note had announced, she wore a black dress decorated with silver embroidery and jewels, which was as gaudy as the female herself. Her brown hair was pulled into a complicated hairstyle, adorned with glittering gems in black, silver, and purple, and she donned a fucking tiara—thank gods—in silver.

“Scriosta,” she chirped before her carefully painted mask crumbled. “What in the gods’ names are you wearing?”

“Pants. Dress tunic, both silk. As always, when there’s a fucking revelry to attend to. Speaking of which, I'm late. So, are you ready, Danartha?”

Her face contorted in anger, and the petty side of me rejoiced.

“We don’t match at all.”

“I agree. Never have, never will. Good that you finally realize this as well.”

Danartha gaped at me like a fish trapped outside of water before her features morphed into a sneer.

I didn’t give a flying fuck.

“Oh, by the way, here, your mandatory winter solstice present.” Handing her the small cardboard box that I hadn’t even gift-wrapped, I carried hopes she’d get the message, but to be honest, they weren’t high.

Danartha snatched the parcel out of my grip and scowled at the plain container, but in the end, she schooled her expression as she opened her gift. Her contentment was only short-lived, though, and a frown marred her forehead.

“Scriosta, whatever this is, it’s not what I requested.”

“About that. The story is hilarious, in fact. See, you wrote that you told my manservant, but I don’t have one of those at the moment. And I couldn’t be bothered to ask all the servants in my wing because of you and your inaccuracy.” My head tipped to the side as I observed her taking the plain hair clip I’d found in some washroom in a cheap Ivreian inn between two fingers—my assumption had been that the trinket belonged to Nayana, but she’d shaken her head when I’d asked her—and Danartha bristled, her gaze snapping to mine.

Gods, this stupid, entitled female.

“Of course you have a manservant. The brown-haired one with the multitude of piercings and the weird eyes. According to rumor, he’d even accompanied you to the inferior world.”

“Don’t tell me you mean Ireas? Danartha, you’re treading on thin ice here. He’s not my servant. We’re comrades, and thus, you should be very cautious with your insults. Because I won’t tolerate you spewing your poison any longer.”

Danartha huffed.

Was I behaving like a bastard? Definitely.

Still, I didn’t feel an ounce bad. She was the type of female who never accepted a no—and I’d told her a couple of times already that I wasn’t interested in her, but for her, a rejection was still a yes, just because she willed so.

“What is this anyway?”

“I brought the thing from Ivreia. Women use these in their hair. You can buy them everywhere. They’re rather popular.”

“Ah. I get it. This is a joke, isn’t it?”