Page 15

XERXES

Xerxes flew over the side of his bed and rolled onto the floor. His flesh was tight, his hands balled into fists, his breathing heavy. Bedsheets wrapped his torso like ropes.

After a moment, he unclasped his hands and released a deep breath as he slowly pushed himself up onto his elbows. Sweat tickled his hairline, and he closed his eyes in disbelief as his nightmare replayed in his mind.

He’d been a beast. He’d been hunting. Hunting for her —that penniless noble girl he’d won in a deal and brought to the palace to live a lavish lifestyle.

He’d thought he was doing her a favour, taking her from the dirt and handing her a lifetime of riches and influence.

Any maiden should have been thrilled at the opportunity to dine at the palace, eat great feasts, wear expensive dresses, and be forever known across the kingdom as a coveted Heartstealer; one of the fairest in the land.

Someone who’d walked in the presence of the King.

But, by now, it was abundantly clear to Xerxes that this Estheryn Electus maiden did not want to be here. He almost huffed a laugh as he thought about it all over again.

Xerxes picked himself up off the floor, letting the bedsheets fall into a heap on the cold stone.

Another day.

Another terrible day.

He headed for his window and tore the drapes aside, searching the horizon for smoke.

He breathed a small sigh of relief when he saw none; just clear skies and gray mountains filled the landscape behind the Mother City.

He rubbed his temples as he collected his bathrobe, eyeing his signet ring which had landed on his dresser this time—he’d thrown it across the room in the night.

He pulled on his bathrobe and headed out.

Steam filled the men’s bath chambers. Xerxes could hardly see the furthest bath pools when he came in, but he spotted a fellow relaxing one pool over.

He cared not. Xerxes dropped his robe onto a hook and sunk into the nearest pool.

He glanced over curiously when the fellow didn’t say anything or announce himself.

“You do know that no one is allowed in these baths in the morning before I have used them,” Xerxes said into the mist.

The fellow shifted, his head of blond hair bowing in the fog like an apology. He still said nothing though, so Xerxes folded his arms.

“Show yourself,” he demanded.

The fellow swam across his pool to the edge closest to Xerxes’s. His features became sharp then, and Xerxes wondered if he’d ever seen him before. “Are you a Folke guard?” he guessed. “Are you new?”

“Kill him.”

The fellow nodded. “I wasn’t aware of the rules, Your Majesty,” he said in a voice that told Xerxes he feared for his life. The fellow was young enough that it was probably true about him being new. He was still older than Xerxes though, by a year or two, if he had to guess.

Xerxes sighed and sank deeper into the bath, laying his head back against the stone and closing his eyes. “Just make sure you’re gone before an Intelligentsia comes in here. They’ve executed guards for less offensive crimes than this.”

His muscles were sore, though he didn’t know why. Xerxes reached across himself and massaged his shoulder.

A splashing sound came from the pool beside him like the fellow was preparing to leave quickly, and after a moment, Xerxes peeked an eye open to see if he was still there. He was.

“Do you want something?” Xerxes asked. “I’m not in the mood to be generous.”

The fellow’s light brows pulled together; his mouth tipped into a frown. He was looking at Xerxes rather carefully, and Xerxes lifted his head from the rock. “You’re not a Folke, are you?”

No guard would dare to look the King right in the eyes.

The fellow’s face blanched, and Xerxes rose from the bench, standing waist-deep in the pool now, staring down at the fair-haired fellow who had crept into his baths.

“My guards are just outside,” he warned, tilting his head in a beastly way, eyeing the exact places where this intruder was the most vulnerable. “Not that I need them.”

The fellow drew back, his light eyes wide. “I’m a Folke!” he swore. “I’m new, like you said!”

“You’re an assassin,” Xerxes decided.

“Assassins should be killed.”

“I’m not! I swear it on my life, Your Majesty!

” the fellow looked like he might pass out, and Xerxes folded his arms again as he thought about that.

If this young man was hiding in the pools to assassinate Xerxes, he’d have already done it—or tried anyway.

And he’d have quickly found out how foolish it was to attack a monster.

So, this young blond fellow couldn’t have come to the palace for Xerxes. That only left one other option.

“If you were hired to assassinate one of the maidens, at least tell me which one.” Though, Xerxes shouldn’t have asked. He didn’t care which one. Any of them could vanish and he wouldn’t lose sleep over it, not that he slept much to begin with.

Except that he was sort of curious if it was his maiden—the one he chose to be here against the Intelligentsia’s wishes.

Perhaps the Intelligentsia were the ones who’d hired this fool.

Perhaps that was why Belorme was so willing to let Xerxes have his way with the Heartstealer numbers.

Because Belorme had planned to have the “extra one” murdered all along.

“Just tell me, out of curiosity,” Xerxes waved a hand through the air, “is it Estheryn Electus you’re here to kill?”

“Ryn?” the fellow breathed then shut his mouth quickly. He tried to cover his mutterings by shaking his head as if to answer Xerxes’s question, but it was too late; Xerxes heard it.

Xerxes twisted his mouth to the side as he ran that new name over and over—and over and over and over again—in his mind.

Ryn .

So, she had a nickname. A cute little name people she knew called her by.

Truly, this was the first person Xerxes had crossed that knew anything about Estheryn Electus.

Xerxes hadn’t looked into the maiden himself, but the Intelligentsia had.

How delighted Xerxes had been when he saw the legendary sages grow frustrated by how little information they could find on her.

It only made him more pleased to have gone against them in the first place.

But Xerxes knew his instincts were right, even if he’d been wrong about this particular fellow being an assassin. The Intelligentsia might kill Estheryn Electus soon, especially after she’d arrived at the Introduction Ceremony in that dress .

Xerxes shook the memory from his mind. “If you really know Lady Electus,” he said to the fellow, “then you should keep an eye on her. Otherwise, she’s not going to live long here.”

Xerxes wasn’t the charitable sort, so he wasn’t sure why he bothered with the warning.

Deciding his bath was over, he stepped from his pool and wrapped himself in his bathrobe. The fellow in the other pool said nothing else. The stunned look on his face had said enough.

Time for breakfast.

The table was colourful with hot meat skewers and eggs, bread, figs, and fruit.

The Intelligentsia ate mostly in silence, occasionally discussing things Xerxes knew full well were just to fill the empty space.

They never discussed anything important in front of him.

They hardly ever even discussed things in front of the council anymore, though the council members at the breakfast table were too dull to realize it.

Xerxes placed a hand over his stomach, finding he wasn’t as hungry as he thought. Or maybe he was, just… He glanced toward the kitchens. He could have sworn he smelled pears.

“You’re starving.”

The other hunger had come earlier than normal today, and during the monthly King’s Council Breakfast of all places. Xerxes was used to waiting until the evening to feel the effects of his disease.

A particularly presumptuous napkin rose from the pile and flew at Xerxes, dabbing his mouth clean even though he’d hardly eaten anything.

He swatted it away. Then he rose from his seat, not bothering to excuse himself or tell anyone where he was going.

A few heads lifted, but no one said anything as Xerxes left the dining room, feeling the Intelligentsia’s feast magic slip off him, and headed for the long hallway that would take him to the basement stairs.

Minutes later, he studied his tree in the oval room with a sigh.

It was still perfect. Not a single leaf turning brown, not a single fruit beginning to wilt.

The pear he’d eaten the evening before had already regrown.

He plucked it from the branch and rolled it over in his fingers.

Here he was again, at the mercy of this tree.

Every day it was the same— boring . A stale and repetitive occurrence of events.

Nothing at the palace intrigued him anymore.

The food had lost its taste, the aromas of the gardens had turned bland, and the people—he could not stand to be around them.

For seven years, he had done this dance, relied on the knowledge of the Intelligentsia while simultaneously hating them for having insight when he didn’t.

At first, Xerxes had been terrified of himself.

He’d raced for the tree each evening with gratitude, had worshipped it for saving him from becoming the one thing he hated most in all of Per-Siana.

But after several years, the ongoing need had become a monster of its own.

Xerxes often wondered what would happen if he simply stopped eating the spell-covered pears.

He wished, just once, he could race through the palace as a free man, as the worst version of himself, and tear everything apart.

“Do it.”

“We will help you have fun!”

Xerxes smirked at the thought. He would be dethroned in hours. Probably hunted through the city and killed by the Folke. It would be a sweet end to a long existence of suffering, and the Intelligentsia would rule the kingdom in his stead.