~ Chapter 4: The Unknown Wedding Engagement ~

  Crown Prince Argan lifted the sword above his head.

  The boy's blood boiled. He had every intention of bringing it down to slice open the traitor kneeling before him.

  “What do you think you’re doing, boy?” came a thundering voice, ringing out from the top of the staircase.

  Eyes flashing in annoyance, the prince turned to snarl at the interruption. But the moment his gaze landed on the speaker. His body locked in place as all color drained from his face.

  The sword slipped from his fingers. It clattered onto the floor.

  A stunned silence fell over the ballroom. All eyes lifted to gaze at the grand staircase. In unison, amazed gasps filled the room.

  Without hesitation, the entire court dropped to their knees.

  “Your Royal Highness!” they called.

  It was King Arganus.

  And by his side, steadying his arm, stood the Lord of Feldgrau himself.

  Draped in an ensemble of white and silver, the second prince bore the sigil of his mother’s house on one sleeve and the bright blue crest of Feldgrau on the other. Something was alluring about his icy countenance as his gaze swept across the room. His striking presence alone commanded attention, but the resemblance between him and the king made the sight all the more undeniable.

  A stunned hush fell over the nobles. The young ladies of the court blushed furiously when his sharp gaze landed on them briefly. One maiden in particular lit up with an eager smile. But the Ice Prince appeared unaffected, his posture as sharp and untouchable as ever.

  Although the second prince had been gone for years, the court was instantly reminded of the icy elegance he’d possessed since childhood. Standing beside his father, the two commanded the attention of the entire room. It was impossible to deny, that the Lord of Feldgrau was certainly of royal blood.

  “Continue the festivities,” the royal command echoed through the halls as the king descended the stairs, slow but steady. “And please rise, my friends.”

  A layer of shock still filled each person’s face. King Arganus’ presence was even more shocking than that of his wayward son. It had been years since his last public appearance. Plagued by relentless illness, there were whispers that he had grown too frail to even leave his bed. Although he wore a great smile, his cheeks were hollow, and his skin held a sickly pallor… it was a far cry from the vital and proud man he had been a mere decade ago. His injured right arm hung limply by his side. The bolder few claimed that the king’s afflictions were a lasting curse from Fadye, the feared chief of Wenge.

  As the father and son arrived at the first step, Queen Rewanna hurried forward. She extended a hand to take her husband’s arm, intending to replace Nikolai at his side.

  To her surprise, the king lifted a feeble hand to stop her. He barely spared her a glance. “Let this old man spend some time with his son, woman.” His sole focus was gracing his second son with a rare, fond smile.

  Rewanna’s expression tightened, as her smile strained, “But, my king, the rules-”

  “Who would be foolish enough to stop the king?” interjected Nikolai smoothly. His steely gaze halted her protests. He nodded towards her in greeting. “Apologies for my delay, I was recounting the long journey with my father, Your Majesty.”

  “I suppose you are right,” the queen reluctantly turned her gaze towards him. She swallowed the surge of irritation to force out a greeting. “Nikolai.”

  The king chuckled, “Always fast with his words, this son of mine.” Obvious pride dripped from each word as his gaze glanced over his court. “That's right. Let’s see the rules stop me!”

  Rewanna’s jaws twitched, but she masked her frustration with a smirk. “Do not hog the prince, my king. After all, he is my sontoo.” Her smile sharpened. Vicious glee accompanied her overly sweet tone. “Although… I suppose he is no longer a prince. Perhaps I should address you by your proper title? Lord of Feldgrau.”

  Nikolai turned his blank gaze towards her, cold and unreadable.

  The queen held back her flinch. It was as if he were looking past her. She was the queen, and he dared to glance at her like an out-of-place decoration in the hall. Hidden from view by her long sleeves, Rewanna’s fists clenched.

  “For old time’s sake, Your Majesty,” his quiet voice cut through her faltering smile. “You may address me as a prince.”

  The Ice Prince didn’t bother with a smile as he turned towards the king, tone measured, entirely serious. “You don’t mind, do you, father? Not if it’s Mother’s request to address me by that title?”

  Rewanna’s lips parted, ready to protest. “It is fine! I can call-“

  But the king cut her off with a dismissive wave. “Yes, yes.”

  He said so casually as if it were a simple request.

  Rewanna’s stomach clenched, eyes darting to survey the room. As expected, the court of nobles and ministers had caught on immediately. They shifted as knowing looks passed between them like a silent game. The sight made her pale in fear. Did the king realize what he’d done? That in one careless breath, he’d placed Argan’s position as crown prince into question once more?

  Of course, he did.

  The man may be sick, but he was still as cunning as ever. This wasn’t just an indulgence toward his precious Ice Prince, this was calculated. A way to remind her of who held the power. To keep her in check.

  She gritted her teeth. Her gaze darted to Nikolai, only to find those infernal ice-blue eyes gleaming beneath that damned unreadable expression. The years of absence had made the king blind to his son’s faults, she cursed.

  “As long as you are in the capital, you will be recognized as the second prince of Eburean and treated with the respect befitting one of my heirs,” the king announced, his voice resonating through the entire court. It may as well have been a royal decree. “You are still the-“ he faltered, voice tightening with a sudden depth of feeling. “You are my son, dear Niko. Always.”

  The two men, so alike in stature and appearance, stood before each other like a distorted reflection. For a long moment, both seemed unsure what to say next.

  Nikolai lowered his head, “Thank you, Father.” His voice was barely a whisper, a soft admission meant only for their ears.

  Nodding, the king’s eyes roamed around before settling on the royal table. “Come, Nikolai. Let us dine together as a family. You must greet your younger brothers.”

  Behind them, the queen was practically frothing at the mouth. Her expression a frozen mixture of feigned delight and barely concealed fury.

  Nikolai dipped his head in agreement. “Of course, Father.”

  As the two stepped past the frozen queen, Nikolai supported his father by the arm. As they crossed paths, he towards the seething woman to whisper softly. “You’re welcome… Mother.”

  With those parting words, they swept past her like a gentle breeze, leaving her to simmer in the wake of the Ice Prince’s infuriating defiance.

  The queen’s burning gaze tracked their retreating forms. Her carefully crafted facade was falling apart and her fingers twitched with the desire to strike at something… or someone. Her thoughts spiraled to a distant memory. Of a younger Nikolai, barely a boy, holding onto his precious mother and brother, forcing her to watch as she was reduced to nothing but a lowly consort.

  Clenched tightly, her perfect nails were close to snapping from the force of her rage.

  “You win this round,” she muttered darkly under her breath. Beneath the vengeful stare, her suspicions deepened as she eyed the jovial king. She had no idea how the king managed to rise out of bed, especially considering the heavy dosage of medicines he had been under. But no matter.

  Queen Rewanna cast one last venomous glance at the Lord of Feldgrau’s back before turning to mask her unease behind a carefully composed smile.

  —

  With a stolen sword at his feet and a kneeling servant of a newly re-instated prince, Argan watched his father and older brother approach. His stomach knotted with much apprehension.

  The younger prince couldn’t suppress the shiver of fear that ran down his spine when the Lord of Feldgrau’s cold gaze locked with his. He hated himself for it. His first instinct was to glance toward his mother for aid, but even the queen stayed resolutely distant, chatting with a group of ladies, her back turned to her son.

  Argan gulped. It had been so long… He had almost forgotten. This elder brother of his had the amazing ability to reduce even the queen to a state of helpless disarray.

  The king came to a halt before the scene. He sighed heavily as he observed his younger son. It was a pity this naive boy was to be his successor. He cast a longing look at his second son’s back but hastily rid himself of the thought. The last time the Lord of Feldgrau had been in the capital, he had firmly renounced his claim to the throne. The ensuing argument had led the prince to disappear into the night. True to his word, Nikolai did not return… until now.

  A wave of guilt washed over the king. That was close to ten years ago. Almost a decade since he had seen his son last. Nikolai was a grown man now, a far cry from the solemn, grieving boy who had left.

  The crown was a heavy burden. A weak or unwilling head would only snap under its tremendous weight. The king could only hope that, in time, his second son might reconsider … and preferably before the king’s ravaging sickness overcame his body’s failing strength. Even now, he inhaled shakily, ignoring the painful coughs lodged in his chest. The image of a king was always important, but tonight, even more so than others.

  “Father,” came the soft voice beside him.

  Arganus glanced at his stoic son. The young man stood with a quiet pride that invited awe, a striking reflection of his late mother.

  “Will you grant me leave to handle this as I see fit?” he asked monotonously. The second prince's somber blue eyes rose to meet the king’s.

  The father considered his options. Argan had truly made a mess of things this time. Especially in front of such a large crowd. For now, it was a boy’s mistake. But the boy before him was lauded as a crown prince, a potential heir to the throne. The chances to educate him without grand repercussions would soon grow scarce.

  King Arganus left his sons behind to head for the royal table. “Do what you must,” he ordered.

  Nikolai held out his hands and bowed low. “Thank you, Father.”

  The king made his way to the royal table. He was immediately swarmed by ministers enquiring about his opinion on certain reforms and nobles asking after his health. It wasn’t until he had settled into a serious conversation with the head of the Langard family that Nikolai finally straightened. At once, his gaze shifted to the Crown Prince. However, it was clear from his narrowed eyes that the title meant little to him.

  The Lord of Feldgrau took a deliberate step forward.

  Argan flinched back. He stiffened as sweat beaded down his neck. “What do you want?" he choked out, the terrified pitch escaping him before he could stop it. Fear won over his usual arrogance as the icy stare pinned him to the spot.

  The Lord of Feldgrau stopped before the two. He addressed the kneeling man. “Get up,” he ordered, his voice a low command.

  The attendant obeyed at once. He scrambled to his feet without hesitation. The man rose with smooth confidence and a bit of victorious pride if the smirk on his lips was anything to go by. “My liege,” he greeted. “It is good to see you.”

  “Stop,” screamed Argan, face flushed with anger. He glared at his elder brother as he hurried to add in his own order. “Don’t you dare move, servant.”

  But the attendant didn’t so much as flinch. With the ease of a man who knew exactly where his loyalty lay, he strolled to his lord’s sides, ignoring the boy’s protest.

  Argan’s eyes bulged. He had never been met with such disrespect! The veins at his temple throbbed, seeming close to bursting from our humiliation. “How dare you!”

  Each step the stupid servant took was another blow to Argan’s reputation. The nobles were watching. He could practically feel the weight of their judging stares.

  A Crown Prince who couldn’t even control a servant? He would not be ridiculed and made such a fool of! The thought made his blood boil. And Nikolai’s icy indifference, as if unaware, or more accurately, uncaring of the entire situation, like it was beneath him, was almost enough to drive the boy mad.

  Argan wouldn’t stand for this. No. He was to be respected. Adored and feared! Not to be ignored! With that thought, the Crown Prince strode forward, intent on grabbing the insolent servant and throwing him back to the floor where he belonged. The traitor was following the wrong master! He curled his fists, ready to lunge forward.

  SLAP!

  That sound echoed through the hall like the crack of a whip.

  Stunned, the boy staggered back, gawking at Nikolai. The crown prince clutched his stinging cheek.

  The Lord of Feldgrau shook out his hand. The entire court’s jaws dropped at the sight. The Ice Prince was entirely unbothered… as if slapping the Crown Prince was an annoying chore. He shot the younger a vaguely irritated stare, not unlike the one you give a yapping dog.

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  Argan’s features contorted with rage. He stormed forward, nostrils flaring. The boy jabbed a finger at his brother’s chest, breath ragged from the blaring anger. He was slightly shorter than the older and had to look up slightly.

  “I am the Crown Prince,” Argan snarled. “You have no right-!”

  He never finished his sentence.

  Nikolai moved faster than a striking serpent. His hand shot out, and an iron-tight grip clamped around Argan’s collar.

  He yanked the boy forward.

  “This is a warning, little brother.” His voice was low, but beneath it simmered something lethal. His blue eyes darkened with something that promised to deliver on its threats. “If you ever touch my people again, I don’t care if you’re the king… I’ll skin you myself.”

  With that, he threw the Crown Prince back.

  Argan stumbled at the unexpected force, just barely catching himself from falling on his backside. But the damage was done. Shock flickered across his face. His mouth opened and closed like he couldn’t believe what had just happened. The barely concealed malice was the first true hint that the Ice Prince was capable of feeling. For all his indifference, his carefully crafted expression, the man had shown what was hidden beneath the ice. The court murmured nervously. That sight was not one they wanted repeated.

  Clenching his fists, Argan spat, "You're nothing, Nikolai. Not a prince. Not a lord. You're a fool. A stupid fool!" He gestured wildly around the room at their stunned audience. "And everyone knows it!"

  With that, the Crown Prince spun on his heel and stormed off. They could practically see the mixture of fury and shame that rolled off of his tense frame.

  As he passed, the court averted their eyes in respect. When they noticed that the king himself had been silent throughout the entire exchange, they followed his lead and pretended that they too had seen nothing. Following the Crown Prince’s abrupt exit, conversations resumed as if the outburst had never happened. The pleasantries and idle conversation filled the air with a forced cheeriness, aided by the clinking of goblets and the calls for toasts to whatever suited their own needs.

  Cristin huffed a soft sound of amusement. But he choked on his laugh as he felt the furious presence storming towards them. “We have company, my lord.”

  Nikolai turned, facing the queen’s burning glare head-on. Her contorted face was so filled with hate that it was an ugly sight. The woman's lips curled back in a snarl. “You dare embarrass my son like that?”

  “I was merely educating my brother,” he responded evenly.

  Her eyes bled with rage as she stalked forward, looking close to slapping Nikolai herself. It was only the king’s watchful eyes that held her hand back. She stood so close that he could practically feel the heat of her anger, but the lord just stared indifferently at her. Not the least bit intimidated.

  “The king gave me permission,” he offered monotonously, not betraying a single hint of concern.

  “I am the queen!” Rewanna seethed. “And Argan is to be king one day. Have you no fear?”

  For the first time, the Lord of Feldgrau’s lips twitched involuntarily. Nikolai let out a sharp, unexpected bark of laughter.

  Rewanna stilled at the noise. Taken aback.

  He regarded her with an expression akin to disbelief. “Last I checked, the king’s word outranks both the queen and her son.”

  Rewanna’s eyes narrowed. “Argan is the crown prince," she sneered.

  Nikolai shrugged, "As was my elder brother."

  The woman’s eye twitched, and she burst forward. “I am the queen!” she hissed.

  The Lord of Feldgrau sneered, “As was my mother.” His eyes flashed as his mask of indifference fell back into place. “And look at us now, Stepmother. How fast things can change. How easy it is to lose everything.”

  The queen let out an outraged laugh. “Is that a threat, lord?”

  “Mother,” he started, tone almost indulgent, “You misunderstand me.”

  “Do not call me that,” she snapped angrily. “You lost that right when you humiliated your own brother. And need I remind you, a threat to the queen is treason!”

  “Very well, Your Majesty,” Nikolai pushed down an irritated sigh. He had hoped to avoid this conversation so soon, but it seemed the queen needed a reminder. “This is no threat… merely an observation of how fragile the power you hold truly is.”

  He ignored her pointed glare and reminded lightly, “All it would take is one word to Father and your son would no longer be crown prince." The young man paused, letting his words sink in. "Don’t forget that.”

  With a polite nod to the queen, the Lord of Feldgrau turned on his heel and walked away. His attendant trailed dutifully behind him. The Ice Prince’s exit was as effortless as his arrival. So

  Queen Rewanna curled her fingers, and her entire frame shook. Slowly, a dark smirk curled at the edges of her sinister expression. “You think you’re so smart, Lord of Feldgrau.”

  Picking up her dress, the queen stalked towards the royal table.

  Soon, it would be time for the announcements. The thought made her smirk widen like a grinning beast.

  —

  The lord and the attendant strode through the halls outside of the main banquet rooms. Their unhurried pace was a stark contrast to the tension still lingering behind them. Pushing open the gilded doors, they headed for the balcony. The cool night breeze beckoned them. Stepping out into the fresh air, they gazed at the view overlooking the capital.

  The lanterns in the streets were small dots of colorful light that filled the night air with something almost magical. Even from the balcony, they could hear the cheers of the common people as the festivities raged on and musicians and performers rattled off musical numbers and acts, each more extravagant than the last. In the corners, thespians stood atop makeshift stages, reenacting grand battles from the Great War, indulgently performing to the crowd’s eager cheers.

  As soon as they were alone, Cristin let out an all-suffering sigh. Without hesitation, he shook the lord’s shoulder furiously. “Where were you?” he demanded, voice an octave higher than usual. The man began his rant in full as if he’d been drafting it all evening. “Do you have any idea how bad that would have been if the king hadn’t shown up? The entire situation was….”

  Nikolai nodded mutely, but the bored look on his face betrayed his true feelings. The familiar reprimands were like a hailstorm: sharp, cold, and seemingly unending. The lord let the words fill the air, letting them float in through one ear and out the other. Although he truly valued his attendant’s usual insight, it was easier to let the man vent when he got into one of his protective moods.

  Meanwhile, the attendant’s exasperation only grew. His hands flailed dramatically as he re-enacted the scene with the Crown Prince before Nikolai’s entrance, complete with exaggerated expressions and sweeping motions.

  Nikolai yawned widely, he blinked owlishly at the babbling attendant. The other was so lost in his own storytelling, he hadn’t even noticed.

  Still, he was relieved he had arrived when he did. Reporting to his father’s chambers first had been a risk that paid off. The worry gnawed at him, though. His father looked far worse than the reports had suggested. The king’s time was running out. Whether it was through natural forces or nefarious means, it was clear that the man’s reign was coming close to an end. And Argan’s reckless stupidity only confirmed Nikolai’s fears.

  It was obvious from the nobles’ deference to the boy that Rewanna’s influence and control over the court had grown exponentially during the king’s absence. Their plan was easy to follow. She and her supporters intended to install Argan as the king by the year’s end as soon as the boy turned sixteen.

  A foolish plan. Even if the boy was suitable, he would be no more than a puppet, too naive and dependent to ever break from their support.

  Fortunately, Nikolai had another heir in mind. Someone with the strength to outwit the greedy court and lead their kingdom with justice and fairness. In comparison to that mighty task, his role was small. All Nikolai needed was to ensure that everything fell into place.

  The Lord of Feldgrau stared at the outline of the capital. His eyes glimmered against the reflection of the shimmering lights.

  It had been years since he last stood here, watching the kingdom in celebration. The capital had seemed so large and mighty then. It had been incomprehensible that the glowing city was only a fragment of their kingdom. Now, with his knowledge of what extended beyond the small bubble of light, the land and people who lay beyond their walled borders, it all seemed so small and contained.

  As a boy, he had often sneaked to this very balcony, drawn away from the muted sounds and incessant glamor of the royal celebrations, more interested in watching the festivities below. The winding streets filled with dancing and gatherings were familiar. It was almost like greeting an old friend. He could still remember the delicious scent of sugary pastries. The lord could almost taste the warm, buttery sweetness of the bread sold in the streets. The memory alone made his mouth water.

  “Cristin,” he interrupted, cutting cleanly through the other man’s mid-rant.

  The attendant paused at the sudden seriousness in the lord’s tone. His instincts sharpened as he glanced around cautiously. “What is it? Did you see something?”

  Nikolai made a small gesture for him to lean in. Subtly, the attendant did so. The lord insisted, closer. The attendant obeyed without hesitation, his ear practically pressing against the lord’s face.

  “Go fetch me some sweet-butter bread,” Nikolai’s expression shut off as he pushed Cristin upright.

  The attendant stared at his lord in confusion. Was that a code word for something? He blinked uncomprehendingly.

  “At once, Cristin.”

  The attendant gawked at his liege in sheer confusion… and slight worry. He searched the lord’s face for any sign of a hidden meaning, some obscure strategy or secret order. But the lord merely stared back, his expression calm and utterly serious. The man really wanted his butter bread.

  Before Cristin could formulate a coherent response, a soft voice interrupted their silent exchange.

  “Niko? Is that you?”

  Both men turned sharply.

  Standing before them was an elegant noblewoman, bathed in the gentle glow of the moonlight. Her skin was flawless as if carved from soft porcelain. The smile she offered was small, but the way it graced her face would have made for a breathtaking portrait. Her hair fell in an elegant cascade around her face, framing her high cheekbones. The woman’s long lashes fluttered as she blinked in surprise. Her smile blossomed like a sweet, summer rose.

  “Asinara,” The lord’s voice was soft, tinged with a rare note of surprise. It was clear he hadn’t expected to see her here.

  The woman’s smile grew as she nodded lightly. Her soothing presence radiated warmth despite the cool night air.

  The Lord of Feldgrau stood frozen, staring at his childhood crush, who stood before him. The years had only enhanced her girlish charm into feminine beauty as strode towards them, exuding an air of elegance. He could do little more than watch, caught off guard by the sudden, quiet intensity of the moment.

  A voice suddenly echoed in his mind, bright and brash. “Surely, there is someone you wish to marry and make your lady, as well?” The words pierced through him, and his chest warmed.

  Cristin quietly stepped back, observing the way the two slowly drifted together, lost to their own private world. He felt like an intruder, disturbing a private moment. Turning away to give them privacy, he spoke to the air, announcing grandly. “I think I will go get that bread.” As he shuffled past, the attendant nudged his lord and whispered eagerly. “Go get her!”

  Nikolai shot him a short, annoyed glare. But the reaction was enough to send Cristin into a mischievous chuckle. With a quick, almost imperceptible bow, the attendant smirked and walked back into the hall. He closed the balcony door quietly, leaving the two of them alone.

  The two childhood friends stared at each other. There was a time when they had known each other well enough to communicate with silent stares. As they stood in the quiet night, the years of absence seemed more obvious than before as the weight of unspoken words hung between them.

  “Niko,” came the quiet murmur. Her voice lifted with something hopeful. “You’ve returned.”

  —

  The Wenge delegation approached the king and queen. Their blood-red attire and uniform black emblems commanded attention. Silver chains filled with diamonds and rubies adorned their neck, but their surprisingly light steps caused heads to turn.

  The nobles instinctively shied away and quieted, fading into hushed whispers as their eyes darted toward one another nervously.

  Noticing their arrival, the queen tapped her husband’s shoulders. “My king.”

  The man lifted his mirthful gaze, turning from a joking conversation with a minister. He shifted towards her. Following her nod, his attention landed on the delegation. As soon as he recognized them, the joy in his eyes faded into a guarded look. His focus zeroed in on the figure wearing a golden mask. They swaggered forward with the confidence of a warlord, giving the royal family just barely enough respect to not be called out for.

  The king’s eyes lingered on the raven feathers carved into the gold and the dagger-sharp beak. They were the only ones not donned entirely in red and black, but their regal blue attire seemed more like a ceremonial uniform than a festival garment.

  The king stood, his gaze assessing, and strode down the podium toward the Raven General. He scanned the stranger up and down. They were smaller than expected. Narrow shoulders and lean muscles made for a stark contrast compared to the war-mongering god the stories made them out to be. “So, you’re Fadye’s heir?” he asked gruffly.

  The Raven General gave a short nod. They stood shorter than the king, but there was an undeniable strength in their posture, a quiet pride that the king couldn’t help but respect. The general had the stance of a seasoned warrior, one that the king recognized immediately. His brows furrowed as his eyes drifted toward the legendary sword hanging by the general’s side. The Raven General was a damn good leader too.

  The older ministers were more hesitant to show their disdain for the delegation as easily as their younger counterparts. The Raven General was formidable on the battlefield certainly… But they were more than a mere envoy, they came to the capital as a representative, bearing the title of Fadye’s chosen heir. To think someone so young could lead their tribe back from the brink of extinction.

  The wiser ones were reminded of another promising youth… a certain recently returned Lord of Feldgrau.

  “Welcome, friends from Wenge.” With a heavy sigh, the king lifted his goblet into the air. “To new beginnings,” he said, his tone laced with an equal mix of resignation and recognition. He gestured toward the table opposite the royal one. “Rewanna, please lead our guests to their seats. Let them enjoy some decent food for once,” he laughed at his own joke.

  Like a looming shadow, the Raven General and the delegation trailed after the queen, looking just as reluctant as their neighbors.

  The queen, playing the part of the gracious hostess, flashed a bright smile at them. As she led them towards their seats, she motioned for the servants to step forward. “Anything you desire will be brought to you. Please, enjoy.”

  All eyes followed the esteemed guests, a wave of hushed whispers rippling through the crowd. So, the rumors were true! There really were Wenge warriors in the city, and by invitation of the royal family, no less!

  As the row of Wenge delegates took their seats, the Raven General stood silently until one of their own attendants pulled the seat out for them to sit.

  One of the delegates, voice thick with a foreign accent, explained, “The general will use Wenge servants tonight.” They offered no further explanation, settling into the unsettling quiet that followed.

  The Wenge servant beside the Raven General remained standing, stoic and unmoving. Their stiff posture and dark expression would have seemed more natural on the face of a loyal sentry.

  The queen forced a smile at the weird custom. “Very well,” she clasped her hands together “General, surely, there is no need for the mask? It must be uncomfortable to wear it for so long.”

  Only the general’s lips were visible, and they pursed in disapproval. With a flick of their fingers, one of the other delegates swiftly interjected, “The general is representing Chief Faye and all of Wenge. Removing the mask would be a grave offense until the new treaty has been announced.”

  “Enough of that,” the king lifted his gaze, catching on to the way the entire delegation had stiffened. He waved a hand towards Rewanna. “You’ve said your piece, so quit bothering them, woman. Come join your children at the table.”

  When she looked ready to protest, he added sharply, “Do you not see how they reach for the knives instead of forks? Enough of this insistence, Rewanna.”

  The queen recoiled at the words. Her eyes darted towards the other table, only to pale at the fact most of the delegation had lost their polite expressions and were indeed reaching for the sharper cutlery. Her face was colored with shame. “Of course,” she stammered out. Queen Rewanna smiled thinly as she moved back to the royal table. “Enjoy your meals, sirs.”

  Her retreat was swift, but her mind churned with thoughts of the mysterious delegation. The queen’s fists clenched. It seemed the Wenge would not be easily controlled. The queen smoothed out her expression. It didn’t matter, they would serve their purpose in the end.

  Once seated, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and settled into her place beside her eldest son. “Crown Prince,” she greeted.

  “Mother,” he grunted in response. Argan’s gaze lingered on the women around the room, servants and noblewomen alike. At the end of the table sat the queen’s two youngest sons, Aynor and Leinor. Their tiny faces were lit with mischief. At just eight years old, they were already known as the beloved troublemakers. In the eyes of the people, they were a blessing from the gods. Their innocence and charm captivated all who saw them.

  The king looked around. His brows furrowed as his expression twisted with concern. “Where is Nikolai?” He beckoned one of the guards to his side. “Go call the prince in, the banquet is about to begin.”

  Rewanna sneered at the title change, but her sinister glee won over the slight sting to her pride. Prince or not, Nikolai’s doom would be just as satisfying.

  Queen Rewanna smiled. Her gloved hands clenched together tightly. But this time it was not out of restraint, but excitement. Soon, she would be Queen Dowager and her son would sit on the throne of Eburean. Her eyes drifted over to the foreign delegation and their statue-like leader, the heir of Fadye.

  The stoic leader had not touched a single bite of food. Their perfectly arranged plate went untouched as the general twitched slightly as if sensing the expectant gaze.

  Averting her eyes, the queen lifted her goblet to cover her smirk. Rewanna’s plan was all but assured now. And it all depended on the mighty Raven General to set everything into motion.