CHAPTER 51

CHAPTER 51

AUREN

After we get back toBrackhill, we find the others have already returned, since apparently, Slade had the driver take us the long way.

Not the first time he’s done that with me. He definitely took me the long way on our journey to Fifth Kingdom.

Bright side, I didn’t have to explain my current state of disarray. No amount of finger-combing or trying to act natural was going to fix my mussed hair or the burnished blush on my cheeks.

I washed up, taking the longest, warmest bath I could, and came out smelling like jasmine and honeycombs. After, Slade sat me in front of the seat by the window and brushed my hair in soft, languorous motions.

It made me want to curl up and purr.

Now, with a simple braid down my back and a few tendrils loose around my face, I choose one of the dresses we bought while we were out in the city. It might not be tailored directly to my size, but it fits, and the color reminds me of thunderclouds.

I slip it on over my head, the square neck showing just a hint of cleavage, the shirred ruffle material stretched around my breasts. Just below, the skirt gathers in ashen layers dragged down past my ankles, the sleeves just a sparse bit of sheer folds hanging from the tops of my shoulders. It’s simple but pretty, and it’s a hell of a lot more comfortable than any of the dresses I had to wear in Fifth Kingdom.

Slade comes striding out of the closet, fingers doing up the button at his wrist. His long-sleeved shirt is black as usual, but with thick brown strands threaded at the shoulder seams, and bicone brass buttons trimmed down the front. The shirt is tucked into black pants that hug his groin and thighs very nicely. With boots and the formal jacket he pulls on, he looks intimidating and sexy, his hair still slightly damp from his own wash-up.

His gaze casts down my figure and back up again, and he comes over to slip an arm around my waist and pull me close. His lips press against the top of my head. “You look beautiful.”

“So do you,” I say as he pulls away.

Digging into his pocket, he pulls out the dainty bracelet he bought from the market and slips it onto my wrist. “You should gild this as soon as you can,” he tells me.

“Why?” I ask curiously, finger running over the dark gemstone.

“You can’t create new gold in the night, but you can still call to it. I always want you to have some on you so you can protect yourself.”

I smile. “Smart.”

He curls a strand of my hair around his finger and then tugs it gently, gaze searching my face. “Are you ready for this dinner?”

My fingers twist together. Not really, but Slade and I discussed at length how we’re going to handle Manu when certain topics arise. Still, it’s nerve-wracking, especially knowing what they want.

Instead of voicing those concerns, I say, “I’ve been a fixture in the backgrounds of many political talks.”

“But you won’t be a fixture, and you won’t be in the background. You’ll be at my side.”

That fact both intimidates me and encourages me.

“What do you think Manu will say?”

Slade shrugs. “He’s advisor to his sister. Everything he says tonight will be his political strives to strengthen Kaila’s position. It’ll be interesting to see what angle they choose to play.”

“They’re summoning me to a Conflux. I’d say their angle is that they hate me.”

“Hate has nothing to do with it,” Slade replies. “When it comes to the games the monarchs in this world play—me included—it’s about strategy. There are no feelings involved, it’s just about power. How to get it, how to keep it, how to attain more of it. And most of all, how to make sure others don’t have more power than them.”

“Like the rumor of me stealing Midas’s magic,” I muse.

“Indeed.”

“These political schemes are exhausting.”

“They can be,” he says. “But being a king was the only way I could ensure protection of Deadwell, and taking over Fifth Kingdom wasn’t viable at the time. Plus, I hate the cold.”

I snort.

“Shall we?” he asks, holding out his arm.

I grab the new elbow-length gloves from the foot of the bed and pull them on before I slip my hand into the crook of his arm.

Together, we leave his rooms, my free hand skimming the curved railing as we begin our descent to the bottom floor. The flat soles of my shoes pad silently across the tile as we go across the entryway and head for the back of the castle, the space tightening into a corridor. Dark wood wainscoting stretches halfway up the walls, each one carved into a perfectly symmetrical square and clasped with leafy wallpaper above it.

Slade leads me past the iron wall piece at my left, the metal formed into a twisted tree, its roots stretched down as if disappearing into the paneled wood.

“Sire.” The guard standing watch at a doorway nods at Slade as we approach.

“Has the ambassador from Third come down yet?”

The guard shakes his head. “Not yet, Your Majesty. He’s still in his rooms.”

“Good.”

The door is swiftly opened for us, and the dining room holds the same wainscoting, though the wallpaper in here is deep green, spliced by tall, pointed windows. My eyes immediately lift to the wooden chandelier hanging in the center of the room. It stretches at least ten feet across, looking like the crown of a tree was cut off and flipped upside-down. A polished stump is suspended from the ceiling, its branches perched out like the perfect canopy. Every inch of the wood has been smoothed, long since stripped of its leaves and bark, leaving the raw wood beneath with its rings and knots. Hanging from the branches are little lanterns no bigger than my hand, at least four dozen of them hanging at different lengths, casting warm light on the table below.

Seated at the dining table are three people whose voices dim at our arrival, but then when their heads lift and they see who’s come in, chairs are pushed out, smiles spreading over their faces.

“You’re back,” a deep baritone voice greets.

Slade grins as a man stands up to meet us. He has dark brown skin and rich sepia eyes that are crinkled at the sides with his smile. There’s a dusting of silver strands in his shortly shorn hair, and he’s wearing a similar outfit to Slade.

“Good to see you, Warken.”

The man claps Slade on the shoulder. “You too. We’d started to think you finally decided to duck out and hang up your crown for good.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Slade replies with a grin. “You know you’d all do a far better job than me.”

“For politics, yes, but your threat of rot is effective,” a feminine voice says.

The woman who was sitting next to Warken strides over, the warm undertones of her dark complexion glowing beautifully in the lantern light, her ruby red dress cinched over her full-figured body and swishing at her feet. The tresses of her hair are coils of curls that brush against her shoulders, silver and black blended together.

“We heard you already decided to sneak off into the city before you’d even come to say hello,” she says with affectionate reprimand, just before she gives Slade a hug.

“Wanted to drag it out a little bit longer,” he replies.

The third person from the table comes over too, but this woman is much younger, her face the spitting image of the older woman, though perfectly smoothed with youth, the apples of her cheeks filled with a vibrant bronzed glow. She’s curvaceous and beautiful, with the same kind of warmth about her as the other woman.

“It’s about time,” she teases as she comes up, just as her umber eyes flick to me with curiosity.

Slade turns back to face me. “Everyone, this is Auren, as I told you in my letters. Auren, this is Warken and Isalee Streah, and their daughter, Barley. Warken and Isalee are my Premiers. They’re always in charge of the kingdom while I’m away. They act as the sole guardians of Fourth and ensure everything is taken care of in my absence...and in my presence,” he adds with a smirk. “They’re far better rulers than I am. I may sit on the throne, but they do all the leg work.”

“Only because he hates it,” Warken says with a chuckle. “Doesn’t have the knack for politics and proper procedures. That’s where we come in.”

Slade shrugs, not denying it in the least.

“It’s very nice to meet you all,” I tell them with a smile.

“Great Divine, you’re even more beautiful than he described,” Isalee, the older woman, says as she comes forward. Her delicate hands grip mine as she beams at me.

“Described?” I ask, flicking my eyes over at him.

“He said gold was his new favorite color,” she says with a grin. “I can see why.”

My cheeks heat.

“It’s a nice shift from rot brown and mold green,” Barley quips.

A snort escapes me, and then Isalee moves over for Warken to take my hand. “If you get sick of this one, we have two sons,” he tells me with a mischievous sparkle in his eye.

“Father,” Barley says with a roll of her eyes. “You can’t keep trying to marry my brothers off every time you meet someone new.”

Warken sighs. “I’m going to be dead in a grave before any of you have babies.”

“You’re only fifty. You’re fine,” she retorts. “Besides, Dis prefers men most of the time, and he’s always busy at the brewery.”

My eyes widen. “Wait a minute...” I look between them, thoughts clicking into place as I remember something.

My family owns a brewery back in Fourth. But I got off easy. My older brother is named Distill. Unlucky, that. But we’re both a bit jealous of our sister, Barley. She’s got the best name of the lot.

“You’re related to Keg!” I blurt out with excitement. Now that it’s clicked, I can see the family resemblance, though he takes more after his father—I can see it in their eyes.

“You know our son?” Isalee asks, affection clear in her tone.

“When I asked about his name, he said you owned a brewery.” My eyes dart to Keg’s sister. “He said you got the best name out of the three of you.”

They all laugh, Barley smiling with a hint of satisfaction. “That’s because I did.”

“Their father named them,” Isalee says, rolling her eyes but sending a fond smile to her husband.

Warken just rolls back on his heels, completely pleased with himself. “My family has owned the brewery for generations. Thought it would be fitting.”

“You also own the most land in Fourth. And run the most successful spice trade. Plus the bathhouses. And the water mills. Could’ve named us after any of those,” Barley says. “Not that I’m complaining, because I did get the best name.”

He waves her off. “The brewery is my favorite.” Leaning in closer to me, he says, “It’s very lucrative.”

“Wark,” his wife cuts in. “It’s not polite to talk about money.”

My lips tip up. “I’m gold. It’s really fine.”

Warken laughs. “Ah, I like you,” he says, wagging a finger at me. “So, tell me, how is our Keg doing? Did you know he was supposed to come into politics with the rest of the family?”

“Yes, and he didn’t. He was the smart one of the bunch,” Barley says dryly.

Warken cuts a thumb over to Slade. “He joined this man’s army instead, deciding that instead of making power plays and writing up delegations, he’d rather cook.”

“Well...his slop was very good,” I joke. “Best cook in the army, if you ask me.”

“So you two met properly?” Isalee asks.

I nod. “Yes. He was very nice to me, right from the start. And he fed me, so he was an instant favorite.”

“Well, let’s get you fed with us too,” she replies warmly. “We have some things to tide us over before the dinner formally starts.” Her dark eyes shift to Slade. “And we should speak before Third’s advisor arrives.”

All of us go to the table, where Slade pulls out a chair for me right beside him. Warken, Isalee, and Barley all sit across from us, leaving the seat at the head of the table open.

“Shouldn’t you be sitting there?” I say to Slade as he takes a seat beside me.

“I’d much rather sit next to you,” he says with a wink.

“He also likes to play mind games,” Warken chuckles. “Placing Manu there is a good way to do something unexpected and put him on the spot a bit more.”

The table is a thick slab of wood, so dark it’s nearly black, the edges left raw, showing off the grains and irregular trim. There are already small plates laid out, along with polished silverware and wooden goblets, and Slade quickly serves me some fresh bread and wine before serving himself.

Once we’re situated and I’ve already taken my first bite, Slade looks across to them. “Alright. Lay it all out.”

Isalee sets her own cup down with a nod. “Since you left with the army to travel to Fifth, we’ve made sure the outpost at Cliffhelm was repaired and the soldiers there relieved. Of course, when the supply shipment didn’t arrive, we made sure to send over a backup cargo that should be getting there within the week. Then as you know, we had new recruits for the army that are in the training camp in Farncroft.”

“Good,” Slade says. “And the mines?”

It’s Warken who answers. “They’ve hit another very productive pocket three weeks ago. We’ve been making sure to work it, refreshing the laborers there too, keeping morale up with pay increases as they work the fissures to extract the oil.”

“And the north mountains?”

“Ahead of schedule on the mineral deposits—that vein has been incredibly easy to extract. We’ve been having it worked quickly in order to prepare for possible conflicts with the other kingdoms,” Warken explains, his hand rubbing over his chin thoughtfully. “So our reserves are up. We have plenty of funds to do what needs to be done with weapons and new armory and food stores.”

“But therein lies the problem,” Barley adds, cutting her eyes up to Slade. “We just got word from another one of our ports. Our imports have slowed.”

“From where?”

“Third Kingdom.”

Beside me, Slade’s body stiffens. “How many shipments have arrived?”

Barley shares a look with her mother before replying. “Three.”

He physically jerks back. “Three?” His eyes skate across the table. “How can that be? I know you sent word that the supply shipment for Cliffhelm seemed to have some foul play when it went missing, but this...”

“Best we can tell,” Warken begins, his face grim, “is that this is no longer an isolated incident. It’s no longer shipment sabotage. Third Kingdom seems to have slowed our imports drastically.”

Slade’s fist closes around his butter knife like he’s envisioning stabbing someone in the eye with it. “So that’s their play. We can mine all the rock and gems in the world to pay for the imports our kingdom needs, but it does nothing if the trade agreements in place aren’t going to be honored.”

My stomach sinks. “The three ships that did arrive—why didn’t they block those?” I ask.

“All three had been on extended journeys,” Isalee tells me. “One ship was nearly sunk in a storm, holed up at the edge of our territory awhile for repairs. The other two had been gone for weeks, dropping off and picking up along their trade route. We believe the only reason all three of them actually docked at our port was because they hadn’t been able to be reached to cut us off.”

“What was on the ships?” Slade asks.

“One had grain, another was salted meat, and another had fabrics.”

The table is quiet for a moment as Slade takes all of this in, and the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach grows and festers.

“So they’re cutting Fourth off,” I say quietly.

Warken nods solemnly.

The lines of power flail beneath the skin at Slade’s neck, tucking into the beard of his jaw. “Fucking bastards.”

“They’re playing the game,” Isalee says. “Queen Kaila is cunning, and she moves quickly. We knew her traveling to Fifth was a power play. She’s had to adjust. Now with what happened with King Midas and Prince Niven, she’s pushing the narrative that Fourth is harboring a traitor.”

I swallow hard. “Me.”

She tips her head.

“Just so you know, I didn’t steal Midas’s magic, and I’m not here to steal Slade’s.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry,” Warken tells me. “Slade doesn’t trust very many people, so when he does, we know that they’re trustworthy. That includes you.”

The compliment warms my chest, makes some of the anxiety melt from my shoulders.

“The other kingdoms are going to do their best to spread this version of you to the public, so we need to supply a different one,” Isalee tells me. “Which is why I think it was good for you to go into the city and be seen.”

“Exactly,” Barley adds. “Go out and show them that you’re not some devious woman. You’re the victim of King Midas, not the other way around. We need to push back on their other story, give the people the truth and a reason to band behind you.”

“You think that will work?” I ask cautiously.

“We’ve already started circulating it. If anything, it will give people cause to stop and think rather than just accept whatever is spoon-fed to them,” Isalee says.

I glance at Slade, giving a nod.

“In the meantime,” Isalee goes on, looking to Slade, “Queen Kaila is putting major pressure on Fourth to…encourage Lady Auren to attend the Conflux.”

“Strong move, considering we share a border,” Slade muses. “I have to say, I didn’t expect her to cut off imports. Third is usually too attached to the wealth our mines provide them. I assume you’ve already cut off our exports to them?”

“Of course,” Isalee says with a nod.

“But our reserves—they’re full?”

Barley finishes taking a drink from her cup. “Our stores are very healthy. We were preparing for a war with Fifth or Sixth Kingdom. With some adjustments, we can handle Third and the lack of their shipments.”

“Alright,” Slade replies. “The army should be arriving back in the capital soon, and when they do, we can offer a payout for those who volunteer to increase our own food production.” His eyes look between them. “You own the biggest portion of farmable land. Can you sell the kingdom your crops?”

“Already done,” Warken replies. “And if you send more laborers, we can get this year’s harvest sooner than usual.”

“Good. We will have the volunteers go to every border of Fourth. We may not have very much viable land for crops, but we can sure as hell fish—both here in the rivers and in the oceans.”

The three of them nod.

“It’s nearly time for the advisor to arrive for dinner,” Isalee points out. “And I for one am very interested to see how Third Kingdom plans to sway you.”

Slade’s expression hardens. “They can go to hell. I’m not sending Auren to a fucking Conflux.”

His snarled reply has the back of my neck prickling.

“Of course not,” she replies easily. “Let’s speak with him. I’m convinced there’s a way to politic and negotiate our way out of this that doesn’t lead to famine or war. We just need to find it.”

“Let’s hope so,” Slade says darkly, the roots spreading down to the backs of his hands like webs forming to ensnare. “For their sakes.”