The Winter King
Page 44
The moment her feet touched the frozen ground, however, she half wished she’d stayed in the carriage. All around her, as far as her eyes could see, mile after mile of what had once been verdant farmland lay barren and fallow beneath thick layers of snow and ice. The husks of unharvested crops stood like tattered skeletons in the abandoned fields, a grim reminder of Wynter’s devastating march of conquest. Khamsin drew a deep breath of the chill, brisk air and forced back the feelings of sadness that threatened to swamp her. The war was over. Summerlea would bloom once more. Her marriage had ensured that.
Even if that marriage cost her her life.
Bella nodded to a nearby cornfield. “If you want a little privacy, ma’am, that cornfield there looks like the best we’re likely to get here.”
“Privac—?” Kham broke off. Down the line, a number of soldiers were heading off into the fields. “Oh.” She felt her cheeks grow hot. “Er . . . no, Bella, I’m fine. I’ll wait until we reach a posting inn.”
“That will be a long wait,” a male voice declared from behind.
Khamsin spun around, half-expecting to find Wynter there. Her shoulders sagged with something that felt alarmingly like disappointment when she realized the speaker was the White King’s Steward of Troops instead.
“Armies don’t stop at posting inns,” he explained. He watched her carefully, his blue eyes darker than Wynter’s, but just as piercing.
Heat flushed her cheeks. Of course armies didn’t stop at posting inns. What had she been thinking? Armies were, by necessity, self-sufficient when it came to travel. With thousands of men and horses in the column, it would take every posting inn in a very large city to serve them.
Wonderful, Khamsin. Now, he thinks you’re an empty-headed fool. Not that he’d held her in much esteem to begin with, she was sure. She doubted he’d forgotten who gave him that bluish bruise darkening his jaw. She only hoped he didn’t hold grudges as bitterly as his king.
So, there would be no convenient posting inn. She cast a considering glance over her shoulder at the cornfield. Though pride insisted she forge bravely through whatever obstacles came her way, just the sight of the snow-covered stalks made her shudder. No, it was out of the question. Maybe later, when she was desperate, but not now. And definitely not with the White King’s steward looking on.
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “I’ll just stretch my legs a bit before we get going again.”
The steward’s expression didn’t change one whit. “As you wish.” He bowed, a brief, curt folding of his body. “My name is Valik. If you need anything, just ask for me.”
“Thank you . . .” She hesitated. What had the palace servants called him? Sir? Lord? “Lord Valik,” she finished, just to be safe. Better to honor him with a title greater than was his due than insult him with a lesser one. From what she’d observed over the years, nobles would duel over the slightest perceived insult to their vaunted lineages.
Valik turned his head slightly and snapped out a brief command. Six armored men jumped to attention. “These men will guard you while you walk,” he said.
“A guard isn’t necessary,” Khamsin said. “We won’t be going far.”
“They will guard you all the same. The war may be over, but the peace has barely begun,” he explained before she could protest again. “Wynter would kill us all if we took chances with your safety.”
Because he wanted the pleasure of killing her himself at year’s end?
Kham caught the caustic retort before it left her tongue. It wouldn’t do to tip her hand. When the time came, she intended to ask Wynter Atrialan to his face. She’d have a better chance of getting a genuine reaction from him if the question came as a surprise.
“Very well,” she answered instead. “I thank you for the consideration.” She turned away and curled a hand around Bella’s arm. “Come, Bella, let’s walk.”
Much to her own irritation, Khamsin tired quickly. Within ten minutes, her knees started going wobbly, and she gave in to Bella’s badgering and headed back for the coach. There, the young maid insisted on bringing Khamsin a bowl of stew, a hunk of cheese, and a little fresh fruit, but the sight of the food only threatened to further unsettle her travel-tossed stomach. She barely managed a few bites of stew and cheese and one segment of orange before pushing the plate away.
“You need to eat, Your Highness,” Bella murmured. “You need to keep up your strength.”
“Perhaps later.” Kham pressed a hand over her face. “I think I’ll just lie down and try to sleep a little more before we get started again. Please, just help me undo my laces—and leave the curtains up. The sun isn’t very strong, but it’s still better than nothing.”
Khamsin stretched out facedown on the cushioned carriage seat while Bella unlaced the back of Kham’s gown and pushed the fabric aside to bare her battered skin.
“Shall I put a little more of Mistress Greenleaf’s cream on your wounds, ma’am?”
“No, it’s been less than an hour since the last time. Leave it for now.” She pulled a fringed and tasseled velvet pillow under her cheek and gave a small sigh. Without the constant jolting, the carriage seat seemed a much softer and more welcoming sleeping couch. Weariness washed over her in a sudden wave, and her eyes closed. Despite the light of the winter gray sky shining through her closed eyelids, sleep descended with unexpected speed.
Even if that marriage cost her her life.
Bella nodded to a nearby cornfield. “If you want a little privacy, ma’am, that cornfield there looks like the best we’re likely to get here.”
“Privac—?” Kham broke off. Down the line, a number of soldiers were heading off into the fields. “Oh.” She felt her cheeks grow hot. “Er . . . no, Bella, I’m fine. I’ll wait until we reach a posting inn.”
“That will be a long wait,” a male voice declared from behind.
Khamsin spun around, half-expecting to find Wynter there. Her shoulders sagged with something that felt alarmingly like disappointment when she realized the speaker was the White King’s Steward of Troops instead.
“Armies don’t stop at posting inns,” he explained. He watched her carefully, his blue eyes darker than Wynter’s, but just as piercing.
Heat flushed her cheeks. Of course armies didn’t stop at posting inns. What had she been thinking? Armies were, by necessity, self-sufficient when it came to travel. With thousands of men and horses in the column, it would take every posting inn in a very large city to serve them.
Wonderful, Khamsin. Now, he thinks you’re an empty-headed fool. Not that he’d held her in much esteem to begin with, she was sure. She doubted he’d forgotten who gave him that bluish bruise darkening his jaw. She only hoped he didn’t hold grudges as bitterly as his king.
So, there would be no convenient posting inn. She cast a considering glance over her shoulder at the cornfield. Though pride insisted she forge bravely through whatever obstacles came her way, just the sight of the snow-covered stalks made her shudder. No, it was out of the question. Maybe later, when she was desperate, but not now. And definitely not with the White King’s steward looking on.
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “I’ll just stretch my legs a bit before we get going again.”
The steward’s expression didn’t change one whit. “As you wish.” He bowed, a brief, curt folding of his body. “My name is Valik. If you need anything, just ask for me.”
“Thank you . . .” She hesitated. What had the palace servants called him? Sir? Lord? “Lord Valik,” she finished, just to be safe. Better to honor him with a title greater than was his due than insult him with a lesser one. From what she’d observed over the years, nobles would duel over the slightest perceived insult to their vaunted lineages.
Valik turned his head slightly and snapped out a brief command. Six armored men jumped to attention. “These men will guard you while you walk,” he said.
“A guard isn’t necessary,” Khamsin said. “We won’t be going far.”
“They will guard you all the same. The war may be over, but the peace has barely begun,” he explained before she could protest again. “Wynter would kill us all if we took chances with your safety.”
Because he wanted the pleasure of killing her himself at year’s end?
Kham caught the caustic retort before it left her tongue. It wouldn’t do to tip her hand. When the time came, she intended to ask Wynter Atrialan to his face. She’d have a better chance of getting a genuine reaction from him if the question came as a surprise.
“Very well,” she answered instead. “I thank you for the consideration.” She turned away and curled a hand around Bella’s arm. “Come, Bella, let’s walk.”
Much to her own irritation, Khamsin tired quickly. Within ten minutes, her knees started going wobbly, and she gave in to Bella’s badgering and headed back for the coach. There, the young maid insisted on bringing Khamsin a bowl of stew, a hunk of cheese, and a little fresh fruit, but the sight of the food only threatened to further unsettle her travel-tossed stomach. She barely managed a few bites of stew and cheese and one segment of orange before pushing the plate away.
“You need to eat, Your Highness,” Bella murmured. “You need to keep up your strength.”
“Perhaps later.” Kham pressed a hand over her face. “I think I’ll just lie down and try to sleep a little more before we get started again. Please, just help me undo my laces—and leave the curtains up. The sun isn’t very strong, but it’s still better than nothing.”
Khamsin stretched out facedown on the cushioned carriage seat while Bella unlaced the back of Kham’s gown and pushed the fabric aside to bare her battered skin.
“Shall I put a little more of Mistress Greenleaf’s cream on your wounds, ma’am?”
“No, it’s been less than an hour since the last time. Leave it for now.” She pulled a fringed and tasseled velvet pillow under her cheek and gave a small sigh. Without the constant jolting, the carriage seat seemed a much softer and more welcoming sleeping couch. Weariness washed over her in a sudden wave, and her eyes closed. Despite the light of the winter gray sky shining through her closed eyelids, sleep descended with unexpected speed.
