Fifteen: I Meet the King

Whichever lucky young lady got to marry Valentin wouldn’t have to fear that he wouldn’t age well. All she’d have to do is take a look at Valentin’s father to see what her future would hold.

He was a handsome man, even in his late fifties, slim and fit as though he was still fighting battles. Most kings tended to get a bit rounder in their later years, eating and eating while they left the hard work to the younger generation.

But the king of Pansolum was different. I could tell he was another beast entirely with one look at him.

He sat straight in a throne carved of black marble, barely padded with a black cushion, at the head of the dimly lit throne room. He was on a raised dais, looking over a row of advisors and dukes and other nobles standing meekly below. A neatly trimmed salt and pepper beard framed his sharp jaw, dramatic eyebrows coming down sharply over beastly glinting green eyes – an exact match for Valentin’s. He wore robes of black and red silk, a leather belt hung with a knife sheath tied tightly about his waist.

When Valentin entered with me in hand, I felt Valentin’s steps slow unconsciously, like he was walking through syrup. The king, though certainly having heard the great gold-engraved double doors open, didn’t look at us. He kept his eyes lowered, one hand propping his head up at the temple.

I could tell a few things from this immediately upon entering the throne room.

Number one, Valentin’s daddy was not a warm and loving parent. He might not be outright physically abusive, but sometimes the worst parental abuse one could endure was dealt with words rather than fists. I could have guessed that already just from how everyone seemed to fear him, but seeing it in Valentin’s hesitation confirmed it completely.

Number two, the king was definitely a control freak to the utmost degree. Look at how rigid he was sitting, on a hard throne that he likely had to spend several hours a day on, listening to nobles whine and simper at him. Said nobles that were currently in the room were also deathly silent, not even daring to breathe too loudly. It was easy to imagine how often the king doled out punishment for rowdiness if they were this well-behaved in front of him.

‘In front of him’ being the key words there. The nobles of Pansolum were all arrogant and daring in much the same way that Ewan was, running rampant when they were out of the king’s sight, which the king certainly knew, but hadn’t done anything about.

And that, too, was on purpose. I didn’t presume to understand the thoughts of a king, but I could guess that the king allowed his court to act unruly outside to give them the illusion that they were in control of something, meanwhile, he had his fingers wrapped in all of their strings, giving a tug every now and then when he wanted to amuse himself watching them dance.

He knew every little dirty secret they kept, and he used that knowledge as necessary to keep them in line.

Which meant that if the king was somehow unaware of what kind of monster Ewan was, I would eat my shirt, because one glance was enough to know that this man didn’t make a play without knowing what everyone’s cards were.

There wasn’t a chance in hell that Valentin would have been able pass me off as a commoner who fell in love with the princess in front of him. The king probably knew who I was the moment he heard something went wrong on the princess’s date with Ewan, just like his son did.

So, in the end, it turns out Isabel was right. I should have never taken this job.

It was my own hubris, assuming I wouldn’t get caught. I should have never tangled with the royals in the first place.

But! I was nothing if not adaptable. The king needed me after all. My life was safe for now, so what was there to worry about, really?

Thinking this way, I was freed of any hint of fear the dismal throne room tried to instill in me, and my steps lightened to the point where it almost felt like I was the one dragging Valentin forward.

The nobles below the dais didn’t quite raise their heads to watch us approach, more so staring vigorously out of the corner of their eye, ravenous for any new bit of gossip to spread around.

…Which is exactly what the king wanted. What better way to spread the rumor that – gasp! – a lowly commoner impersonated a noble to court the princess than by having nobles themselves run around telling the tale? It was certainly much more believable coming from their mouths than from the mouths of nobodies.

“I apologize for the delay, father,” Valentin said stiffly, bowing his head. “I’ve brought forth Trevor Lyndsen, as requested.”

The king didn’t reply right away, apparently content to let the both of us sweat a little. Unfortunately for him, the only one of us that was sweating was Valentin. Literally, I could feel how slippery his hand was becoming on my arm, poor fellow.

I snuck a glance at the side of Valentin’s face and watched as his adam’s apple bobbed, swallowing hard. He was rather pale, too.

Well. What was I to do about this?

“Trevor Lyndsen,” the king drawled out finally, barely raising his eyes to scan me from above. His voice was low, coming from his core, easily filling the room without having to shout. “You’ve caused me quite a bit of trouble.”

I smiled brightly. “Certainly nothing your excellency can’t handle.”

One of the nobles to my left coughed like he’d choked on his own spit.

It was hard to tell how the king felt about my cheerful response, because much like his son, his face was stony, but one finger began lightly scratching at the arm of his throne. Contemplative, perhaps. Intrigued. Possibly a little pissed. Or maybe a combination of all three.

How thrilling.

“So, you want to marry my daughter,” the king said. “Clearly, your determination is quite formidable, to climb all the way here. Even going so far as to impersonate the son of one of my most trusted Marquises.”

“What can I say, your daughter has charmed me. Are we quite certain she’s not a descendant of the goddess Katrine?”

Katrine was a minor goddess worshipped in Pansolum. Considered the goddess of seduction and romance, many tales told of her taking on a feline form to follow men she took a liking to, observing their behavior before choosing to bring them into her harem. Many of the paintings and statues I’d seen of her depicted her as a lithe, beautiful woman with a sleek cat at her side, standing on its hind legs to paw at her skirts.

Guess what other creature stood on its hind legs like that? That’s right! The vicious mongoose!

The comparison to a goddess certainly wasn’t an insult – but for a father to hear a man say that his daughter was seductive wasn’t exactly pleasant to the ears. However, the king only raised an apathetic eyebrow. There were more coughs and mutters from the nobles.

Valentin’s fingers tightened harshly on my arm. In contrast to his detached father, Valentin’s sharp side eye said he very much did not appreciate the comparison.

The king tactfully ignored me. “Thus far, your crimes consist of not only impersonating a noble, but also interrupting a royal engagement, and most recently, attempting to escape royal custody. How do you plead?” He spared a disdainful glance for my now rumpled maid outfit.

“I plead insanity,” I said solemnly. Valentin blinked once then turned his head to me slowly, like he was restraining the urge to choke me. His nails dug into my arm.

The room fell silent, all of them looking at me oddly.