The Cogsmith's Daughter (Desertera #1)(61)
“I…” Aya bit her lip, searching for a believable lie. “I thought I recognized a friend. But it’s so difficult to see from up here. I suppose it wasn’t her.”
King Archon smiled. “Forget about her. Try to focus on the present.”
“Of course.” Aya closed her eyes and took a deep breath, knowing the king’s advice wise for both situations. King Archon slid the hand on her back around to her side and pulled her onward to Sternville. They walked in silence to the southernmost point of the palace. After touring the palace, the shabby tents and rundown hovels of Sternville looked even sadder than she remembered. Aya quickly spotted her hovel, one of the more house-like structures in the dusty village.
“Can you see where you lived in Sternville?” King Archon leaned down to align himself with Aya’s line of sight.
Her breathing hitched. “Yes.”
“Show me.”
Aya shook her head. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but I won’t. I wouldn’t want you to think of me there.”
Or make inquiries and figure out the truth.
King Archon stood, patting Aya’s hand. “You must know by now that I would never think less of you because of your humble origins.”
Yes, because, for a poor lass, I sure would make a fine breeder.
“I do know that, Your Majesty.” Aya sighed. “But you must know by now that I am grateful and anxious to bury the memories of my life in Sternville in its dust.”
King Archon pressed his lips together. “Very well. On to better sights, then?”
“Please.”
Once again, the king kept ahold of Aya as he led her to the final village of Desertera. Starboardshire looked just as Aya remembered from her first visit to the palace—artisan-crafted, wooden homes surrounded by wildflower pastures spotted with sleek horses. Aya bit her tongue to avoid saying anything out of character. Starboardshire was gorgeous, disgustingly so. The acid of envy pooled in her gut.
“How do you like the view from this side of the palace?” King Archon’s chest puffed up, as if he were personally responsible for every green blade of grass between the houses.
Aya barely concealed a scoff. “It is the most aesthetically pleasing of the villages, that is for sure.”
“You do not sound as enraptured as I expected.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Your Majesty. Starboardshire is clearly the most beautiful village and by far the cleanest.” Aya paused, knitting her brows together. “However, I feel like it lacks the character of the others. It is almost too perfect.”
King Archon took Aya’s hand in his. “Miss Aya, if there is one thing you will learn in your palace life, it is that nothing can ever be too perfect.”
Aya saw it in his face: the arrogance, the self-awareness, the boldness. The king’s head tilted slightly, and she knew he was going to try to kiss her. But she couldn’t stand it. Not yet. Not after seeing her father’s shop and the hovel she shared with Dellwyn—not when her stomach churned with jealousy and indignation.
“But don’t you ever get sick of it?”
King Archon straightened himself and tugged his beard as some men might tug a jacket to realign themselves. “What is there to tire of? We have everything we could ever want in Starboardshire and the palace.”
“Yes, I realize that.” Aya waved her hand over Starboardshire. “But, this life—the gossip, the monitoring of the bloodlines, the always having to impress one another and exist without a single hair out of place—is it not tiring to you? I’ve only been here a few days, and I’m already exhausted.”
The king leaned over and squinted at Aya, as if she were speaking one of the forgotten foreign languages. He crossed his arms over his chest, then he gazed out over Starboardshire. “Well,” he finally began, “I suppose I would rather be mentally drained from keeping pace with noble politics than physically drained from a life of labor.”
Aya shrugged one shoulder. She had to admit, she did prefer an unwanted conversation with a man she hated to an unwanted bedding from a man she didn’t know. Of course, that could have been because she knew the satisfaction from the end of this game would be so much sweeter.
“I suppose that is fair. I guess I miss the authenticity of the poor classes. When people don’t have what they need to survive, they don’t have the time to put on masks. You know exactly who everyone is and what everyone is thinking.”
King Archon shook his head. “I believe you are not giving your people enough credit, Aya. Maybe they put on a mask of honesty to hide their vanity, the way we put on vanity to hide our honesty.”
For once, Aya actually took in the depth of King Archon’s words. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Now those are words I never thought I would hear escape your lips.” King Archon laughed and took her arm again. “Come, let us eat.”
Aya took a final glance at Starboardshire over her shoulder. Maybe the king was right. Maybe the nobles of the east and the Sternville peasants of the south weren’t so different after all.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
King Archon led Aya to the center of the palace’s deck, where a table for two had been arranged between the two center smokestacks. The greenhouse stood nearby, a few yards outside of the smokestacks’ shadows, but this time, Aya did not have to wonder about the fruits inside. As they moved closer to the table, King Archon weaved to avoid part of the deck, and Aya glanced down at a wide pane of thick glass on his other side. She realized it must lead to the ballroom or courtroom beneath, and she shuddered as her mind calculated the distance to the floor below.