Ever the Brave (A Clash of Kingdoms Novel)(18)

His fingers run over the chair’s arms, dipping into the carved wood and gliding out. “How many others have your trust?”

I frown, puzzled by the path the conversation’s taking. “I . . . I don’t know.”

“Truly? There cannot be many—”

“Is that an insult? I did just save your life.” I lean my weight onto my right leg, needing the pressure of my dagger against my ankle.

“No . . . I . . .” His face goes tomato red. “I didn’t mean any offense.” He presses his lips shut. “Forgive me. I’m grateful for what you did today. I know there was nothing to be done for my men. But without you, I’d likely be dead.”

The cadence of his speech is choppy, as if he’s inexperienced at giving apologies. Which is probably true, considering he’s the king. It makes me appreciate the truthful warmth and rarity of his words.

“Three,” I admit. “There are only three who have my trust.”

“And they are?”

I shake my head.

He pauses, perhaps taken aback by my refusal. Even his hands stop tracing the carved wood. “Fair enough. We have that in common.”

A question starts to form on my lips.

“We do not trust many.” He’s careful in the way he delivers each word. “I wanted you to know that you are one of the few on my list.”

I blink, warmth crawling from my belly to my toes to the top of my head. I’m not sure whether to be flattered or to call him a fool.

“You have saved me twice now. I trust you with my life. But not just that—I also want you to trust me, Britta. I heard what the Spiriter said to you. You are her daughter.”

I was wondering when he might bring that up. “It—it seems so.”

He draws in a slow breath. “Did she say why she’s after me? What her plans are?”

I shake my head. “Only that she used you to lure me there.”

Understanding dawns, widening his green eyes. He clears his throat. “Our connection?”

My nod is met with his frown.

“How long will we be this way?” He stands, stepping away from the ostentatious chair, coming closer to me.

“I wish I knew.”

His feet stop. “She offered to teach you.” There’s a hint of a question. Does he think I’m tempted?

“I want nothing to do with her. She’s a murderer.”

“I’m sorry. Today’s meeting must’ve been a shock for you.”

“That’s an understatement.”

A smile cracks his stoic face. He runs his hands one at a time along the sleeve of his overcoat. “We cannot choose our parents, can we? Only who we become.” It seems like the strangest thing for the king of Malam to say to me, and yet it’s the most comforting thing he could say.

“I offer you a suite in the castle, to stay in as long as you’d like, for your own safety. However, I don’t expect you to accept. I know you are partial to your land. If you choose to return to your cottage, I’d like to assign guards to you. Considering Phelia is nearby, you’ll need to stay vigilant.”

“Rozen,” I correct. And when he squints, I explain, “Her real name is Rozen.”

His mouth shifts into a small O of understanding. “I’ll pass that information along to Omar.”

Anxiety spikes through me. “You won’t tell him she’s my mother, will you?”

“I was planning on it, but if you don’t want me to, I suppose I can keep that information for now. Regardless of what she’s to be called, she’s wanted for murder now. Captain Omar won’t stop until he catches her. Though, he’ll likely have to know sooner than later.”

“Just for now.”

“For now, Britta.”

The soft pause he gives my name tongue-ties me and pushes me into the ineptitude I’ve always felt while trying to pilot a conversation. “Um, no thank you for the room at the castle or the guard. I’m capable of taking care of myself. I’d rather not have men posted around my cottage. If that’s all, I should get—”

“I insist on the guards. At least until we know the woods nearby your home are safe.”

“You can have men search the woods and watch my land from the border. That should be enough.”

Brows raised, he steps back to rest a hand on the edge of the ornate wood. “Not many people would come in here and negotiate with me. But your request, though not my preference, is reasonable. I’ll talk to my men.”

What do I say to that? I don’t want to press my luck, so I remain silent.

“We’ll meet again in two weeks’ time?”

Two weeks?

Bludger. The king’s Royal Winter Feast Ball.

“Right, the ball.”

He grins, momentarily stunning me with a flash of genuine happiness. It’s disarming, causing me to nearly walk into the door. I mutter goodbye and, with a small awkward wave, leave before he can say anything more, or before I can make a fool of myself.

Leif falls into step with me once I’m out of the room. He walks with me down a spiral staircase, through the east corridor, past the Great Hall, under the arcading, and through the gate. In the outer yard, billows of steam puff from the blacksmith’s shop like smoke from a dragon’s nose. Our steps part the hot cloud, giving us a brief break from the chill in the air.