Ever the Brave (A Clash of Kingdoms Novel)(38)

“I only said this sort of thing wouldn’t be a problem if Britta had accepted the king’s offer.” Gillian’s gaze glosses with longing. Whatever the king offered must’ve been as tempting as a crown of rubies.

“Offer?” My hand stills on the goose.

“Nothing,” Britta says at the same time Gillian reverently murmurs, “King Aodren invited her to live at the castle.”

My face feels stretched thin for how far my brows shoot up. “Is—is that what you want?”

“It was nothing.” Britta glares at Gillian and drops into the seat nearest me. “He offered after . . . after what happened in the woods. It was a safety measure.”

Right. I pluck and pluck. Feathers float to the floor, filling in around my feet like blood-stained snow.

When I glance up, the crinkled skin around Britta’s eyes tells me there’s more.

It’s impossible to keep the frown off my face. “Anything else happen with the king?”

Britta pushes her food to the side. “Before Aodren—”

“Aodren?” My hand tightens around the damn goose’s neck.

“Before King Aodren was in the woods, he stopped here. To bring the dresses. And he invited me to—”

“Dresses,” Gillian echoes with a squeal. She crosses to the bedroom door, pushes it open, and points at the heap of color filling the chair beside the bed. Then she lets out one more eeek.

“Dresses,” I mutter to myself.

I’ve been away six weeks, and now Britta’s calling the king by his given name and he’s delivering dresses. I push the goose aside. Though I was hungry as a bear waking from hibernation, the few bites of pottage I’ve eaten in between plucking turns to stones in my stomach.

Nothing about the king giving gifts to Britta sits right with me. Still, I manage a tight smile. “Won’t make good hunting wear, but you’ll look pretty. Then again, you look good in just about anything.”

She rolls her eyes. “It was just his way of saying thank you. It’s nothing, really.”

He’s a fool. Britta couldn’t care less about gowns.

Gillian flounces back to the table. “They’re for the king’s Winter Feast Ball, where she’ll be presented as nobility.” The handmaid’s singsong gushy words strike like an ax right to my core. I don’t understand the man’s intentions toward Britta. Realizing he’s got some agenda makes me feel off-kilter.

The glare Britta shoots Gillian’s way sends the maid for the door. “Looks like we’ll need another bucket of water.”

The door shuts, and for a moment neither Britta nor I speak.

I’m dazed, like someone just punched me. Britta bites her lip, making them blossom red against her snowy skin. Seeds, she’s beautiful. “Aod—King Aodren said Papa was nobility. That I should be given the same title.”

“That what you want?”

“I—I told him I’d go.”

Sounds ridiculous coming from the girl who wanted nothing to do with anyone in Malam, let alone noble lords and ladies. I finish plucking the goose bare. Feathers fill the basket. Cover the floor. I move onto the next bird, drag it from the boiling bath with a long spoon, and throw the third in the water.

I don’t want to ask if there’s more, but I’m a jealous runaway horse, plowing straight for a cliff: “How many gifts is he going to give you?”

She glares at me. “He can afford a hundred cloaks. A thousand dresses. A few gifts mean little to him, just a way of thanking me. How can I say no? He’s the king.”

I snatch the third goose from the bath. Return it to the table. Drop the fowl with a thwack, splattering hot, stinking water. One hand pins the goose down; the other pulls and plucks, pulls and plucks.

The warmth of her grip on my wrist breaks my thoughts.

“The bird’s already dead, Cohen.” Her soft voice jars my riled mood, putting the room in clearer focus. Feathers and the pink residue of diluted blood coat my hands.

I drag in a slow breath. I promised her honesty after she forgave me for keeping secrets from her in Shaerdan. Resolved to it, I speak my mind: “Just seems like he wants something from you.”

Her chin jerks up, a scoff parting her lips and hurt shading her voice. “You think the king would only show me kindness to get something in return?”

“That’s not what I—”

Her blue eyes narrow. “Because obviously I have nothing else worthy to give. What else could he possibly want from someone like me?” The hurt turns harsh. “Someone with no family, no friends, no money. No skill, other than hunting?”

I growl at the plaster above. “Dammit. No, I don’t think that.”

She stirs her soup vigorously.

I shove away from the table and walk to the cleaning water to dip my hands. Once they’re free of grime, I squat beside her chair. “Come on, Dove. You’re smart, kind, true. Beautiful, bloody capable with a bow, and tougher than any girl I’ve ever met. You have much to offer.”

Her gaze stays down, targeting her lap.

“All I’m saying is the king showed his thanks when he overlooked you being a Channeler. You saved his life, and he spared yours.”

Her grip tightens around the curve of the bowl.

I should stop. Work on the birds and keep my mouth shut. Only, I think of King Aodren showering my girl with gifts, and it hits me hard between the ribs. It’s a pretty trap for a girl who’s grown up with nothing. Gillian’s already fallen for the idea.