The King's Spinster Bride, (Royal Wedding #1)(2)

But the Yshremi have lost every battle against the cyclops. And now they are on our doorstep, and I am filled with fear.

“Princess,” Lady Tamira retakes her chair next to mine, and her face is white with fear. “They have broken through the gates. Shall we go into hiding?”

I swallow hard and force myself to do another calm stitch. “No. My father’s troops will handle it.” I can’t retreat. To do so would show that I have no faith in my father to defeat his enemies. If word of that got out, we would be attacked from all sides even if we were to repel the cyclops invaders. It does not matter. Fight one enemy or fight all of them.

I notice Mathior comes to my side. For such a small boy, he’s remarkably observant and acts far older than he is. He watches me with dark eyes as I do my best to continue my embroidery even though my hands are shaking. After a moment, he puts a hand on my shoulder. “It’s all right, Halla. My father’s going to win this day, but I will tell him of your bravery.”

I look at him in surprise, at his tanned face and dark eyes, the long, wild hair decorated with feathers and fur. Even though he has been with my people for nearly a month, he refuses to dress like a courtier and prefers to seem a barbarian.

“How dare you!” Lady Tamira exclaims, rushing forward to snatch young Mathior’s hand from my shoulder. “First of all, she is Princess Halla to you. And you are not allowed to touch her!” She sniffs indignantly at the thought.

“But I am a prince,” Mathior says, his expression growing childishly stubborn. “Why can’t I talk to her as if she’s my equal?”

“Because you are a barbarian,” Tamira hisses. She holds her skirts out as if blocking him from my view, and my lips twitch with amusement when Mathior simply crosses his eyes at her. “Your people are strange and crude and are not fit to lick the princess’s shoes.”

“Lady Tamira,” I begin again, ready to correct her.

Before I can, Mathior speaks up. “It is your people who are the strange ones,” Mathior says. “Mine are warriors.” He holds himself up proudly to his full seven-year-old height. “And by the end of this day, you will be bowing to me.”

My lady-in-waiting squawks indignantly, but before I can step in, the door to my private chambers flies open. The royal guard rushes in, accompanied by Lord Balun, one of my father’s close friends and advisors. I jump to my feet, forgetting to be ladylike and calm. Balun’s clothes are streaked with blood and his eyes are wild. He scans the room and at the sight of Mathior, points a dagger. “There he is, men. Grab the little heathen.”

I suspected this might happen, and that is why the barbarian prisoner is in my apartments this day, with my ladies. I calmly step in front of Mathior, as if this is nothing out of the ordinary, and give Lord Balun a cool look. “What are you doing? Who gave you permission to enter my chambers?”

“Forgiveness, Princess,” he tells me breathlessly even as I shift and hide the cyclops boy behind my skirts. His hands clutch at them and I can feel his small form tremble behind me, for all that he’s never shown fear before. It reminds me that he is still very much a young child, nine years younger than me. It might as well be a lifetime. Balun straightens, his face pale. “We are lost, Princess. The Cyclops king Alistair has broken through our defenses and slaughtered your father and his guard. They are overtaking the castle.” His voice breaks on a sob. “They cut him down like he was nothing! Like he was filth!” His nostrils flare and an inhuman look crosses his face. “Give me the boy. We can avenge your father and make Alistair pay, but we must be quick.”

I stand there in shock. His words hit me like crossbow bolts. Father dead. The castle lost. The cyclops warriors have won. Our kingdom will be ground beneath the heel of a barbarian usurper.

I want to be strong and decisive. To be the queen they need. “My father is dead?” I whisper brokenly.

I feel Mathior’s small hand clasp mine. He gives me a squeeze, as if comforting me.

Balun nods, grief and rage written on his features. Behind him, the royal guard are restless but also tormented by their failure. They do not lie to me. They have tears in their eyes, all of these men. Their king is dead and they have failed him.

“Give me the boy,” Balun says again. “We can have vengeance for your father. We will cut his throat and throw his body from the battlements to show Alistair that we are unbroken—“

“No.”

Lord Balun looks astonished at my refusal. His face darkens and he takes a menacing step forward, moving far too close to me for comfort. My ladies, who are not trained to be more than companions, retreat. I stand my ground and hold Mathior behind me. “Give me the boy,” he says again. “This is a man’s matter, not a woman’s. You do not know of war. You did not see your father’s death under their spears—“

“My father is dead,” I say crisply, and even though I am screaming inside, I sound cool and efficient. “And your response is to kill a small boy who should not have been stolen in the first place? We are a kingdom of light and learning. That is a cowardly move and we are better than that.”

I sound strong, even if my knees are weak.

“Kill him or be put to the sword yourself, Princess. Do you think the cyclops will have mercy on you? The daughter of their enemy? They will cut you down,” he snarls in my face, so close that I can feel his spittle fleck my skin.