The Last Dragon King (Kings of Avalier #1)(16)

I pulled the knife from the wood and slid it back into my sheath before joining Kendal at the end of the table.

I noticed she was sitting right across from the king, and from the way she was blabbing on she had no idea. He kept his deep hood up, obscuring his face, and listened to her as she jabbered on about the raids we’d had this year and how dreadful it was the king did nothing about them.

I grinned, enjoying this very much as I pulled out the only empty chair left. It was at the head of the table, next to Kendal and the king. I peered at Drae Valdren, or attempted to, as his face was shrouded.

“It’s almost like the king doesn’t even consider Cinder his lands. He certainly doesn’t protect us as he does the other territories,” I said, agreeing with Kendal.

The king’s entire body stiffened and I had to fight a grin.

“Of course we don’t blame you. You just do as he says,” Kendal told him, and then turned to the guard next to her and asked him about horseback riding.

The king leaned forward on his elbows to get closer to me and I stiffened, swallowing hard to wet my throat.

“The king sent his most elite Royal Guard to look for a wife in Cinder Village. If that doesn’t show a love of the people of Cinder, I don’t know what does,” he declared.

I narrowed my eyes at him and leaned forward as well. “A love of the people of Cinder? How about visiting us every once in a while? The king never comes, and we know it’s because the ashes of Cinder are too dirty for his privileged boots.”

The table fell silent. I wanted to drown myself in mead. Where was this hostility coming from? He’d lost his wife and child only a winter ago and I was being a total witch. But it was true. Cinder was the dirty, poor, least desirable portion of Embergate, and he never came.

“Do you know what is required of the people of Cinder to host the visiting king?” he asked me coldly.

My heart hammered in my chest and I regretted starting this conversation. The other guards were softly talking, but I also knew many were listening on.

I shook my head.

“The streets must be lined with fresh flowers. Fresh breads, fruits, meats, and cheeses must be offered to him and his entire Royal Guard. A private bathhouse must be emptied and made ready. An inn with an entire floor just for him. The people must greet him by bringing him gifts and lavish him with praise. For the king to visit a poor village like Cinder would be selfish. It would empty their reserves and harden their hearts to him.”

I hadn’t moved, hadn’t breathed while he spoke.

That’s why he stayed outside the walls? He didn’t want anyone to know that it was him so they wouldn’t be obligated by centuries-old rules to welcome him in an extravagant way?

I wanted to die.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, hanging my head low with shame.

The saloon doors swung open then and the barmaid entered with a huge pot of stew and a pile of bowls.

“Alright, loves, fresh rabbit stew for the road weary.” She set the giant pot down and then waved her hand over it. A burst of fire erupted from her palm, heating up the stew, and I watched in fascination. Only a day’s journey away from Cinder Village and already I could see the common people here had more magic than we did.

As she started to serve us, I couldn’t help but mull over what the king had said. How many people in Cinder thought the king hated our little village, when in reality he’d spared us an inconvenience this entire time?

Still, he could help with the raids.

The stew was wonderful but I couldn’t really enjoy it. Not fully. Not while the entire time I could feel the man in the hood’s eyes on me with every bite I took. The Drayken drank and ate and talked boisterously, while Kendal and I kept quiet and to ourselves. Regina had to shush them several times when their stories became “unappetizing for a lady’s company.” In truth, I didn’t mind the gory hunting stories or recalling attacks from times past, but Kendal did. She grabbed her stomach and winced as if it made her ill.

“So your father carries dragon magic, Kendal?” the king asked her from behind his hood. She was starting to watch him with a quizzical eye, no doubt wondering why he didn’t even take his hood down to eat.

“Yes. He can create a small fireball at will, and works with the Cinder Village Reserve Army to fight the raiders in the springtime,” she said proudly. Her soup had gotten cold a moment ago, and she’d used her one trick of being able to conjure flame from her palm to warm it and look cool.

I couldn’t even do that.

Her father was arguably the most magically powerful person in our village, aside from Mr. Korban, who was a quarter elf and had some healing abilities. Kendal’s father could create and throw fireballs, which had saved us from bad raider attacks in the past—he was also a horrible drunk. No man was of any use passed out on the floor of the tavern, no matter how powerful he was. But I wouldn’t say that. This was Kendal’s moment to brag about her influential family lineage, and I would allow her to have it.

Meanwhile, I was the magical dud who ate cold stew.

“That’s wonderful,” the king said, as if pleased that she was powerful enough to possibly give him a child.

He then looked at me. “And which side of the family does your magic come from?”

I paled, every muscle in my body going stiff. I obviously couldn’t tell him that the woman who birthed me was a pure-blooded dragon highborn.