Amaskan's Blood, Raven Oak [read me a book .TXT] 📗

The bed’s location was a problem. Pushed against the wall with a chest at the foot left her only one direction to flee in a fight, and chances were that would drive her straight into the sword of an attacker. Bookshelves were pushed out of the way and not a concern, but the desk faced the wall, leaving her back exposed to the door and only means of entrance.

There was room to work with, too much in fact. Adelei removed her cloak and left it folded on the bed. Free to work, she spun the desk around to face the door until it rested perpendicular to the wall. The two mostly empty bookshelves could be moved behind the desk and against the rear wall, but their heavy mahogany resisted the stone floor, and they remained in place.

When someone knocked on her door, she stubbed her booted toe on one of the bed legs, and a guard opened the door to find her leaning over the desk cursing. His mouth fell open, and she schooled her expression into one of boredom. Adelei returned his stare and said nothing.

He retreated quickly and shut the door behind him none-too-gently. A few words were spoken outside the room. No doubt muttering about the crazy person tearing her room apart.

Continuing the task of liberating herself from a poorly designed room, she dragged the chest closer to the door and pushed the bed until it was centered along the front wall. Only the bed’s headboard was against a surface, giving her three means of retreat. Anyone who entered was going to look to the rear wall first, expecting that to be the bed’s location and giving her the chance to fight or flee before she was seen.

“There,” she said. Sweaty but satisfied, she sat cross-legged on the bed and used her sleeve to wipe the sweat from her face.

The expected knock at the door still startled her, and she rose in a rolling motion. She expected a guard come to escort her to the King, but her heart knocked against her chest at the possibility of Tribor. When the door opened, the guard she’d expected was not the face she met—instead, a face similar to her own, yet older and weathered by pain lay before her, the royal circlet across his brow.

Her father.

He was both what she expected and what she had not—royalty and finery, yet a pallor to his skin that spoke of illness. Recent illness.

King Leon filled the doorway with his tall frame and searched her face. The King battled the father in his eyes; she could see it in the twitch of his hand and tenseness of his jaw. The father wished to wrap her in a hug as if that could erase the distance between them. Fifteen years of distance. His arms shook at his side, and he halted the lift that would have led to outstretched arms.

The King, however, knew the moment would wait. A deep baritone filled the space between them. “Master Adelei, I would welcome you formally but would rather do so after the enemy hand has been stopped. I would discuss your purpose here with you.”

The guard behind him relaxed and stepped back, giving the King room to close the door. Before it shut, she noted the curiosity in the guard’s face. Bodyguards didn’t typically sleep in former Princess’s bedchambers, and the guardsman knew it. She needed to spread the word around as to her purpose here, maybe even sleep on the floor outside Her Highness’s bedchamber.

Keeping this in mind, she angled for light conversation. “I would offer you a chair, Your Majesty, but mine is sorely in need of repair,” she said, gesturing toward the three-and-a-half-legged stool. She executed a formal bow and kept her head down until his hand touched her shoulder. While she expected the touch, it surprised her as foggy memories swept over her of his hand doing just that, many times before as she “played” princess at court.

“Iliana—”

The whisper of the name made it all the more powerful. She rose from her bow and held up a hand to silence him. Then Adelei pointed at the door and cupped her hand around her ear to mime listening. King Leon nodded, and she returned to the bed where she folded herself into a seated position with ease. “Your Majesty, Master Bredych sent me here at your request to guard the life of your daughter. I assume I’m to attend the wedding to protect Her Highness from these assassination attempts. I’ll check the castle’s security and do some of my own investigating, with your permission of course.”

“My people and the people of Shad will know their future Queen is well-guarded by the b-best in the Little Dozen.” He stumbled over the word as if it were soured. “We are honored to have you here and–and wish to know if you have been to Alexander before? You speak our language very well.”

For a moment, she stared at him, unsure. He knew who she was—or did he? Then her father slowly winked one eye. “I was here before, as a child, though I was too little to remember the… visit. But I was taught several languages as part of my training.”

His throat bobbed and several tears trickled down his flushed face. He approached her then, touching a gentle hand to her damp cheek, wet despite her own volition not to feel anything for the man before her. The man who abandoned her for dead. But he had believed he’d made the best choice by sending her away. A choice made out of love for his child. Would Bredych have done any different?

Her master’s name lanced her heart of compassion, and she couldn’t return her father’s smile, though she allowed him the touch before she said, “While I have visited here with my father, he sent me away long ago for a peace treaty. I grew up in the Order