It had been ten weeks since Hala had been smuggled back to Mahsul. Weeks spent going over how Otlak may decide to retaliate should Bròn’s trickery fall through. Weeks spent going over how to handle it should the plan prevail. Somehow, that immortal had managed to become a familiar—and well liked—face in the palace. Namir never questioned his presence, if anything: he welcomed someone who would challenge his opinions. Asad, on the other hand, didn’t take so kindly to Bròn constantly questioning his older brother. I was apathetic, to say the least, considering my days were spent appeasing nobility who hadn’t fully pledged themselves to Mahsul, and making sure Hala was on the right path with her recovery. I had slept better than usual that day, when an envoy from Otlak came bursting through the King’s throne room with a solemn expression. Bròn stood in a half-hidden spot by a column closest to Namir, while I had been facing him discussing a certain courtier’s loyalty. Asad stood at Namir’s side on the throne, as I whipped around to find who had come through the room’s doors with such gaul.


    “Your Highness.” The envoy began, his eyes wide and begging for pity. He approached the dais with such caution, you’d think he was prey encroaching upon an apex predator. Each step up to the King was prolonged. The man was mortified to be the bearer of bad news. He swallowed heavily, Adam’s apple bobbing. I made room for him to kneel, and the soldier looked to me as if I had just finished preparing his guillotine.


    The envoy knelt slowly, offering a scroll to Namir. He kept his eyes on the floor, mortified of what may happen to him. There was dead silence as the King took the scroll, unfurling it slowly and deliberately, and began reading it. His face twitched slightly as he read, eyebrows raising higher and higher with each line his mind processed. He digested the words harshly, as his right hand fell limp, still clutching the papyrus. He withdrew his left from the letter to meet his eyes.


    “Asad…” He muttered, voice weak and quiet. Asad took the letter with haste, reading it himself. The monster of a man nearly crumpled to the floor, clutching the side of the throne to keep his knees from giving out beneath him. Bròn watched the men with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, as I reached for the letter. My eyes scanned the document, and I had to force myself to accept the letter’s contents as truth. With a heavy chest, I loosed a breath.


    “Do you realize what this means?” I asked the envoy as Asad placed a hand on Namir’s back. The King’s face was fully covered by his hands, his shoulders trembling.


    “Al’Namir Abyad, I assure you…had Lord Shahin known it would have turned out like this…” He stammered.


    “Don’t you understand?!” My voice boomed through the room. “Shahin is responsible for the death of the heir!”Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    The envoy shrank back, a scrawny man whose thin lips hardly covered his large teeth even when closed. I felt nothing but pure adrenaline.


    “He will pay for this!” I commanded. “Look at our King!” My hand flung towards Namir, still hunched in his throne as he shook.


    “Did your ruler not think to inform us, as her family and loyal subjects, of her decline in health?! Had he no mercy—no reverence for his ally?!” I asked.


    “Al’Namir Abyad…had Ja’Tavuk known…”


    The man could hardly find the words to cover his Lord’s hide. I both relished the moment and hated to betray him to believe such falsities. Al’Hala sat safely in her room; she was not dead, befallen by an unknown illness as the letter the envoy carried had read.


    “Ja’Tavuk will be held responsible for this!” I shouted, interrupting him. “All of Otlak will be paying dues for generations to come! Was Duke Shahin too much of a coward to deliver such news himself?!”


    He balked at my words, caught between the truth and the manipulation that Shahin had beguiled him to believe.


    “No, Al’Namir Abyad…he had matters to tend to…”


    Liar.


    “And how does he expect to aid Mahsul during this time?” I growled.


    “He…didn’t mention that…”


    Namir finally interjected, his voice raw with emotion—but dangerous as ever.


    “This man allows my daughter to die, and expects us to have no reparation?!” He exclaimed. The chandelier shook with his voice, the sheer bass being enough to rattle my bones. A shudder skittered down my spine at the tone he carried.


    “I gave him my daughter with great confidence that she’d be well fed, well taken care of, and offered a lap of luxury in an attempt to quell his upset over an assassination attempt—and this is how he returns my kindness?!” He shouted. The anger he’d been holding in since Hala’s return home had surfaced—the anger that could shatter a nation.


    “Your Highness, I promise you, Otlak will keep in contact…! We’ll mend this somehow…” The envoy replied, all but shaking in his boots.


    “I swear upon my grave, should this not be resolved in a timely manner—the kingdom of Otlak will cease to exist!” Namir snapped.


    The soldier looked like he was using every ounce of strength within him to nod his head, willing himself to stumble towards the door. He was too scared to speak by now, fearing for both his life and longevity of his nation. Otlak had become weak militarily over the last decade, not bothering to properly train their soldiers as they hadn’t had to step foot on a battlefield in over a decade. Other kingdoms did their work for them—Shahin’s forefathers had ensured that.


    Once the large doors to the throne room shut behind the man, the three of us met eyes again. We waited with baited breath until a guard of our own military, a beast of a man in comparison to Otlak’s envoy, came in and confirmed the envoy’s disembark. Bròn finally let out a dark, low laugh as smiles crept upon our faces.