A Queen Named Victory

Chapter Fourteen

I should have known better than to believe he wanted me. I was not blind to the signs of being Grendel's pawn, but it stung that he only married me to get out of an arranged marriage. He knew from the beginning that I did not want to marry Skegg. He reminded me that I would never match his pace. He took two steps forward when I took one step back.

"A guest seeks your council," Sabre intruded on my lamentations.

She pulled open curtains, blinding me with light. "This is depressing," she commented with crossed arms and a fanged scowl.

"Is eh Montver's greafest mound of shet?" I mumbled beneath my blankets and furs without the intention of readying myself. Grendel was the last person in Montver I wanted to consult.

"Stop being dramatic," she said bluntly.

"It's Tolkniat's Princess."

I erupted from my bundle of sleeping furs. Sabre chastised me for releasing my attendants of their duties as I scrambled around the room for proper attire. She used her full force to tighten the skirt straps at my hips while I shimmied into a simple cotton top. I tossed the customary white veil over my head as I ran out of the room with Sabre close behind.

Ochre, the sole heir of Tolkniat, awaited in the castle garden. She kneeled beside a wilting rosemary bush, unaware of my arrival. She gently caressed the dirt as if it were a tearful child. Small rays of light penetrated the hardened soil as she incited her magic, bringing life to the herb bush. Its once wilted branches blossomed with tiny clusters of healthy flowers.

Grendel made the worst decision for his nation by discarding an arranged marriage to Tolkniat's princess. Ochre's abilities to coax life from uninhabitable soil with a single touch surpassed his magic. Montver desperately needed a woman like Ochre on its side.

"You're remarkably talented," I said while I kneeled beside her.

"Oh, not at all. It only needed some sunlight." She halted when she turned to me. Suddenly, Ochre flew to the floor in a fit of apologies and fearful sobs for mercy. She genuinely believed I would send her to prison for using magic on a herb bush without permission. I rested my hand on her shoulder and talked to her the way I had when my brother woke from his nightmares.

"Ochre, Princess of Tolkniat, be at ease. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Forgive me for speaking without thinking. Holy Mother blesses you, Queen Sigrid of Montver. Daughter of Ylva, and wife to Grendel of Hebbe."

"You need not worry about the formalities."

Dimikyrian royal etiquette was a nuisance to remember and an even more annoying custom to practice during a conversation. She sat up and readjusted her veil. Ochre spoke timidly until she apologized for the most minute mistakes. Every other sentence included the words "I'm so sorry" and destructive phrases about herself. If only she had the same confidence in herself as she had in her magic.

"I would like to apologize to you for our unfortunate introduction. I am truly sorry that we dishonored you, Ochre." I kneeled at her feet and bowed low until my forehead touched the floor.

My words could not undo the damage I inflicted by stealing Grendel from her. I could not fix her reputation after both kings squandered it in front of an elite crowd. Nor could I reverse the trauma from her father's actions. I looked up when I realized the droplets were not raindrops but were Ocher's tears.

"I-I'm sorry. I-I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Ochre. I pray you may forgive us."

"I'm sorry for apologizing. Ah."

She awkwardly corrected herself for apologizing again. Ochre retreated within herself. She stood rigidly beside me, consumed by worrisome thoughts. I sighed, finally understanding. She would not have survived in Montverian court without his constant protection and oversight. His nobles would have ripped her into pieces within a day. She remained in an unwavering state of fear and wholeheartedly believed the worst about herself.

"May I offer you a contract?" I asked abruptly during our stroll into the ornate garden.

Ocher paused hesitantly. She had little experience with exchanging conversations, so she just nodded. Montver needed her within the mountain walls. Her light captured life. While Grendel's magic replicated sunlight, it lacked Ocher's warm touch. We could not afford to overlook her potential.

"I-I-I can't be a court mage," she stuttered while she picked at her fingernails.

"My father—"

"His opinion does not matter here," I reassured her.

She had full reign in Montver to pursue whichever occupation she wished without her father's permission as long as she had mine. I rested a hand over hers and said smoothly, "You are free to accept or decline my offer." She looked down at the floor.

"I want your decision to be yours and yours alone."

"T-thank you."

Saber interrupted with a message, "The king issued a formal request for your appearance."

"I decline."

"You can't deny this time, Sigrid. It is the day of the full moon."

Damn him.

We sat alone at a long table. Empty chairs lined the edges. Servants placed large serving bowls of steaming wild rice beside plates lined with shredded pork and fried Grayling fillets. They arranged small cups of detestable sauces besides the meat. I avoided their sauces like the plague because I seared my tongue when I first tried it.

In general, I avoided any cardinal-colored dish because it was bound to rip my asshole to pieces the following evening. Grendel seemed immune to the heat and enjoyed slathering his already spicy meals with more sauces. He tore a thin flour flatbread apart and used it to scoop shredded pork from his plate, dipped it in his liquid fire, and ate in silence.

He appeared unbothered by our most recent turn of events. This was also the first time I completely covered myself from head to toe in his company. He was a stranger to me from the beginning, but I got too comfortable to let my guard down.

"You don't have to wear it when we're alone," he finally spoke.

I pushed rice grains around on my plate but refused to eat. My stomach argued against it, but my stubbornness persisted. It was the one valuable trait my father passed down to me.

"I made an offer for a new court mage. Montver will prosper if she excepts."

"We need to talk—"

"It's a bit too late for that, is it not?" I barged in on his statement. Grendel's hair color shifted into the dimness of a stormy sea as soon as he heard my tone.

"I upheld my end of the bargain. I will see you again on the next full moon as agreed."

"Sigrid, wait. I owe you an apology."

I turned my back on him. My father often used the same tactics on my mother, but he never improved. I did not have the energy to comfort his pride the way my mother forgave my father's flaws.

That cycle ended with me.

"Farewell, King of Montver."

"Sigrid," he said as he motioned his hands in surrender.

"Please, don't leave yet. I'll show you the truth."

The grand Dimikyrian king pleaded with a sincerity in his voice that I never encountered before. I slowly pulled my hands from his grasp before leaving the room.