Six of Ruin (Heirs of Irenwell #1) ✔

Chapter 2: Something Wicked This Way Comes

The great hall came alive once again once my brother left and the musicians continued to play. Pulling down my dress to reveal my cleavage, I snatched a flagon of wine and moved my hips from side to side as I pushed people away.

Ladies of all regions threw dirty looks under their decorated eyelashes, their lips pursing, their eyes narrowing, their tiny palms squeezing the hems of rustling, over the top dresses. Lords longed after me; my bouncing breasts probably caused a stirring in their pants after decades of stillness.

Well, of course, their wives were proper and boring, shrunk down to pathetic gossip and deciding on a dress they might wear.

Bastians stood in the corner, sulking, mostly, hidden behind their steel chest palates, one hand always near the swords on their hips. Springs in Irenwell were warm, and underneath their armour, it must be scorching.

They dropped on their knees the moment I approached, slightly startled. Ah, nothing like a bunch of men on their knees in front of you.

Plastering a charming smile on my lips, I plopped on the chair in the middle of them, "Bored?"

A couple of coughs, stirring and confused stares followed my question, until one man, slightly smaller than the rest but still significantly bigger than anyone in Irenwell, answered, "Your Grace, should you be here without a chaperone?"

I waved away and crossed my legs, "My chaperone quit. She couldn't handle the pressure."

The men didn't move. They exchanged a few glances amongst themselves, afraid to do anything or say anything.

Men were so fun. Their minds travelled to two activities, exclusively. Fight or fuck. They existed in this limbo of confusion until the situation cleared and landed on one or the other. And while fighting or fucking, they were magnificent.

I asked again, "Bored?"

One of the men gathered the guts to answer, "No, your Grace, it is a good banquet, good food, good wine."

Oh, what a wordsmith.

I took off my crown and gave it to one of them, "Hold this for me, will you?"

The dark-haired man with gorgeous brown eyes stared at the crown in his hands, holding it like it was the most important piece of jewellery in the world. I had ten of those.

I let my hair fall loosely over my naked shoulders and my exposed cleavage, "Tell me, did I hear correctly whispers of the Irenwell debt being collected?"

The question caused exactly what I intended it to, relief. Finally, Bastians had something to talk about.

"Yes, your Grace." The smallest of the bunch spoke. "Oracles have spoken, the Irenwell debt has to be collected. Magic in the land is awakening. The evil has returned."

Irenwell debt wasn't so much a debt as it was a promise, made some five hundred years ago, when three Kingdoms worked together to banish some unimaginable evil, or whatever. Kingdom of Irenwell, Kingdom of Bastia and the forgotten Kingdom of Orathia, the one across the Northern Ocean, which didn't exist anymore.

The magic used to defeat this evil was currently in a tome, locked by the power of royal blood from all three Kingdoms. And the royal blood of the three Kingdoms was the only thing able to unlock it. And therefore, the Irenwell debt, the promise that, once called, the heir of Irenwell will answer with his or her blood.

I feigned fear and ignorance for the sake of the male ego, "What does that mean?"

Another man answered, indistinguishable from the others, "The heir of Irenwell will have to visit the forgotten lands of Orathia to spill his blood over the lock guarding the magical tome."