Descendants of the Kings (Book 2)

Ch 12.2: Quite unrequited

Gidden scuffed his boot against the pristine floors of the hall. Even dressed in rich garments, he looked sorely out of place, as he thumbed the hilt of the sword strapped at his hip, as if seeking comfort in the one thing he knew.

"Gidden..."

He looked up when Ella approached and straightened to his full height. Had they been on better terms, Ella would have reached for his arm and asked him if he was well. But she didn't feel entitled to do that anymore. Not when many of his problems had been caused by her.

"Ella," he acknowledged, with a dip of his head. "Do you need to discuss more about the healing stations? I can't help you, unfortunately. That will be coordinated by others. But I'm sure Baron Laragh, my father's assistant, can tell you more."

Ella pressed her lips together. His tone was excruciatingly polite. Impersonal. Not even the first time they'd met had he spoken to her so distantly. He wouldn't even meet her gaze.

"I don't want to speak to Baron Laragh, nor do I want to speak of work. I want to speak with you. Gidden," she emphasised, lifting her chin stubbornly. "Not the Commander or the Prince. Just you. My friend."

"Are we? Friends, I mean, " he blurted, looking at her for the first time in the whole day. The hurt in his gaze was so evident, it made her heart squeeze. Gidden had never been good at hiding his emotions. She didn't think he even knew how.

"You tell me," she threw back, fighting the prickling in her throat. "Can we at least talk about what happened?"

"There's nothing to talk about," Gidden said, once again looking elsewhere, at her shoulder, anywhere but her face. "Nothing happened. Everything is fine."

"Then why won't you even look at me?" Ella pressed, hurt manifesting as anger, as her eyes prickled and her hands turned to fists by her sides. "You speak to me as if I was a stranger."

Gidden made a frustrated noise. "What am I supposed to do--"

He stopped abruptly, as a few courtiers were ever so casually roaming closer, their carefully guarded faces unable to hide their hunger for gossip. The Prince and the Princess, whisper-fighting in a corridor. Truly scandalous.

Gidden cursed lowly. "Hold on," he said, then signalled for Ella to follow him down the hall.

She bit her tongue and swallowed a few choice words she had for the scandal-mongering nobles. Instead, she shot them a gelid glare until they bowed their heads meekly, and followed Gidden, who had slowed his steps for her.

A hall down, he looked around before opening two large double doors. Quickly, he motioned for her to enter, his hand faltering, almost touching her back, before dropping by his side.

It was the throne room. Blissfully empty and quiet.

Ella had only been in here once, the day she arrived at Cereas and met the King and Queen. She'd been so tired and nervous then, she hadn't had the chance to truly appreciate the room.

A few bronze sconces flared to light, painting the room in a dim, honey-warm glow. The flickering fire glinted off the gilded portraits of the most famous Blackthorn monarchs, as they proudly guarded the room, between flags, banners and framed swords.

Elaborate stone columns flanked a luxurious, gold-threaded crimson rug running from the centre of the room, across the stone flooring, all the way to the imponent, six-stepped dais that carried the thrones.

Encrusted cabochon gems and golden leaves decorated both bronze thrones, softened by fat, blood-orange pillows. Enormous ram horns of burnished gold crowned the King's seat, a reminder of his connection to Mydar, the horned God.