For What is Bought in Blood

Twisted Amusement

Alula

I sit at the table Hollie found in some storage room on this floor and play with the seams of my skirt. I did not bother changing into another dress as I suspect Reagan will wear the same clothes from earlier as well. Not once did I spare him another glance nor did he come forward for a dance. It seems he understood my silent dismissal well.

Reagan is not someone to fear. He is a potential ally, and they all come with an inkling of mistrust, but my list of allies is very short. Having a warrior at my side would make my movements surer, at least while he still resides here.

Hollie doesn't bother knocking, only opening the door wide enough that I can watch Reagan over her shoulder. Smart woman. She probably insisted he walk next to her instead of behind on the walk over so he would not be behind her back.

"Princess." Reagan gruffly greets, seating himself across from me without any flourish. My seated position may have required him to bow in other circumstances, but I am not one to enforce such rules. It is disrespectful, but based on his attire and attitude, I don't think he was trained in such things as I was.

Hollie seats herself in the opposite corner from me, watching Reagan's dominant hand and back, just as we discussed beforehand. In the few hours we had in private before this meal, I filled her in on as much information as I could. Her being present is a risk I will have to take. Not only is she closer to the door, but she also will be attacked second if Reagan is smart. He should choose me, the stronger one, to disable first, giving Hollie ample time to escape. I hope it does not come to such an unravelling, but all angles have to be considered.

"It seems you find my interactions with the other men quite funny." I mention, toying with the rim of my wineglass as I pin him with a stare. I do not yet touch my food, graciously delivered from the kitchens by Hollie herself, but Reagan holds nothing back as he begins cutting into the roast lamb.

"They are skilled at deception. They are raised in charming, coddling, and kissing ass." He shrugs, washing the lamb down with red wine. "There is no way to ascertain between a liar and a decent man."

I glance at Hollie to make sure I heard him correctly. She mouths a quick "wow" and I know he truly said something so offensive about men he doesn't even know. A part of me is smug knowing that someone else thinks this situation to be ridiculous, but the larger part that knows I have to choose one of these false men shrivels further within itself. I sigh loudly at my own thoughts.

"Let's be frank," I cut into the noise of his clinking utensils, and he sets them down and faces me fully, leaning back in his seat. He crosses his arms, becoming a formidable force in the room. "You need my resources. What can I do for you, Reagan?"

Hollie shuffles in her seat. She is the physical embodiment of my anxiety in this moment. She uncrosses her legs, ponders a moment, then recrosses them. Trying to give us the illusion of privacy she keeps her eyes locked on a distant area of the room. Keep your eyes on him! I want to shout.

"As I mentioned last night, our state if being overrun with fighters from Forelow. They haven't attacked yet, but they will. Soon." He challenges me with his stare. I fight a knowing smirk at his variable behavior compared to last night. Gone is the nervous boy who requested my help. Here is the man who hates that he needs someone of royal blood for anything.

"And what of your men? Where have they gone?" I question, knowing the answer will likely be at fault of the crown in his eyes. Drawing this conversation out to make it as painful as possible for him will also bring me great delight.

He leans forward to rest his forearms on the table, closing some distance between us as we sit at the round table. This is not a feast of royalty and he sees that- this is as private a meeting as we can possibly get while we distrust each other. There are no frills present, no flower arrangements to admire, no fancy tablecloth to avoid staining. Just a small, round table with nicks and bruises from years of meals taken in privacy. It does not shake me that this table was likely used by my father. In fact, I think he would be quite proud of the winning hand I hold.

"You may not know this, Princess," he includes with venom, "but Kinstead was once the finest breeding ground for royal stallions. Because of The Queen's lack of travel and lack of Guard, the entire state is struggling." This I did know. Father would have the most beautiful horses for battle and another batch for peaceful travel, used when he visited states to gauge the temperament of the people. He always spoke of his dear friend that hand picked such horses for the royal pastures, but it is a name forgotten to me over time. It has been years since I was allowed on a horse.

When I was a young girl, father let me choose one to ride into the forest with him on occasion. I chose Lilac, a pale horse who rivaled all the stallions in strength. She was one of the only mares kept for battle and I always loved her bravery. When the time came for me to learn the ways of court, just before I began transitioning into womanhood, mother insisted riding off on adventures was not ladylike. Lilac was killed in battle shortly after.

"I have no say in the comings and goings of Her Majesty." I lean forward to match his intensity. His stare is oak leaves under spring dew as I search his face for reproach at our proximity. Not a single raise of a dark brow, a crinkle of chestnut skin, or any shifting of position. Schooled neutrality I am used to, covering a roaring storm of hatred. "Please, do me a favor, cut the shit."

He bares his teeth in a painful looking smile. "You want me to cut the shit? Really? Don't you live knee deep in shit?" I keep my face passive despite the defensive shifting Hollie conducts in her chair.

"I need to know what is going on in this Gods forsaken capital with the revolution." He points his finger toward the top of the table. "Where. Are. The. Soldiers." He slams his finger down with each word, rattling plates and glasses.

He truly expects me to recede at the slight implication of violence. His entire form presses forward in his chair as if the separation the table provides is the only thing keeping him from forcing information from me. Those scars on his hands make more sense the more he chooses physical threats to draw information from me. I know what really holds him back- Hollie's presence and my title.

My lips curl back in a flirtatious smile and I reach across the table, caressing his other hand still curled on the table in a fist. He watches my movements with a sort of restrained violence that gives me a thrill I haven't experienced before. The obvious rancor on his face only encourages me further.

"And why would I tell you that, horse lord?"

Reagan is practically shaking with suppressed anger as he flicks my hand away, quickly rising from his chair. As if synchronized, Hollie jumps up too, causing Reagan to whip his head around to locate the noise. An animalistic breath leaves from his nose as he considers her for a moment. The expression on his face when he turns back to me must be like when he smells the manure of his homeland.

"This is not over." He states before turning on his heel and excusing himself, slamming the door in his wake. I begin laughing in earnest, loud enough I hope he can hear on his trek down the long hall.

"He will surely abandon the ruse now." Hollie proclaims, righting his turned over chair. Peering at his how emptied chair, I cannot help but feel smug.

Tipping back the last of my wine, I respond, "Do not fret. He will be back."