Crown of Blood

9.2.|| The King and the General

After the second course of hors d'oeuvres, there was to be dancing. Since there were no women invited to the event, the men around the table settled for walking around and gathering into small groups to discuss one thing or another. Cage had to stand as well, so he busied himself with admiring the General's impressive art collection. Given his social status, the paintings were on par with those in the Grand Palace. While admiring a portrait of Harkiss' father, Cage felt a longing to be with his own portraits. At least his talked back.

"May I join you, your Majesty?"

Cage couldn't say he was surprised to see Madeline approaching him, but he wished she hadn't. That she never had to.

"Of course, milady." The words felt sour in his mouth. Ever since his friends had left, he'd been forced to stick to etiquette and the more he did, the more he realized how much he hated it. He'd been speaking his mind directly for too long.

Madeline settled next to him, her brown eyes focused on the painting before her, glancing at it as if she'd never seen her own grandfather before.

Cage studied her openly and could easily tell that she was nervous. He knew why and it pained him that it had come to this, as obvious as it was.

"You don't have to do this," he said, his voice low.

"I'm sure I do not know--"

He couldn't keep doing this, pretending that he didn't know the dance. "Let's cut the crap, Madeline. You and I are well-enough versed in matters of court and politics to know what your father wants you to do. I had the feeling that you truly cared for Ferdinand, that he wasn't a mere political match. This is why I'm telling you that you don't have to do this."

She drew a sobbing breath, then quieted down, glancing at her golden skirts. The sight of them sent a pang of pain through him as a multitude of images flashed before his eyes.

"I look like a giant chicken."

A girl with golden hair and bright blue eyes smiling at him. Holding her and feeling like there was nothing in the world he'd rather do than grow old with her. The pain in his body as his bones cracked and rearranged. Fangs in his mouth.

He sucked air through his teeth and his tongue instinctively checked if anything had changed. How could Cecille mute that particular memory so much? Had his former curse become so intertwined with Kat that he could no longer think of it without thinking of the one person the High Fairy had tried to purge from his very being?

It was hard to dwell upon it, his mind becoming foggy the more he tried. Whatever protection Cecille had cast upon him was hard to break through and he wasn't sure he wanted to. Maybe he was an idiot and it was better to leave what he'd forgotten well enough alone.

He forced himself back into the present and found Madeline analyzing him. For the first time, she no longer looked sad or suspicious. His skin crawled. He recognized that look. It was appraisal. She was most likely considering how bad it would be for her to have to marry him. For the first time, he wished he was still cursed, that anyone who desired him without reciprocity would turn to stone.

"I don't know about that. You're not the one in my position," she finally said.

And he was eternally grateful for that. When the war was over, if he survived and Iride didn't go to ruin, he would make sure to change the laws of his kingdom and let women run their own lives.

"I'm not going to marry you, Madeline, no matter what your father wants."

"It might be the condition for his support. That's how it was with Fherras."