The Death of a Tyrant's Concubine

CHAPTER 14 - The Royal Hunt

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【𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐉𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐄】

Despite my insistence on returning to the Clover concubines now that I'd regained consciousness, Sylvos decreed I remain in his carriage until my full recovery. Thankfully, he mostly rode outside, leaving me alone.

I spent my day curled on the bed, attempting to ignore the lingering blush of mortification. My monthly cycle was finally nearing its end, but the thought of being tended to while I was in my fevered sleep set my cheeks aflame.

Boredom eventually drove me to explore the carriage. It was surprisingly spacious, more a small room than a mere conveyance. Furnished with a narrow bed, a desk, two chairs, and a basin for washing, it was perfect for long travels. My fingers brushed over a small shelf of books, and I eagerly pulled out a worn volume on defensive strategies for castles under siege.

The hours melted away as I became immersed in reading. It covered all sorts of topics, from positioning archers to strike from above, setting traps with boiling oil, and managing supplies for a prolonged siege. I was especially hooked on the topic of rationing food, conserving water, and finding the strength to endure when all hope seemed lost.

By the time I lit a lantern to read further, and the procession stopped to make camp, I'd almost forgotten where I was.

"Enjoying yourself, Princess?"

The low voice startled me, and I glanced up to find the emperor in the doorway.

"I was," I muttered, returning to my book with a glare.

Sylvos began removing his armor and I couldn't help but watch from the corner of my eye. His body, lean yet scarred from countless battles, showed signs of a warrior's strength tempered with an assassin's agility. He was tall but not lanky, toned but not bulky. And each of his movements was precise and graceful like that of a shadow lynx.

He slipped into a fresh black tunic, leaving the laces loose enough to reveal the sharp lines of his chest. I watched as he set his jagged silver crown on the desk as though it weighed more than his sword. Pouring two goblets of dark liquid, he handed one to me.

I would have refused if I wasn't so thirsty.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," I said like a curse, savoring the blackberry wine.

Sylvos sank lazily into a chair, resting his head on one hand, his black eyes on me.

"I'm afraid I don't keep any novels to entertain a lady," he remarked with a half-smile at the book in my hands.

"I'm enjoying this one," I replied, holding up the leather-bound tome. "Fortress Under Fire: A Guide to Enduring and Prevailing in Sieges."

"Ah, a thrilling read indeed," he chuckled. "I nearly forgot my new bride has a taste for warfare."

Ignoring his jibe, I settled against the pillows and took another sip.

"I do wonder why you keep a book on siege defense," I said. "You're always the one laying them."

"Yes, but understanding what sustains my enemy teaches me how best to break them," he replied.

"I suppose that explains your success."

"The key to success is preparing thoroughly." He tilted his head, eyes glinting. "It's best to overestimate your opponent. I never enter a battle I'm not sure I will win."

I scoffed at that last part.

"Then you must realize you've yet to face another cursed sword," I said, watching his face for a reaction. "Flynmoore, Meadowwyn, Pineholt — none of these kingdoms you conquered had a sword like yours. The southern kingdoms, though... I heard they all have one. You'll have a hard time facing Driftwoode with its tide sword."