The Death of a Tyrant's Concubine

CHAPTER 39 - Simply Too Curious

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【𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐕𝐎𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄】

The council chamber stank of ink and stale breath. Long rolls of parchment lay unfurled across the blackthorn table, pinned in place by polished stones, goblets, and the gnawed remains of fruits. My ministers droned on — voices rising and overlapping, vying for dominance like hounds around a bone.

Everyone was cloaked in their finest as though to show how much more they had to offer me. Gaudy jewels, rare silks, and expensive leather, all wrapped in thick furs to ward off the cold. Winter's first chill had begun to settle across the fortress. The sun hung lower, casting pale light through the carved windows, where frost gathered in the corners like spiderwebs.

But I hardly felt it. My mind wasn't in the room at all.

Since last night, my thoughts hadn't left her...

Raine Stjorme.

I could still feel the shape of her cradled in my embrace. It had been the first time I'd shared a bed with a bride and not performed my imperial duty. And I hadn't been that relaxed in years. Of course, I knew it was important to produce an heir but something about being freed of expectations was liberating in a way I hadn't experienced before.

Yet as sweet as it was, I was once again reminded of those scars she bore. Both across her heart and belly.

My grip tightened around the stem of my silver goblet.

Who had dared harm her? Who in Drakfjord had allowed their princess to bleed? Did her kingdom not guard its daughters? Or had they carved her up themselves?

Perhaps I should sink that miserable island after all.

"Your Majesty?" Minister Gorlen's voice pierced through the fog of my thoughts.

I remained focused on my wine.

The others were still arguing over the costs of my birthday festival, as if the matter hadn't been raised every morning since it began. It was a month-long celebration that bled the royal treasury dry every year. Though it helped the economy for both nobles and commoners greatly, it was a burden for the crown.

The crown... I thought bitterly. It grows heavier each day.

And with its weight comes Briarvex's whispers.

Yet last night I felt none of that.

What sort of spell did that princess put me under? Perhaps she was an elf disguised as a human. It would explain how she could speak the forgotten language and dance with such enchanting magic.

"Your Majesty," Gorlen said again, this time clearing his throat.

I raised my eyes at last.

The room of councilors and ministers were all watching — fogged breath curling from their mouths despite the braziers burning behind them.

What had the question been again?

It likely didn't matter. It was all the same after all.

Gorlen swallowed nervously.

"We were reviewing the costs of the Birthday Ball, Sire," he said gently, "and how best to reallocate funds should the war chest be reduced—"

"Cut the lesser amusements," I said. "The torch-jugglers. The fire theatre. And cancel the knight parade. But keep the Birthday Ball grand. The tailors and bakers will feed their children with the coin it brings."