Conqueror Queen

Chapter 8

Aiya was dragged to the tower high above the city of York. Her head spun, and her stomach churned as she fought the rising bile in her throat. James had called her mortal enemy "father." The word echoed in her mind, unraveling what little composure she had left. Jaril had once mentioned that James was the bastard son of an English lord, but she'd never pressed for details. Now she regretted it. Could she trust him? Had he known she would be there? Or had their paths crossed by sheer misfortune? She needed answers, but first, she had to survive.

The guards forced her up the spiraling wooden staircase. Her bound wrists ached, and the coarse rope bit into her skin with every step. When they reached the top, they shoved her into a small, circular chamber and slammed the door behind her. The heavy bolt slid into place with a grating finality. A barred window in the door offered a glimpse of the narrow staircase beyond, while a single slit of a window overlooked the western horizon. The setting sun cast an eerie glow over the barren room.

A cot sat in the center of the chamber, its thin wool blanket doing little to make the crude bedding inviting. Beside it was a wooden chamber pot, the only other furnishing in the room. Aiya collapsed onto the cot, her body aching from the bruises and exhaustion that had piled on over the past days. Above her, a bird's nest balanced precariously on a wooden beam. She stared at it, wondering if she might find companionship in the tower's lonely confines. Finally, she closed her eyes, though her thoughts were far from restful.

---

"Where have you been all these years, my son?"

James stood in the doorway of Hemming's chambers, his frame rigid, his expression unreadable. Hemming lounged in his favorite chair by the window, his eyes fixed on James with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

"I was... discovering myself," James replied, his voice carefully neutral.

"You did not leave here on the best terms." Hemming poured wine into two ornate silver goblets, gesturing for James to join him.

James hesitated before stepping into the room and taking a seat opposite his father. He accepted the goblet but didn't drink immediately.

"I wonder why that was," James said, his tone clipped. He sipped the wine, letting its bitter tang linger on his tongue.

Hemming waved his hand dismissively. "Must you always be so difficult? Let us speak of something else."

James rose and moved to the window, his posture tense as he gazed out at the courtyard below. Guards lit torches along the walls, and their flickering shadows cast ominous shapes across the stone.

"What's the story with the girl?" he asked, his voice casual but his eyes sharp.

Hemming smirked. "Oh, her? A defiant little servant I purchased some time after you left. She's been returned to me, as fate would have it."

"She doesn't act much like a servant," James remarked, hiding his growing unease behind a wry smile.

"Defiance often masquerades as bravery," Hemming replied. "But I'll remind her of her place soon enough." He stood and joined James by the window, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Will you be staying?"

James turned to look at his father, and for a brief moment, hatred flared in his chest. The man standing before him was the same one who had allowed his cruel wife to beat both James and his young mother-a servant girl barely sixteen winters old when Hemming seduced her with promises of food and shelter. His mother had died when James was just five, and Hemming had kept him at the castle out of pity-or perhaps guilt.

James's early years had been spent among the servants, learning to cook, clean, and tend to horses. As Hemming's wife failed to produce a son, the lord begrudgingly began to notice James. By the time he was fourteen, James had been trained in combat and educated by some of the finest tutors, though his defiance often led them to quit in frustration.

On his fifteenth birthday, James had told Hemming he wished to marry Eanwin, a common girl he adored. Hemming had forbidden the union, insisting James's future lay in securing a noble alliance. Undeterred, James had planned to elope with her. But Hemming discovered their plan and had his men intercept her. Eanwin's horse had been spooked during the ambush, and she died instantly when she fell.

Grief and rage consumed James. Hemming had tried to justify his actions, claiming he had only sought to protect James's future as his heir. But James would not forgive him. He left York, vowing never to return.

Yet here he was, back in the place he despised, for a woman he could not ignore. If only he had stayed, he thought bitterly. Perhaps he would have met Aiya before Ragda. Perhaps she might have loved him instead.

"Yes," James said, finally, forcing a smile. "I'll be staying-if that's alright."

"Grand!" Hemming clapped his hands. "We shall throw a feast! And our main entertainment shall be my slave girl."

James's stomach churned, but he masked his disgust. Hemming was always one for cruelty disguised as spectacle. He needed to find a way to free Aiya before the feast.