Anti Heiress

Chapter 17

I follow behind Yasmin as she leads me into the sitting room. Down the hall, I can already hear the heavy, raucous voices of men talking. "My maid made tea," Yasmin informs me. "Would you like some?"

I shake my head. "No, thank you. I'm still trying to cool off."

"Perhaps some food then? You had a long journey."

"It wasn't long at all."

Yasmin shrugs. Her lilac dress brings out the deep golden tone of her skin, and it reminds me a lot of my old gowns I particularly love on Malissa. The fabric is embroidered with silver vines that creep up the hem of her dress. I wonder if it's one of her husband's imports.  

"I'm not nervous," I assure her. If I had to describe my feelings, it would be much more like numbness and terror, however those are able to coexist.

"Just as well," Yasmin decides. She turns over her shoulder to grin at me. "I've been awaiting the day that you have time to finish our portrait. It's off to such a lovely start. Plus, I'd kill for an excuse to have the children sit still for a period."

I nearly forgot that was what I was hired for initially. "I'll write my schedule for you before I leave," I assure her.

"Splendid," Yasmin says, delight in her voice. She opens the doors to the sitting room. "The artist is here," she announces grandly, a laugh in her voice. She shoves me into the room and curtsies before leaving and shutting the door behind her.

I stare at the group of men, all sitting on pillows, maps and other papers spread in between them. They all turn to look at me. Some of them look older, like Arman, a few of them only seem to be a couple of years older than myself. I want to breathe out a sigh of relief when I don't see Damon among the bunch.

"Aros, was it?" A man questions, standing to shake my hand. He has a long black beard that brushes the collar of his jacket. "You're a twig of a boy. How old are you, thirteen?" The men laugh at me.

"Twenty, sir," I say, trying to make my voice sound as deep as possible. His handshake crushes my knuckles.

"I'm Hassan. My wife was quite taken with the portrait of her and the children you started. She's rather hard to please, just so you know."

"I'm glad for the work," I nod. "I'm glad Damon connected me to the two of you."

Hassan frowns slightly. "Can you write?" he questions. I nod. How would it possible for me to apprentice without knowing to read and write? "Perfect. We need someone to keep record, and make correspondence." Hassan gestures for me to sit at the writing table in the corner. I'm grateful for my position on the fringes of the conversation, yet I don't want to be the one responsible for the communication between these men and the nobles who want to see Arman dead.

Hassan joins the rest of the group in their circle on the floor. I sit at the desk, trying to appear as if I'm listening, but not as if I'm listening too intently. I glance out of the window. The flowers are more withered than when I last saw them.

"If you ask me, our first order of business is stopping this coronation," a man says loudly into the group. I'm not sure whether I'm meant to write that down.

"What does that solve? Arman can still be king without a coronation. He's acting as king now," Hassan points out. "Putting a crown on his head won't change any of his plans." If Arman needed a crown to be king, he wouldn't have been able to hold the kingdom together throughout my father's reign.

"He makes a point," a young man speaks up. "It isn't about stopping one man from becoming king. Some of us thought the country would be better off with Arman on the throne. People are still starving. Nobles are still as underhanded and selfish. Nobility is unnatural. So is a monarchy itself."