Chapter 17

Drew

The morning is quiet and peaceful. Unlike my mood, which is thunderous and unrelenting. It kills me to apologize to that slimy little man, but plans are plans, I remind myself.

Images keep flashing through my head. The way he was touching Ash. The way he just kept going, even while she begged him to stop.

I clench my fists.

I should be punching him again and sending him on the first ship to the bottom of the ocean.

Cool it, Drew. This is no time to play the hero. You got to have your cake and eat it too last night.

This morning you have to be humble.

The castle is quiet at this time of morning.

A little humming from the bees in the orchards. A little whispering from the trees. A little bustle from the kitchens and from the stables outside.

But mostly I can just hear birds joyously singing, mocking my wrathful mood. My footsteps echo across the corridors as I get closer and closer to the dreaded conversation.

I take a few seconds to collect myself outside the door. Breathing deeply and looking out on the rolling, green hills that lead down to the sea. It’s a clear and sunny day.

I love this place. I love Ash. I want Ash to love this place.

If I keep my cool and don’t show my hand, maybe I can have all that.

After a few seconds, I knock on the heavy oak door.

“Come in!” Fergus booms.

He’s sitting on a chair by the window, drinking a cup of tea and reading a slim little volume on war I recognize from my school days. Despite the bruise growing on his temple, he’s a picture of calm. I’m taken aback, but I don’t show it.

He looks up as I enter the room.

“Ah, Andrew. Pull up a chair, sit down, sit down.”

This is strange, very strange. Normally men are not this calm the day after you’ve knocked them out. Especially not snide, violent men who thought they were going to get a little action.

I play his game—curious but with my guard up.

I pull up another red leather armchair and sit opposite him. I hate seeing this nasty man in these rooms I have worked so hard to keep beautiful, but I keep my cool. Diplomacy training is worth its weight in kingdoms.

I search his face for some sign as to why he’s so eerily relaxed. But he’s impassive. Nevertheless, I push on with the plan; it’s a good one.

“Fergus, I came here to apologize.”

He puts down his teacup, closes his book and looks me dead in the eyes. I see false sincerity, and I see no warmth in there.

“I’m listening, Andrew.”

“As you know, I consider Ash—Princess Aisling to be my ward while she’s here. She is under my protection. And as such, it is my duty to see that no harm befalls her.”

“This I do understand. Continue.”

“Nevertheless, I acted out of turn last night. I walked in and saw one thing and thought I saw another thing. I jumped to conclusions. You will have to forgive my soft, protective heart. I spoke with Aisling afterwards, and she has assured me that she was enjoying her time with you as much as you were with her. I acted out of turn.”

“That you did.”

“I hope you will accept my sincere apologies. This alliance means the world to me. And an alliance must be one of genuine friendship. I hope you can understand that my actions were out of a misguided sense of that friendship, and that I deeply regret them.”

I hope he can’t hear how fast my heart is beating or sense the sweat on my palms. So much rests on his reaction to my apology. He picks up his teacup and studies it for a while, takes a sip of tea and savors it.

He’s drawing the moment out. He looks out at my countryside. Then, he turns back to me, looking straight through me again with those soulless eyes.

“It is true, Andrew, that you have a soft heart. And perhaps too soft a spot in your heart for my fiancé. And it is true that you acted out of turn...”

I don’t like where this is going. I steel myself for war.

“However, it is also true that you acted from a sense of friendship and from a respect for the alliance. If you can promise me no more heroics, I can promise you that there are no hard feelings.”

Wait, did he just accept my apology? That quickly?

Relief floods through me—but also caution. I have seen enough men and diplomats come through this castle. I know an ulterior motive when I see one.

And I understand men like Fergus. Mean, greedy little men who are always holding out your jacket for you, so they can help you put it on with one hand, while knifing you in the back with the other.

There’s a big, blue bruise blossoming on his forehead, and there’s no way that a man like that is going to let something like this go down lightly. Not when I’ve damaged his vain, over-groomed face.

No. Something is up.

However, for now, this is the perfect response. I need him on my side. I need him to keep thinking I’m a softhearted, useless wannabe-hero.

So I smile the biggest smile I can muster.

“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that.”

“I, too, am relieved you came to talk to me. I want everything to go smoothly for the wedding.”

“Then we are agreed.”

He stands to shake my hand and tries to intimidate me with the firmness of his grip, but mine are hands that have melted steel—nothing intimidates them. He is smiling, too, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

We briefly talk logistics for the upcoming wedding. Feasts and food and wine and music. I assure him all plans are underway.

You wish, Fergus. There will be no feast.

And then I bid him a good morning and head back into my castle.

I don’t go back to my rooms. The next step is, of course, to find my most trusted servants. I’m thinking hard, turning over our encounter as I head toward the kitchens.

If Fergus wants to keep an alliance with a man who violently assaulted him, he’s either got something horrible up his sleeve, or he needs this alliance more than all of us.

Or he’s completely mad. All three seem likely.

This time of the morning, most of the staff are in the kitchens. Talking and eating a late breakfast. I let these things slide.

Morale is important; happy staff are loyal staff. I pick a handful of my most trusted men and women from the kitchens, the room cleaning and the stables, and we walk together to the rooms of my advisor.

Once the door has been shut and bolted, I begin to explain the situation.

“I’m sorry,” I tell them. A good leader always apologizes for putting others in dangerous situations. “I’m sorry for bringing Fergus here when I do not trust him at all.”

Cath, the head of household and the maids, chimes in.

“Me neither! He’s a nasty man. He has allowed his men to give my maids no end of trouble! Pinching them! Flirting with them! Trying to lure them into darkened corners!”

“Yes, Cath, this is exactly what I’m talking about.”

“And,” Roderick, head of stables adds, “he was asking me a lot of questions about the farmland and imports and exports here. A lot. Far more than just a casual interest. A creepy interest.”

I nod gravely.

Even my calm-headed advisor sounds worried when he adds, “You’re right to be concerned, King Andrew. That man has a crocodile smile.”

“So,” I go on, “this is why I’ve called you here. I don’t trust Fergus at all. Not to build an alliance with, and not to marry a good woman like Princess Aisling. I’ve gotten us into this mess, and I’ll get us out of it. But I need your help. I want you to keep an ear open to any conversations you hear involving Fergus. Be subtle, but be alert as well. We need as much information as we can get.”

They all nod somberly. I would trust these people with my life. I thank them, and after they troop out I bar the door again and turn to my advisor.

We have some planning to do.