But I was the only one afraid now, because I was too late.
I stepped back, intending to turn and run back into the forest and hide in the shadows until the king’s party left, even if it drew my father’s ire, but at that moment, Lohdi barreled out from the dense tree line onto the hard-packed road, and collided with my back. I fell to my hands and knees directly in the path of the procession. I heard several horses whinny in panic, stomping and sidestepping, and someone cried out. I felt a foot in my back, and I fell to my stomach on the hard-packed dirt. I realized Lohdi hadn’t just knocked me down, he was trampling me.
“Halt!” someone roared, and I scrambled to my feet, narrowly avoiding a rearing, sweating stallion with bared teeth.
Lohdi cried out as he also tried to rise. I reached to assist him, not wanting to see him harmed, though at that moment I could have killed him myself. Someone beat me to it, catching the back of his shirt and hauling him to his feet. The King had dismounted, and he stood towering above the wriggling Lohdi.
“King Tiras,” Lohdi gasped and fell back to his knees in subservience before being yanked to his feet again.
“Stand up, lad,” he commanded.
“Yes, Majesty! So sorry, Your Highness.” Lohdi bobbed and genuflected. The king released his arm and turned to me, pinning me with eyes so dark they appeared black in a face that was arresting rather than beautiful, formidable rather than cold. Warm skin covered sharp edges and well-formed features, and I was certain he was accustomed to bows and obeisance though I gave him neither.
His hair was completely white against his bronzed skin, like a man well on in years, though he couldn’t yet be thirty summers. His hair had been black when I’d last seen him, but he looked very little like the boy I remembered, and I was certain he didn’t remember me. I’d been five years old when my mother was brought down by his father’s sword. He’d been older than I, but I doubted that day had made the same kind of impression on him as it had on me.
“Are you injured?” he asked. I wondered if I looked as disheveled as I felt. My hair was a wild tangle and my face felt flushed. My palms stung and my skirt was torn, but I didn’t allow myself to smooth my tresses or straighten my clothing. I didn’t care about his opinion and stared back at him stonily.
“She doesn’t talk. She’s a mute,” Lohdi rushed to explain. His eyes shot sideways in apology. “Sorry, Milady.”
“Milady?” the king questioned, his eyes still on me. I held his gaze without expression.
“Lord Corvyn’s daughter, Your Majesty,” Lohdi rushed to explain.
King Tiras shared a weighted look with the man to his left—a dark-haired, broad-shouldered warrior in the king’s coat of arms who had also dismounted—then returned his attention to me.
“So if I ask you if your father awaits, you won’t be able to answer?” he asked me, though it didn’t sound like a question.
“She’s not stupid, Your Highness. She understands pretty well. She just can’t talk,” Lohdi provided. I wished he would shut up. I did not require an interpreter.
“I see,” the king inclined his head, still taking my measure. “Lead the way then, Milady. I have business with your father.” He mounted his horse smoothly as I turned to obey.
I should not have given him my back. It was foolish. But King Tiras had given me no warning of what he intended. I was suddenly swooped off my feet and settled in front of him on his enormous horse. I arched my body in alarm and swung an elbow back, connecting with his breastplate. I only succeeded in hurting myself. His arm simply tightened around my body until I could barely draw breath.
“You will sit here during negotiations. If your father doesn’t want to see you harmed—if you don’t want to be harmed—you will both cooperate. I would rather not tie you up and drag you behind my horse. But I will. Be still.” His voice was harsh in my ear, his hair tickling my face, and I did as he commanded. I wondered if he could see my pulse pounding in my throat. Lohdi stood, gaping at the sudden turn of events. His eyes clung to the king, and his face was a horrified mask.
“Tell your master the king is here, boy,” the man named Kjell demanded, and Lohdi was off like a shot, stumbling again amidst the laughter of the guard who followed in a protective formation around their king. My father would be alarmed that I’d been taken hostage, but not for the reason the king hoped.
Someone had already alerted my father and the rest of the keep that the king’s procession was en route, and he stood in the courtyard amongst a growing group of onlookers, a striking figure in the colors of his keep—brilliant blue and silver. He’d assembled a small group of his guard, but none of them were foolish enough to draw their swords. This was the king after all, and if the king wanted to take the daughter of a nobleman in his own kingdom, no one would stop him. They looked more stunned than anything, their eyes lingering on me in confusion. I was not exactly a prize.
“Corvyn,” King Tiras greeted coldly. His words stirred my hair and made the flesh rise on my neck. He disliked my father. His disdain was a frigid breeze, and it made me wince and long to wiggle free. I was clearly broadcasting my distress, and the king’s horse whinnied and danced at my discomfort. I bade it be still, a hand in his mane, and he seemed to understand.
“King Tiras. What is the meaning of this?” My father’s voice was surprisingly firm. He didn’t look at me.
“Your loyalty has come into question, Corvyn. Your men never arrived at Kilmorda. Lord Bin Dar sent three hundred men. Lord Gaul sent two hundred men. Lord Janda sent at least that many. I received men from every province and every region. Thousands of men from all over my kingdom were sent to respond to the attack on our northern border. But no men ever arrived from Corvyn.” King Tiras’s voice was curious. Conversational. I shivered against him, completely unconvinced. His arm tightened.