Despite all his best efforts, Hablet of Fardohnya and his trusty eunuch, Lecter Turon, had little success in keeping his daughter away from Axelle Regis. With uncanny accuracy, every time the general even looked like visiting the palace, Adrina was there, fluttering her eyes coyly at Lord Regis as if he was the only man in Fardohnya worthy of her attention.
Hablet knew exactly how she did it. Adrina might be a shrew among her peers but she was very careful of her slaves. And remarkably considerate of them. Consequently, she had access to palace gossip that would not normally reach the ears of the highborn. Because of her generosity and consideration and because she championed the cause of any lesser creature she considered mistreated, the palace slaves quickly became Adrina’s co-conspirators as much as her lackeys. If the cooks were ordered to prepare an extra place for dinner, Adrina knew about it before the dining room staff had a chance to rearrange the seating. If a groom met Lord Regis at the palace steps and led his horse away to be rubbed down and fed, Adrina was descending the staircase—a vision of loveliness—greeting him with those devastating green eyes, before any slave out in the stables had the time to take so much as a currycomb to the beast.
It was yet another sign of her astuteness, the king knew. Confined to the harem and informed only of what her father wished her to know, the young princess had found a way to
get information independent of official channels and used her advantage every chance she could.
Not for the first time, Hablet lamented the capricious will of the gods that had given him a firstborn with all the qualities he wished for in a son and then deposited them-most inconsiderately—in a daughter.
And this evening—yet again—Adrina had foiled all his efforts to exclude her. She sat opposite Axelle Regis, flirting with him so openly Hablet wondered why she didn’t just shove the silverware aside, throw herself at the young man and suggest he take her, right here on the dinner table.
Even more troubling was Axelle Regis’s reaction to Adrina’s open flirtation. He responded just enough not to offend the princess, but was very guarded in the presence of the king. That indicated the general was in possession of a disturbing degree of political acumen. Just the sort of thing a king wants in a general, but damned inconvenient when your eldest daughter is looking at him with those dangerous bedroom eyes.
Hablet would have been happier if Axelle had responded to Adrina the way any red-blooded man should have, or better yet, if he’d run like hell at the first hint the king’s daughter was interested in him. Either would have left Hablet certain where Regis stood on the matter. Unfortunately, Axelle Regis did neither, which immediately made the king suspicious and that meant Lord Regis’s career was likely to be a glorious but short one, which was a shame really, because Hablet genuinely liked the general. But the King of Fardohnya would tolerate no rivals and a man of Axelle’s obvious ability aligned with the eldest daughter of a king with no male heir was a temptation too rich for most men.
“What do you think, Daddy?”
Adrina’s question jerked Hablet out of his disturbing train of thought. “What?”
“Lord Regis and I were discussing hunting, Daddy,” she explained. “Weren’t you listening? He was telling me he thinks the chase is better than the kill. Whereas I think the kill is the best part …” Her voice dropped to a low purr
and although she was supposed to be speaking to her father, Adrina’s eyes were firmly fixed on Regis. “You know what I mean … when you’re all hot and sweaty and breathing hard and you’ve finally cornered your quarry and you can see the fear … the excitement in their eyes … taste the blood …” Adrina ran her hand over her neck as she spoke, as if in the cool depths of the Winter Palace, she could feel the heat of the image she’d evoked and was obviously aroused by it.
Hablet silently cursed the custom that gave daughters like Adrina access to court’esa. She was dangerous enough without professional instruction on the art of seduction.
“So what do you think, Daddy?” she repeated, after running her tongue over her lips to moisten them. “What do you enjoy most? The chase? Or the kill?”
Before the king could answer, the door opened and one of Lord Regis’s lieutenants entered the dining room. Bowing to the king and then hurrying to his general’s side, he leaned over and whispered something into Axelle’s ear.
Lord Regis rose to his feet as soon as the young man had finished speaking. “I must beg to be excused, your majesty. I have word of a spy who has just returned from across the border. I’d like to interview him immediately.”
“Surely it can wait, Lord Regis?” Adrina asked, disappointed. “You haven’t finished your dessert.”
“Unfortunately, it can’t wait, your highness,” Regis replied apologetically. “This is one of the bandits we recruited from the mountains around Westbrook and he’s been all the way to Cabradell. He has the first accurate assessment of Hythrun troop numbers and composition.”
“Then you’ll want to hear about it too, won’t you, Daddy?” she asked. “Why not just have him brought in here? That way you can interrogate him and I won’t have to be deprived of your company. Or yours either, Daddy,” she added with an innocent glance in the king’s direction.
“Have him brought in.” Hablet shrugged when Regis looked to him for guidance. It didn’t really matter, the king supposed, what Adrina learned about the Hythrun. It wasn’t likely to do her any good and while, like Regis, he was anxious to hear
what the spy had to say, she was right. He hadn’t finished his dessert.
Regis ordered his lieutenant to bring the man to them and resumed his seat. A few moments later the officer returned with a nervous young man in tow who looked about him in open awe, and then dropped to his knees and placed his forehead on the floor when he realised he was in the presence of his king.
Hablet smiled. Abject abasement was always a good way to open a discussion with the King of Fardohnya.
“Get up, lad,” the king ordered indulgently. “I hear you bring us vital news of the enemy.”
“I do, your majesty, I do!” the young man gushed.
“What’s your name?” Regis asked.
“Ollie Kantel, my lord. I went into Hythria with Master Andaran.”
“I remember him,” the general replied. “Very experienced but rather arrogant fellow, as I recall. Is he not with you?”
Ollie shook his head. “He’s still in Cabradell, my lord. He was waiting for the rest of the Hythrun armies to arrive. So he could report on their final numbers.”
“And what estimates do you have of their current numbers?”
“There are about five thousand troops in Cabradell from Krakandar and Elasapine, your majesty,” the lad told him. “Because of the plague, Sunrise will be hard-pressed to match that number when they’re finally mustered.”
“Less than ten thousand men?” Hablet exclaimed. “Why, that’s excellent news!”
“What of the other provinces?” Regis asked, not quite so enchanted with the report. “Have they not sent troops as well?”
“Our informant claimed Pentamor and Greenharbour were sending troops and Dregian Province is supposed to be sending another three thousand men, but they wouldn’t know for certain until the High Prince arrived in Cabradell. That’s what Brak was waiting around for.”
“The High Prince?” Adrina echoed curiously. “Surely he’s not in command of the Hythrun defences?”
“That’s what Lord Warhaft told us, your highness.”
“Who is Lord Warhaft?” Regis asked.
“He’s an officer in Lord Hawksword’s Elasapine contingent, sire,” the young spy answered.
“You actually spoke to a Hythrun officer?” Regis said doubtfully. “Is that where your information comes from?”
The lad nodded. “Brak found him crying into his beer in a tavern just near the temple of Zegarnald in Cabradell. He was very upset, my lord. His wife had been taken from him by Lord Hawksword and then when he appealed to Lord Narvell’s brother, the High Prince’s heir, he took a fancy to her too, and now she’s part of his entourage. The man had no great love of the Wolfblades, that’s for certain, and with just cause once you’d heard his tale. He was happy to tell us what he knew.”
“So the nephews are cut from the same cloth as the uncle?” Adrina remarked sourly, almost as keen as her father to see the end of the Hythrun royal line, although for quite different reasons—Hablet fervently hoped—than his own. “I almost feel sorry for the Hythrun.”
“Aye,” Ollie agreed. “You should hear the stories we heard about the High Prince’s heir, your highness. Tales of orgies with his Denikan court’esa. How he makes his officers wait on his pleasure, sometimes for hours at a time. And then—”
“But you say Lernen Wolfblade is on his way to lead their troops against us?” Hablet cut in, impatient with Adrina’s unhealthy interest in the lad’s gossip about the decadent goings-on in the Hythrun court. “Are you certain?”
“Quite certain, your majesty,” the boy confirmed. “Nobody was very happy about it, either.”
Hablet glanced at Axelle Regis. “I would have thought he’d send someone like Rogan Bearbow, at the very least. Or Charel Hawksword, perhaps?”
“He had a stroke.”
Both the king and the general turned to look at Adrina.
“Charel Hawksword,” she explained. “He had a stroke. About three years ago. He’s paralysed down one side of his
body. He can barely sit a horse, let alone lead troops into battle.”
This is why she’s dangerous, Hablet thought. She makes it her business to know these things.
“Perhaps the plague took out more key men than we’ve heard about yet,” Axelle suggested. “I heard Barnardo Eaglespike of Dregian Province was taken in the early days of the epidemic, but who’s to say how many more Warlords Hythria has lost that we’ve yet to hear about?”
“Are you suggesting Lernen’s leading his troops because there’s nobody else?” Hablet laughed. “Oh … that’s just too precious for words!”
Adrina looked hopefully at her father. “Can I be High Princess of Hythria after it’s been conquered, Daddy?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he told her, patting her hand affectionately. “I’d never let you get even a smell of that much power, my sweet. You know that.”
“I’d be very loyal, Daddy,” she promised.
“Yes, I’m sure you would, petal,” he said, privately alarmed at the thought that she actually meant it. “And the Harshini are going to magically reappear tomorrow, too, I suppose?”
Adrina laughed dismissively, but Hablet wasn’t convinced. It would be just like his daughter to want the Hythrun throne. For that reason—among many others—he’d gone to great lengths to keep Adrina in the dark about his problem with the distant Wolfblade cousins being in line for the Fardohnyan throne if he failed to get an heir. Adrina was nobody’s fool and it wouldn’t take her long to realise even the notoriously patriarchal Fardohnyans might be persuaded that the unthinkable notion of a Fardohnyan queen was preferable to the unconscionable notion of a Hythrun king.
Yet another reason to ensure her relationship with Regis never progresses any further than flirting across the dinner table.
“Well, I say we’ve waited around long enough,” he declared, anxious to divert his daughter’s alarming train of
thought from the idea that she was fit to rule anything. “What say we move these boys out, Regis? By the sound of it, Lernen is waiting for us. Time to show the old pervert who the gods truly favour, eh?”
Lord Regis rose to his feet and bowed. “As you wish, your majesty. I will issue the appropriate orders tonight and we can begin moving the troops through the Widowmaker immediately.”
The King of Fardohnya nodded his approval and with those few words the invasion of Hythria had begun.