The Immortal Chronicles | | b o o k 2

25. his discontent

Copyright © 2016. All Rights Reserved.

IMMORTAL CHRONICLES : BOOK ONE : cirian wiltshire

. . .

 At the Everfall palace, Cirian Wiltshire intercepted one of the King's servants—notified by the shade of their uniform collar—and inquired his whereabouts. Just as all servants would, he gave Cirian a stoic look and recited what they were told to memorize. "The King will only see you by means of scheduled hearings. I cannot tell you his whereabouts."

He backed off the servant boy then, who was instantly bombarded with Renée's devious charm. She stopped him with a hand on his arm, and Cirian wanted to cry out loud for the response it caused. The boy flushed at the cheeks and looked like a feverishly overwhelmed lad with no reason to ever be touched by a noble such as Renée. She smiled at him and drew him in under her dangerous gaze.

"I'm so sorry to bother you, but we have urgent news to report to His Majesty. If you'd be so kind as to escort us to his offices, I would be obliged to pay you for your time." The boy didn't even spare Cirian a second glance. He began to wonder if he was so easily drawn by Renée's charms as this poor boy.

The boy gave a mute nod, and turned to show the way. Renée hooked her arm with his and walked alongside him, chatting about the casual affairs a court lady would use to start conversation. The boy, hardly versed in the world of noble conversation, merely listened, speechless and red in the face. Cirian fumed behind them, but managed to keep from arguing against any suggestive play on Renée's part. She knew just where to push his buttons.

They navigated through the halls, guided by the servant boy who couldn't have been much older than eighteen—most of the King's servants were hired at young ages, and it took years to be promoted to valet, or any other position that was held in direct sight of the King. It was entirely possible that the boy never even spoke a word to the King, or vice versa, but seeing as he knew where to find him, Cirian marked him as a palace messenger. They only ever spoke to the scribes when the letters were handed away.

At an elaborate marble stairway, the servant stopped and gestured ahead, saying something along the lines of, "Just up this way." Renée, to Cirian's dismay, kissed the boy on the forehead and deposited a silver coin into his hands.

As they ascended the stairs, leaving behind that poor infatuated boy, Renée tapped Cirian's arm accusingly. "Don't give me that look, Cirian. You know I always have to be nice to the servants."

And the guards as well, he mused in annoyance. Renée must have seen the words written on his forehead, because she thumped him on the side of the head before making an effort to link arms with him.

The stairs guided them up to the open archway of the King's offices—divided by the guards standing in perfect unison, and the assistant overlooking the desk outside. The man looked up as Renée and Cirian stepped forward, and the scribe standing off to the side pegged the two of them with curious stares.

"Lord Wiltshire," the assistant said, and he was partially surprised to hear his own name roll off the stranger's lips. The man rose and ducked his head into a slight bow, and the scribe did the same. "What can I do for you?"

Renée gave him an encouraging nudge in the side. "I have a question to impose on the King—it shouldn't take long. May I see him?"

The assistant seemed to collect himself again and sat down in his high-backed chair. "He's speaking with someone at the moment. But if you remain here, he might take you in afterwards."

Cirian agreed to it, and together the two of them walked over to wait in the elaborate sitting area, all in view of the assistant's desk. He watched as Renée's eyes turned upwards, towards the unbelievably high ceiling, decorated with golden boards and ornate columns posted along the four corners of the room. Her eyes scanned the mural overhead, down to the fine velvet red curtains flanking the edges of paintings, of pictures, of the artistic beauty of the King's sitting room.