Kings or Pawns (Steps of Power: The Kings Book I)

Chapter Three

Hairem slouched in his seat, groaning, his arms hanging limply over the sides of the chair. "Why must the gods hate me so?" he moaned.

The girl brushing his hair folded her hands against her abdomen patiently as his hair disappeared beneath the back of the chair, not bothering to hide her exaggerated eye roll. He was such a sloucher. His father had been one, too. Even now, over the din of her own thoughts and Hairem's complaints, the handmaid could hear the late king's hypocritical rebuke toward his son. "Sit up straight. Shoulders back. You're a prince, not a pauper."

She eyed the ceiling, attention flicking from the chipping gold paint to the webbed center of the dome. She would need a very tall ladder to reach that one. Perhaps there was one in the cellar. She glanced once more toward the king, who seemed to have slipped further down the chair.

"I will tell you that this is the worst. The worst—no, no, I take that back... that damn council is the worst... but this is damn close. You understand how these things work, do you not?" He tipped his head back and she saw his brow knit as he found the web at the center of the dome. "Ah... forgive my language, Alvena... You are not a male, you are a gir—a lady." He gripped the sides of the chair and pulled himself straight, flicking his hair behind his head again. "Carry on."

His fit paused, the girl raised the brush again and worked it through the now static ends of his hair. A lady. Ha! If she was a lady she would not be a handmaid. She pulled a little on his hair absentmindedly. She had just begun to bleed two years ago and that, in the eyes of the elves, hardly made her more than a child and certainly not a lady... but she liked when he used that word. She stood a little taller.

"I will have to sit there with a sweetly sickening smile the entirety of the time," he suddenly groaned. He turned his head, hair yanking from her hand, the brush still caught in the ends. "Does this smile look false to you?"

The girl nodded.

"Maybe I shall simply not smile."

She shrugged.

The king slumped back into the chair and she pried the brush from his hair. He had a lot of hair. Not as much as his father, but it was so frizzy now!

"I know... It is just that... Nilanis has the greatest influence over the council. If I sit through a dinner with him, perhaps I can create a more amiable atmosphere at the council... which is something I desperately need if those meetings are to go anywhere at all." He was quiet a moment. "Are you almost done? It certainly is taking you a while this morning."

* * * * *

The carriage ride to the estate of the El'adorium was long, rolling gently along the winding roads of the city. When Hairem's mood was agreeable, he would call it scenic—when his patience ran thin, it was superfluous. Nilanis' home was located on the west side of the city, along the bank of the lake, which was located in the exact opposite direction of the palace. Yes, this ride was superfluous.

'And,' Hairem mused, 'what an ironic reflection of the supposed close relationship that the El'adorium holds with the king.'

For all the expectations that the El'adorium was supposed to work closely with the king, Hairem actually knew very little about Nilanis' life. Personally, that was. Economically, it was impossible to not know the male. Nilanis seemed to own the Port of Targados and the lake itself: it was usually his ships and his trade that came in to port. The male had acquired most of his fortune off of the trade that both came and left the capital, and subsequently his power derived from the wealth and control of the majority of Elvorium's commerce. Stripped of his powers as the El'adorium, Nilanis would still hold a potent influence. His reach could be felt as far north as Darival and as far south as even the coastline of Dragon Wing. Even before he had become the El'adorium three centuries before, a lord of his status and economic influence had been in no short supply of power.