Chapter 5
Ejnar Machi maintained a rigid, disciplined posture at his desk, his attention consumed by the intelligence reports sent from Makaeri by his operative, Bette. As he scanned the pages detailing the internal politics of the empire, he offered a low, unsurprised commentary.
“They claim to be focused on civil governance, yet their military expansion continues without pause.”
Standing nearby, Robert, his loyal attendant, spoke up as if he had been rehearsing his response.
“The current Emperor may not hold a candle to Gunnar, but he remains the man’s biological heir. We cannot let our guard down for a moment.”
“The current ruler is certainly more cunning than Gunnar,” Ejnar noted. “At the very least, Gunnar never stooped to selling his own daughter to secure his borders.”
It was a shrewd tactic for a man of limited talent. Though Ejnar had already unmasked the scheme, it didn’t make the strategy any less effective.
“Have you identified the culprit behind the chaos at Tems Palace?”
“It was Marquis Piece, just as we suspected,” Robert confirmed. “I have issued a formal warning. There will not be a repeat performance.”
Public resentment had been inevitable when Ejnar first declared his intent to make a woman of Makaeri the Queen of Machi. However, he had managed to stifle the loudest outcries by framing the union as a formal apology from their enemies and a source of massive economic gain. The people had followed his lead with a bitter, silent compliance. If the King—a man who had lost his own kin to the empire—could tolerate the match, then the commoners had no standing to revolt.
Still, a core group of dissenters remained. Ejnar had anticipated some friction and bolstered security accordingly, but he hadn’t expected a high-ranking noble to strike so boldly.
“It was a stroke of luck that you were present when it happened, Sire. We avoided a diplomatic disaster. Although, even alive, that woman is bound to be a burden…”
Robert trailed off, glancing at the King. When Ejnar offered no reaction to the jab, the attendant shifted uncomfortably before continuing.
“I truly didn’t think she would stay silent about the attack. After surviving a trauma like that… perhaps it is her imperial blood or a trait inherited from her father, but there is something unsettling about her.”
Unsettling.
Ejnar turned the word over in his mind, his thoughts drifting back to his encounter with Elfreda the previous night. She had been visibly shaken when their gazes locked, a sharp contrast to their initial meeting. He wondered if those frantic movements were born of a desire to flee or a desperate attempt to reach him.
The reality was obvious enough for a child to grasp, and it served his purposes well. It was beneficial to know exactly where he stood with her. Her behavior on their wedding night had proven she possessed a certain sharp-wittedness; she was far from a simpleton, regardless of how eerie she might seem.
Yet, a prickle of annoyance nagged at him for reasons he couldn’t quite name.
He sat with the feeling until his mind cleared, the lingering tension of the investigation finally dissipating. His tone was more composed when he spoke again.
“She understands the precarity of her position. Creating a scene would gain her nothing.”
“And if she decides to cause trouble regardless of the cost?” Robert asked.
“It changes nothing. I stepped in so she could maintain the illusion that I have no ties to the throne’s enemies, and Makaeri is too invested in this alliance to let it fail now.”
The realization that the marriage was unavoidable left a bitter taste in his mouth. Ejnar’s features hardened into a mask of cold indifference. Noticing the shift, Robert spoke with renewed caution.
“This union isn’t the only way to achieve our goals, Your Majesty. I dislike seeing you endure such a burden.”
“It is the most efficient way to ensure our victory,” Ejnar countered.
He found a grim satisfaction in that fact. Despite the way the mere mention of her arrival soured his mood, and despite the moments he had spent watching her sleep—debating whether to end her life then and there—he would proceed. He had even watched her struggle in the water, briefly wishing she would simply sink.
But personal loathing was a small price to pay. For the sake of the ultimate triumph, he could stomach this revulsion. Disgust was a fleeting sensation compared to the finality of the grave.
He forced a thin, mirthless smile.
“Physical hardship is far more taxing than mental strain. I have no right to complain when our agents are risking their lives daily on foreign soil for the sake of Machi.”
Faced with such a firm stance, Robert knew better than to argue further. He chose to pivot the subject.
“Ilene reports that the lady has regained consciousness. Do you wish to visit her?”
The moment the question left his lips, Robert regretted it. Ejnar looked at him as if he had just suggested something utterly absurd. The attendant quickly recovered his footing.
“Actually, there is no need. She is suffering from a brutal fever. It seems the pressure of her royal education is taking a physical toll.”
“See to it that she survives,” Ejnar said coldly. “I have no desire to waste the treasury on a state funeral for a foreigner.”
As he spoke, he briefly envisioned her passing. The thought left him entirely cold, carrying no more emotional weight than the death of an insect.
When Elfreda finally woke, the heavy fog in her mind had begun to lift. Her throat remained raw, but the sharp, stabbing pain had dulled to an ache, and the heat radiating from her skin had diminished.
“You’ve returned to us!”
The maid, Ilene, was there just as she had been before. The genuine warmth in the girl’s voice felt like a shock to Elfreda’s system. Such kindness was a foreign currency she didn’t know how to spend.
“How much time has passed?” Elfreda asked softly.
“You’ve been resting for fifteen hours.”
Elfreda’s eyes widened in shock. She hadn’t intended to occupy the space for nearly an entire day.
“Are you feeling any stronger?”
“Much better, thanks to your care. But I need to know the path back to Tems Palace.”
Ilene provided the directions with patience, and Elfreda committed the route to memory with a quick nod.
“I appreciate it. I’ll be leaving now.”
“Right now? Absolutely not!”
“Is there a problem?” Elfreda asked, confused.
“You’re still recovering. You aren’t fit to walk.”
Elfreda hesitated. She was well aware of how the other servants viewed her—a common barbarian from the wastes. She had overheard their hushed insults. Even if the King had shown a strange mercy by saving her life, he surely wouldn’t want her lingering here. They were to be wed, but she had no wish to cause further scandal.
She tried to force herself upright, but her limbs were treacherous. Ilene lunged forward to steady her.
“Please, stay and rest. The royal physician insisted on it!”
“I can recover at Tems Palace,” Elfreda insisted. “The staff there will be expecting me.”
The lie tasted bitter. She knew they likely wished she had stayed dead.
“I truly value your concern, Ilene, but I must go.”
Seeing that Elfreda wouldn’t be swayed, Ilene’s expression turned troubled.
“At the very least, let me escort you back.”
“No, stay here. I can find my way.”
Elfreda stepped away before the maid could protest again.
“Goodbye, Ilene. I hope our paths cross again under better circumstances.”
She meant every word. In this cold, hostile land, Ilene’s compassion was a solitary light. Elfreda cherished the warmth, yet she knew she couldn’t ask the girl to follow her. Associating with a woman of Makaeri would only bring Ilene grief and social ruin.
Elfreda straightened her spine and stepped out into the corridor.
She was a ghost passing through the halls. People looked at her pale, trembling form, but no one offered a hand or a word of greeting. The familiar wall of indifference didn’t hurt her; she simply kept moving, fueled by sheer willpower.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing?”
The voice cut through the air, bringing her to an abrupt halt.
In her haste, she had forgotten. Ilene wasn’t the only one who had shown her a strange, illogical mercy. The King himself had saved her twice now—a man whose people were the blood enemies of her own.
The thought made her pulse race with a terrifying intensity. Her entire body began to shake. She knew she shouldn’t feel this way, but she lacked the strength to suppress her heart’s reaction. Closing her eyes, she took a long, stabilizing breath before turning to face him.
The midday sun streamed through the windows, nearly blinding her. In a sudden panic, she recalled the lessons her etiquette tutor had drilled into her only yesterday.
“To the radiant sun of Machi—”
She couldn’t finish the greeting.
As she attempted a formal bow, the world tilted violently. Her knees buckled, and she began to fall, mirroring her collapse on the balcony the night before.
“Ah…”
Before she could hit the floor, a powerful arm wrapped around her waist, hauling her back. Elfreda stared up, her vision swimming with light.
As the glare faded, she found herself looking into eyes the color of a deep, ancient forest. She tried to find her balance, her mind racing to catch up with her body.
“Honestly,” he said, his voice a low, resonant hum.
His lips quirked into a graceful, mocking line.
“You are quite a lot of trouble.”
Despite the insult, there was a magnetic quality to his presence—the golden hair and piercing green eyes were breathtaking. Elfreda felt a wave of belated shame, but it did nothing to slow the frantic beating of her heart.
