Wilmer’s temper visibly snapped.

“Arise from my chair and get out,” he demanded hotly.

“Is that your answer?”

“Tell the people what you want,” he decreed, throwing his hands up. “I made a mistake. I have many responsibilities. I am king, but I am also a man. Mistakes are made. They will understand.”

“Will they? Will they, Wilmer?” she asked. “With Carrington’s counsel you have repeatedly led them to war against a superior force which not only ended in defeat, but to the deaths of our native sons. You have foolishly signed away their hard-earned monies. You have taken the counsel of a man who might be colluding with enemies of the state and you’ve done it for years. Every…single…thing Carrington has advised you to do has been with the goal of making you appear weak, dithering and greedy. His intent is not hard to read, just hard to prove. He wishes to destabilize your throne and you let him. So tell me, Wilmer, will they truly understand?”

His eyes narrowed, and his lips whispered, “I think I hate you.”

Her heart sank.

She gave no indication of that.

“What is your choice, my king?” she pressed.

He looked to the side, teeth clenched.

He looked back to her, nothing but cold in his eyes.

“Have him arrested,” he ordered.

“Do you wish to see the evidence?” she offered.

“I don’t care anymore.”

Mercy was not surprised at this.

For he never did.

“As you wish, my king,” she murmured, pushing up from her hands on the desk and rising from his chair.

“Right,” he mumbled sullenly.

She moved to the door.

She also stopped at it and turned.

Quietly, she said, “I hope sometime in the future, be it far, or near, that you understand I did this because I love you.”

“Really?” he asked, not having moved from his position in front of his desk, but he no longer appeared sullen or cold.

He looked upon her with distaste.

And somehow, that wounded her most of all.

“Really,” she whispered.

She then turned, stepped out of his study, closed the door and looked to Bram.

She then gave the king’s order.

75

The Welcome

King Noctorno

The Maiden’s Breast Inn and Public House, Dunlyn, North Coast

AIREN

“Oy, oy,” the man behind the reception bench called the moment they walked over the threshold. “Wenches to the back.”

Tor looked to Lahn who was studying the man curiously.

Though “curious” for Lahn appeared threatening.

The man was either blind, or stupid, because he aimed his next directly to Lahn.

“And you, we don’t want any instigators. You don’t keep yourself to yourself and toe the line, you can go back to Firenze, but before that, you can get your arse out of here.”

After the innkeeper delivered that, Lahn slowly turned his head to Tor and lifted his brows.