“As long as Rylander is successful in the demise of the Siren Queen, then, yes.”

“Will you tell Rylander of our agreement?” I crossed my arms over my chest, protecting the heart the king threatened to expose.

“I don’t have to. It was his idea.”

Chapter ten

Rylander

Life at the palace came with expectations, one of which was proper attire. When I ate with the royal family, Queen Olivine insisted on noble garb. I felt more like a jester than a captain, puffed up in the vibrant ensemble left for me in my room. Edgar had no doubt hand-picked these silks.

First, though, I slicked my hair back into a low ponytail, then did my best to scrub the filth of ship life off my face and from under my nails. I held the sharp razor to my stubbled face and worked until my jaw was as smooth as a newborn’s bottom. I slipped into the billowing sleeves of a white, high-collared satin shirt. The dark red doublet I wriggled over the top was too ostentatious for my taste with its golden embroidery of unidentifiable foliage. I already missed the rough-hewn linen of my everyday tunics. This soft material made me itch with insincerity, like I wore someone else’s skin and slunk in secret through the castle.

I waited at the doors to the great hall until the herald called my arrival and the doors swung open to admit me. I entered with my head held high and shoulders back. The last person I’d let see my discomfort would be Queen Olivine. She relished in watching me squirm.

The room glistened with gilded adornments. Red velour walls boasted paintings of past wars and portraits of the gods. The image of Apollo caught my eye. Depicted as a handsome, beardless youth with long, dirty blond hair curling at his muscular shoulders, he had his token attributes on full display. A wreath and branch of laurel sat on his head, a quiver peeked over his back, but he kept his bow and lyre resting by his side. A calculating and knowing smile graced his porcelain face, and the sun behind him illuminated his outline in a halo. He commanded the largest of all the portraits by far.

“It’s hard to miss, isn’t it?” Edgar asked. He stood next to me wearing a red and gold brocade waistcoat that sparkled in the chandelier lighting. “Time and time again, Queen Olivine has fought for its removal. But King Delphi refuses her wish. And each time she complains, he has it recommissioned on a larger canvas.”

I chuckled. “If she doesn’t accept it soon, it’ll span the wall.”

“Aye.” Edgar squeezed my shoulder. “Let’s hope for her surrender.”