The Blood King - Chapter Seventeen (Patreon)

Nymira

The king isn’t leaving the castle alone. He is taking all of his men with him, leaving it empty. I am in awe as I watch the large group of Dragonborn mingling with their armed men, preparing to leave. They’ve all accumulated at the front of the castle, just before the gates, and they still continue to pour out.

I slowly look away from them, pulling up the sleeve of my dress to take in the marking that has appeared. It means I am coming into my own as an Ikniri, but I am not growing. If I must look like the king to be considered one of my people, I have a long way to go. And no one to teach me.

I shudder as I think of the king a few nights ago. I can still feel the heat of his touch against my skin as he begrudginly explained these markings—the warmth of his skin inches from mine. And the look in his eyes as he spoke. The rage he has for my people is difficult to understand. Unfortunately, I don’t know my people’s history. Other than the war, I don’t know why he would hate me as much as he does.

I pull in a trembling breath as I recall one of Peyra’s final words to me. She was under an oath and was not able to tell me any truths about my life, making me curious just how much she’s actually failed me.

“We’re almost ready to depart.” I quickly lower my hand, turning as one of the king’s men, Ulric, approaches. He is another that I cannot figure out. Other than the first day I was brought here, I’ve rarely seen him. And I’ve never spoken to him the way that Caius and I speak. He is very good at masking his emotions, whatever they might be.

“You are to ride near the king, so it would be wise to meet him in the courtyard,” he says.

I raise a brow, turning to face him full on.

“Where is Caius?” I ask. Caius is usually the one who delivers the king’s orders. But I haven’t seen him at all since we returned from the square. I wouldn’t call him a friend, but whatever it is we have wouldn’t allow him to avoid me like this. Especially since we left things so open-ended between him pulling his sword on the humans and my body’s sudden release of power.

Ulric’s expression doesn’t change.

“He has been assigned a division to command during our travel. He was only tasked with watching you because we were stationary,” he says.

I look away from him to the men who continue to ready themselves for this trip.

“He won’t be among them. He is a commander,” Ulric says from behind me.

“Take me to him, then,” I say.

Now Ulric’s expression shifts. His brow furrows slightly.

“I cannot. I have been ordered to bring you to the king. Nothing else,” he says, and I can’t help but laugh as I come to my own speculation.

“So his reassignment wasn’t based on necessity,” I say aloud.

Ulric doesn’t answer immediately. He takes a step back and speaks.

“Shall I take you to the king?” he asks.

I keep my gaze forward, hating how helpless I am. The last thing I want right now is to see the king. He was an intimidating presence already when I couldn’t see his face. Now, as I look upon those eyes that see into me—that hold such resentment, I have to fight the desire to run. My instincts know he is dangerous. And my body can’t even defend itself against him. Unfortunately, like everything else since I was brought here, I have no choice.

I turn away from the balcony, wearing my irritation on my expression as I look at Ulric.

“Lead the way,” I say. He nods, turning away from me, and I immediately notice the marking on the back of his neck. His hair is shaved close to his head, unlike Caius, whose hair is much longer, covering his nape.

I know that Ulric isn’t an ancient. But isn’t it only possible for Ancients to have markings? It just adds to the mystery of my kind and how in the dark I am. Instead of trying to escape, maybe I should try to understand my kind and my people, that only the king seems intent on sharing. He was right. I know nothing about my people or my place in the world. If I were ever permitted to leave, what would I do? Would I continue to hide in the forests? Content to hide for the rest of my days? Always returning to Peyra’s village with the hopes of my brother’s life?

No. I love Peyra, nothing can change that. But that is not how I want to live. Especially after seeing how humans live their lives of freedom. I will always be grateful to Peyra for protecting me as I grew. But the king is right. I am a sad excuse for my kind. If I am the last Ikniri, it would make my people weep to see me like this. So, I need to grow strong, and I need to understand, as is my duty.

By the time we reach the courtyard, I am brimming with intention. Each time I have encountered the king, he has made his dominance very clear. And he can, he is a Dragonborn who knows everything about himself as a king and an ancient. I want that, and he is my only door to that. It is clear that the men around me will not reveal anything without his express permission.

All except for Caius, who has clearly made a mistake somehow and been removed from my side.

The sun beats punishingly overhead as we step into the courtyard. I know the heat in the air isn’t as bad as I think. It’s only spring, the air is cooling for most humans. But it feels as uncomfortable as it did in the forests, making me hate this dress even more as it covers my legs and traps heat.

“Make sure you leave no trace of us. I don’t want trackers after we’ve left.”

I hear him before I see him, and my chest reacts to the sound of his commanding voice. My heart beats faster, my muscles tense as the instinct to run or fight kicks in, and I am suddenly reminded of his grip on me a few nights before, the heat of the sun nothing compared to the feel of his touch.

As we round a packed cart, I see him. He has his back to us, his hair held in a single braid down his back. The shirt he wears is sleeveless, revealing each of the intimidating markings that make him an Ancient. 

“Your Majesty,” Ulric calls to him as we approach, prompting him to turn around. I force myself to slow my breathing as he turns to look at us. Day or night does not matter with him. He is a terrifying Dragonborn. His size alone forces me to tilt my head if only to look him in his devilish eyes.

He smirks as he watches my reaction, gesturing to Ulric.

“Thank you, Ulric,” he says.

Ulric once again bows before leaving us, and I watch him quietly as he moves away, the mystery surrounding all of these people growing with each passing day. As I watch Ulric, my attention shifts to trying to find Caius, and the king notices.

“He has been reassigned. He has more important things to do than watch an unruly Ikniri,” the king says, turning away from me.

I narrow my gaze, following him. And I don’t miss the glances stolen as we move through the courtyard. It must be shocking for everyone to see a Dragonborn and an Ikniri walk side by side.

“You are lying,” I say.

“Am I?” he asks, stopping to look at me. He’s doing it on purpose. He knows how much he intimidates me. And as he crosses his arms over his chest, tilting his head, I have to look away.

“You’re doing this to punish me. I lied to you about my power, and now you are cutting me off from the only possible friend I had,” I say.

The king doesn’t respond, but the air grows warm around us, and I don’t know if it’s from the sun or the king.

“I am isolating you, yes, but not because of some friendship you've conjured. You are a danger to everyone around you. Caius included. And while I doubt he shares the same sentiments about your…friendship, he has been reassigned because we are traveling into hostile territory. And I need my head of my king's guard active.” He leans into me, and I realize immediately that the heat comes from his body as he enters my personal space, his expression irritated. “You, Nymira, have been moved to my side, so that I can watch you and ensure you don’t do something like what happened in the square again. Understand?”

I can’t seem to find words. So I nod as I swallow them. He doesn’t move immediately. He’s enjoying disrupting my space. He scoffs, standing tall before he continues walking ahead of me. 

I know I need to follow him, but as I watch him depart, I realize I’m squeezing my hands into a fist so hard that blood has come to the surface. I don’t understand why my body reacts this way to him. I am terrified, without being concious of why.

I pull in a deep breath, forcing myself to move as I catch up with him.

“You have something that belongs to me, Your Majesty,” I say, watching his back as we walk.

“Do I?” he asks.

“The necklace I had,” I say. I’ve been patiently waiting for it to be returned. I know not to make a scene about it, and I expected it to be returned to me by now. But with us leaving the castle, I don’t want it left behind.

“You mean the necklace you used to hide your marks,” he says.

“It is all I have of my people,” I say, ignoring his remark. I don’t tell him it’s my brother’s. I don’t want him to know there may be an Ikniri out there searching for me. Even if I don’t believe it myself.

He doesn’t respond, and I realize he isn’t going to as we approach the horses.

“I assume you ride,” he says, confirming his stance. And with no power and not being strong enough to fight him off, I can only concede.

“Yes,” I say, shifting my attention to the horses. There’s a large black horse already saddled, its dark hair matching the king’s. Next to it is a white horse. It has yet to be saddled, and I approach it, gently rubbing its neck. It’s beautiful, and as I close my eyes, I can feel its heartbeat—its breath soothing. It helps quieten the uncertainty that surrounds me. And the swirl of turmoil inside of me from having something taken. When I open my eyes, the king is on the other side of the horse, watching me with an unreadable expression.

He doesn’t speak as he throws a saddle on it, quickly readying it for me to ride.

“Does he have a name?” I ask, turning my attention back to the horse.

The king laughs.

“You Ikniri and your pets,” he mumbles to himself, once again revealing something about my culture. I ignore him for the moment, looking back to the horse, and as I look it in the eyes, I smile.

“You and I are going to be good friends on this journey,” I say. “I will call you Zephyr.”

I hear the king scoff, turning my attention to him. His dislike is clear. But he is the only one capable of revealing information about my people to me. He may be my natural enemy, but he is my only source.

“And you? Do you have a name? Or must I refer to you as ‘Your Majesty’ for this journey?” I ask, pulling his attention.

He stops what he’s doing, studying me. He narrows his gaze, thinking about it, but finally responds, shocking me.

“You can call me Cassian.”