Red Ruse

Chapter Seven

Mare

I wake to find my wardrobe empty. To my maids carrying away the last trace of Titanos colors, shying away when I attempt to speak to them. So does the healer, wordless as she trails a hand along my shoulder. She leaves a note on my bedside table:

Your new schedule is as follows:

0730–Breakfast / 0800–Council / 1130–Luncheon

1300–Visiting an Esteemed Guest / 1800–Dinner

The rest of the day may be spent as you wish.

His Royal Highness King Maven of House Calore.

"Council." The paper wrinkles between my fingers. "What does that mean?"

No one answers.

I tap the shoulder of a maid, but she scurries off, shoving a dress into my hand without a word. It's not personal, but it still stings.

Breakfast is a quiet affair, seated far from any nobles who might question me. Maven meets me afterwards, extending his arm in invitation. I walk right past it.

It doesn't deter him. "Council's this way."

"Hmpf." I continue walking in the wrong direction. "What is Council, anyway?"

"You'll see when we get there." He nudges me, about to link arms before I relent. Those we pass turn their heads, whispering amongst themselves. Maven pays them no mind.

I fail to do the same.

Council turns out to be a mess of grumbling nobles, quieting once Maven takes his seat. One by one, they rise and bow, all eyes on me as I shuffle forward. "Your Majesty, I–" The words are small, a lamb before a lion. "I don't know where to sit."

Murmurs rise around us, peppered with a few muffled laughs. Maven frowns. "I thought I informed you our new Ambassador would be joining us."

"Did you?" Volo raises a brow. "I don't remember such a decree."

I should be insulted. Should be scathing that they disrespect my blood so. But I've no pride left to waste on games, not when Maven's throne swings in the balance. Let him hang by his own rope.

A few servants move as if to help me, only to be shushed by the glares of their lords. They're Silver, all of them, a precaution ever since the Scarlet Guard. "No matter." Maven stands, a smirk behind his eyes. "Have a seat, milady."

Gasps echo off the marble, hushing as I step forward. His hand is cool, neither a truth nor a lie, sensation lingering long after his fingers have left. Heat rises to my cheeks. "You don't have to–"

"I insist." Maven smiles, dares anyone to proclaim his conduct improper. A few hands raise as if to object, lowering once his gaze falls upon them.

Volo clucks his tongue. "Let the girl stand. Consider it her Training for the day."

I stiffen. What had seemed a matter of pride has become that of power, one I can't afford to let slip away. "Training? Then shouldn't you all stand? Your bones are older than mine after all, and more in need of strengthening."

Maven claps his hands. "Splendid idea! Put the chairs away. Our work is too important to be sitting down for it."

The council explodes in grumbles and glares, anger split between me and Volo. No one dares accuse Maven, still standing beside his empty seat. A young man–a boy, really–clears his throat. "Lady Ara has not arrived."