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The hall of the Mad King was alight with mirth that night. Upon Ashnard’s return to Nevassa, he called upon his generals and soldiers for a celebration. Phoenicis had fallen. They’d finally triumphed against the King of the Hawks, and collected multiple spoils to prove it– one of which proved to be a surprise.
Princess Leanne of Serenes sat slumped beside Ashnard’s throne. His mount laid behind her, curling around the throne so that its gargantuan head peered out from the other side. The tip of its tail twitched against her leg. Contempt seeped into her mind, sickly sweet like the mead downing the soldier’s gullets. She balled her fists together. They’d bound her wrists with silk, and she’d long given up trying to break it. The ribbon trailed up into Ashnard’s thick hands.
One of Ashnard’s generals traced a palm over the curve of Leanne’s wing. Leanne flinched. Her feathers went stiff. She whipped her head around, wide eyes locking onto the man with fear. The general chuckled and removed his hand. Leanne felt no remorse from the man as he did. All she felt was the drunken revelry around her. The soldiers partied like animals. They threw each other around, breaking tables and limbs. Men ripped flesh from animal bones with their bare teeth. Ale sloshed from their mugs, puddling up in the cracks of the flagstone floor. Ashnard’s throne sat atop the pelt of a beast, and he leered at anyone who came too close. Leanne was thankful for this, even if she could not tell if the Mad King cared more for her or the rug.
Perhaps the worst part of it all was the lack of pity. In Ashnard’s eyes, kindness was weakness. Not one soul in this room radiated any compassion. It wouldn’t have surprised her if the Mad King chose his generals through a fight to the death. Many went in, one came out. Let the men’s bloodlust decide who shall be fit to lead– A heartless method for a heartless man. It was terrifying to think that even those who killed so freely were scared of him.
Ashnard stood. He tugged gently on Leanne’s bindings, and she stood, stumbling around as her dress caught under her feet. The room fell silent. Ashnard began to speak. Invasive pride surged in Leanne’s veins. Her entire body shook. She darted her eyes around the room, the soldiers leering at her from every direction. Their smug smiles made her heart quiver. Her head grew hot. Was this how it felt to be injected with the Feral Ones serum? How many of those poor hawks were being subjected to it at this very minute?
Ashnard lifted Leanne’s arms above her head. One of his underlings, a hunchbacked old man draped in velour, slithered across the floor. Leanne stepped back. Just the man’s smile reeked of putrid slime. The man drew a knife from his robes and handed it to Ashnard.
This is it, thought Leanne. She turned her head and shut her eyes. I suppose it could have been worse.
Cool steel met her wrists. Her bindings loosened, then fluttered to the ground.
She opened her eyes.
Ashnard held out his hand to her, a lascivious grin upon his face. He spoke in the ancient language.
“Dance with me, little heron. Make it worth my while.”
Leanne faltered. The Mad King of Daein wanted to dance? With her? She’d assumed that was beneath his station. A man like him didn’t dance, nor concern himself with the folly of a dead language. Yet here he stood, beckoning her to join. An irrefutable invitation.
She took his hand.
He pulled her in, resting her head against his breastbone. A thick arm wrapped around her waist. The king began to waltz, his body rocking back and forth with a gentleness Leanne hadn’t thought possible. A flurry of emotions filled her heart, none her own. Amusement, jealousy, triumph, even the poison-laced honey of lust. Ashnard continued to dance, the jeers of his men egging him on. Leanne braced herself against his body, praying to the goddess it would end.
And then, above everything else, Leanne felt it– rage. Powerful, seething rage.
The doors to the room burst open. Ashnard stood still.
“Where is she?” Naesala stormed through the crowd, pushing any stragglers out of his way. “Where is Leanne? I know you have her, you son of a–”
His face paled.
“Good evening, Raven King,” said Ashnard, in a perfect ancient dialect once more. He clamped his hand around Leanne’s wrists and raised her up, spinning her so that she faced the Raven King. “Is this what you’ve come for?”
Naesala grit his teeth. “You said you wouldn’t hurt her.”
“And I haven’t.” Ashnard brushed his thumb against Leanne’s wrist. “I’ve upheld our deal.”
“Let her go,” Naesala growled. “Now.”
“As you wish.” Ashnard released his grip on Leanne. She dropped to the floor.
“Leanne!” Naesala rushed over to Leanne’s side. She dove into his arms.
“Naesala! Goddess, what are you doing here?” Tears welled at her eyes. “Has he hurt you? I’m fine as long as you are.”
Naesala took a finger and wiped Leanne’s cheek. “I’m here for you. We’re going back to Kilvas, and everything will be fine. I promise.”
Ashnard threw his head back with laughter. It verberated off the walls, each peal striking like thunder. “Why don’t you stay for the rest of the celebration?” he asked, cocking his head. “It would be rude of you to take our honored guest and run.”
“Honored guest?” Naesala sneered. “You’ve treated her like a spoil of war.”
“Make no mistake, crow.” Ashnard took Naesala by his shirt and yanked him to his feet. “She is a spoil of war, and mine at that. All your word did was make sure she’d be well cared for.”
“Like you’d know how to take care of a heron,” Naesala spat.
Ashnard smirked. “After the last one, I know what not to do.”
Leanne’s heart dropped. The last one?
“Herons are weak creatures, only good for entertainment,” Ashnard said. “Their appearance evokes that of an angel, yet they feature none of that coveted divine strength. They must be coddled, pampered, lest they try to escape and mutilate themselves in the process.”
Naesala grunted. Ashnard raised him higher, his grip tightening. “But ravens… ravens are strong, cunning, like their hawk brethren. Do you know how hard the hawks fought before we brought them all down? The looks on their faces when we unleashed their feral kin? All those soldiers brought to my feet in chains, ready to be molded to my will…”
Ashnard’s laughter bore into Leanne’s heart. It pounded like the drums of war he so loved. She covered her ears and screamed. Please, make it stop…
Ashnard gazed down at Leanne, clicking his tongue. “Oh, dear. Our guest seems to be overwhelmed. It seems you’ve made her upset with your presence.” He dropped Naesala to his knees. “Now go, Raven King, before your kingdom is next.”
Naesala stumbled to his feet. He gave Leanne a pained gaze. Leanne swallowed a sob. She nodded at him, a silent vow between the two of them. Go. Save your people.
Naesala didn’t look back as he ran.