Page 108 of To Kill a King
Something inside Aliya uncoiled, relaxing. Payment in coin, however outrageous, she could stomach. Compensation in services...not so much. She smiled and dug the requested pieces from her purse. “Thank you.”
The attendant pocketed the money, gave her a quick head bob, and ducked out, pulling the basin behind her. Aliya closed and locked the door.
The meat smelled delicious. Her mouth watered.
Taking the platter, she plopped down, cross-legged on the floor. They’d seasoned the potatoes with something she’d never sampled before. The spices left her tongue tingling. The gravy was as rich as anything in the palace. If this weren't a bordello, she’d be inclined to go downstairs and ask the chef for the recipe.
She lifted the glass of water and a note slipped off the tray.
Picking up the paper, she unfolded it.
Tomorrow morning, sunrise, Market Space 4. —Jalius
She pressed her lips into a thin line and bit her cheek and double-checked the skin on her arms—still dark brown. Her fingers traced the shape of her face—still as she intended. Apparently, her disguise wasn't as thorough as she thought.
At least she wouldn't need to worry about hunting down the little gnome.
Once she finished dinner, she pulled on the too short and practically translucent nightgown on the edge of the bed and crawled between the fluffy blankets. The mattress sunk beneath her weight, its stuffing gloriously soft.
She could get used to this, but it was only for one night. Brothel aside, she didn't have another five gold on her. Throwing one last glance around the room, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
“I suppose you think you’ve done well for yourself?”
Aliya jumped as Malkov’s voice sounded next to her ear. She leapt from the plush bed and scrambled to the opposite side of the room. Crossing her arms over her chest, she backed against the wall.
He studied the space, frowning at the pink comforter and curtains. “Hopefully you’re not paying anything for this chamber. Ugh.” He turned his head away. “It’s so tacky.”
She reached for her kernel of power, only to find it disturbingly absent. “How are you here? I thought I had to come to you.”
“The location doesn’t matter. We could meet on the sand dunes of the Saldanian Desert, if I cared to. And quit trying to call on your magic. It’s of no use to you right now.”
Her stomach hardened. Her best defense, gone.
Brushing a stray hair out of her face to cover her consternation, she glared. “What do you want, Malkov?”
“Majesty,” he corrected her. “What do you want, Your Majesty.”
“You’re no king of mine.” Baring her teeth, she grabbed the poker from the cold hearth and brandished it at him.
He laughed, ignoring her makeshift weapon. “I’ve reclaimed the Larimar Barony for the Crown, and stripped you and your father of your titles. Well, all except queen, of course. You’ll keep that until you die.”
Ugh. The honor she wanted least of all. “You can have that one, too.”
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she’d hoped that after this was over, she could abdicate the throne and go home. Nausea roiled in her gut at the loss of her Plan B, even as implausible as it had been.
“I’m going to enjoy your death, you know. No one else has caused me half this much trouble.”
“Yeah, well, I object to losing my magic and my life.”
He turned his palms toward her and shrugged. “I truly don’t see why. Your contribution will allow us to finish production on the Whisperers and end the war with the elves. There is no more worthy cause than that.”
“I have one for you. Peace.”
“What?” He scoffed. “With those murderous knife-ears? Please.”
He glanced around the room, scrutinizing every detail.
“Trying to figure out where I am?”