Page 16 of The Half King
To her relief, she didn’t have to lie to Father Padron because she passed neither him nor anyone else she knew on the way out of the palace. Daerick guided her outside, beyond the spot where she had seen the desert panther the day before, and then the two of them continued along the grass-carpeted path leading to the front gate. A small group of people had formed in the shade of the fruit trees lining the path. As Cerise approached the group, she identified several royal guards, and with them, the king and his courtesan, Lady Delora Champlain.
The king sat on a stone bench beneath a citrus tree, one arm curled around Lady Champlain’s waist and the other tipping a leather flask to his mouth. He seemed to be wearing the same clothes that he had abandoned the previous night in the garden: badly wrinkled canvas pants and a black silk shirt rolled at the sleeves.
For a brief moment, Cerise wondered if his body had reappeared in the garden at sunrise, but then she remembered that he materialized where his spirit was drawn, which was to Lady Champlain’s bedchamber. Perhaps Delora had collected the king’s clothes and brought them to her rooms. Regardless, His Majesty hadn’t bothered to dress properly for the day. And judging by the looseness of his limbs and the sloppy grin he delivered when their eyes met, he was drunk.
At breakfast time.
Half a king, indeed.
“My lady of the temple,” he slurred while feigning a seated bow. Liquid dribbled from his flagon down the front of his shirt. “You’re looking quite…” He squinted at her clothing. “Peasantlythis morning.”
“‘Peasantly’?” Daerick repeated with a snigger. He brushed a bit of lint from the sleeve of his own tunic. “Did the Royal Academy of Linguists add that delightful nugget to the lexicon when I wasn’t looking?”
“Oh, shut up,” the king spat. “I can invent whatever words I want.”
Cerise dipped her head in a show of respect that she didn’t feel. “And you’re looking rather…relaxed, Your Majesty.”
Kian chortled from low in his belly, but it was a disingenuous sound, no more pleasing to her ears than the cold laughter he had used as a weapon against her the day before. As she approached him, she smelled the tang of hard cider, and she turned her eyes to Daerick in a silent question. Was the king always like this? Intoxicated and childish? As rude and spoiled as an entitled schoolboy?
“His Majesty has honored us with an invitation to the city,” Daerick said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “He even cancelled all of his royal engagements to do so. Isn’t that generous of him?”
“Long live the king,” Kian muttered. He fished a pillbox from his trouser pocket and tossed a handful of stomach soothers into his mouth, then threw back his head, draining the last few drops from his flask. He frowned at the empty container. “I want something stronger than cider, and I know just the place to find it.” The king stood and stumbled before offering his arm to Delora. “My lady. Shall we earn our wicked reputations?”
“It would be my pleasure,” Delora said. She smoothed a hand over her silk-draped curves, drawing attention to the swells of her breasts. “They say the lower a lady’s neckline, the worse she can behave.”
Kian chuckled. “Then you’ll get away with murder, my dear.”
While Cerise resisted the urge to roll her eyes to the heavens, she caught something in Lady Champlain’s smile—a hint of wariness that made her look twice. No one else in the group had seemed to notice; certainly not the king. If he had paid attention to more than Delora’s breasts, he might have noted that her grin didn’t extend beyond her mouth. He might have detected the stiffness in her shoulders and the way she held too tightly to his arm.
The king’s courtesan seemed afraid. But of what? Or of whom?
Perhaps she’d read too much into Delora’s mannerisms. She fell into step behind the pair, watching their body language as the group strolled beyond the armored gatehouse doors and toward the city entrance, which was equally guarded by dozens of uniformed soldiers.
Cerise waved Daerick over and asked him in a low voice, “Are you ready to tell me where we’re going?”
“Not yet,” he whispered. “There are too many ears around us. But we’ll be alone soon. There’s a gambling hall no more than three paces inside the city gate. The king won’t be able to pass it up.”
She cast him a doubtful glance.
“Believe me,” Daerick said. “Kian and I have been friends for a long time. If there’s one thing I know, it’s his vices.”
“Friends?” she asked. “He doesn’t treat you like one.”
“He’s not himself today.”
“Was he himself yesterday?” she challenged. “Because I met him in the garden, and he introduced himself with a blade.” At Daerick’s wide-eyed response, she told him about the tiny frog and how the king had taunted her after killing it. “He hates me. He couldn’t have made it any plainer.”
She expected Daerick to deny her claim or at least to make an excuse for the king’s behavior, but he didn’t. She almost wished that he had.
“My lady of the temple,” the king called over one shoulder while stumbling ahead on the grassy path. “You’re a second-born Solon. Who bears your family curse?”
“My sister, Nina,” she told him. “She’s married and has an estate in Calatris.”
“Are you close in age?” Delora asked.
“Oh, no, she’s much older than me,” Cerise said. “I think she was meant to be an only child, and I was a surprise.”
“Is your sister beautiful?” the king asked.
