Chapter Three

Lisandra, Lisile

Shonagan felt someone watching him and glanced up, toward his suite. Standing on the private balcony was a beautiful young half-blood woman with waist-length sun-gold hair dressed comfortably in trousers, warm blouse, leather vest and knee-high ship-deck boots. Even in her common, practical attire, he could name her; Adryn té Hathoryn Re’danya, Crown Princess of Chalis. He would have known her even if she hadn’t been standing on his balcony. Poor girl, he thought, betrothed to Kelath De’yarron. She would suffer for the rest of Kelath’s life––or hers, if she could not survive––for the sake of politics.

“Prince Shonagan, I demand an audience with you.”

Shonagan barely contained the groan. King Bekkil marched toward him, his stride jarring and angry. The last person Shonagan wanted to see right now was Bekkil, especially after what Palron had told him. “I am truly sorry, your majesty, that I was unable to meet you at the docks or even when you arrived at my palace, but I’m afraid I have no more time now than I did then.”

“Your father would be out of his mind to know the ingratitude you have shown us.”

“Ingratitude, your majesty?” Shonagan stopped to stare at the King. “For what should I be grateful? Your unannounced and very inconvenient appearance? Or perhaps the rude and abrupt manner with which you treated my steward and headservant? My father passed just hours ago, so I have both his send-off and my coronation to arrange and my time is stretched beyond limit. My palace was straining to house all the dignitaries from my own country and their servants and the arrival of the royal family of Chalis, their servants, yourself, your son and all of your entourage has taken even my family’s private suites. Every member of the staff here has been set to work to ensure everything runs as smoothly as possible. You will forgive me if I am a little irritated by your attitude, King Bekkil.”

Bekkil opened and closed his mouth, sucking in air like a beached fish.

“Keep in mind, your majesty De’yarron, that you are a guest of Se’tanara Palace, not her master.”

The King of Baronis had been deserted by his voice. He stared open-mouthed at Shonagan, visibly humbled by the exchange. His aggressive demands might get things done in the De’yarron palace, but Shonagan would be damned if he was going to bow to the foreign King. Bekkil met his gaze for just a moment and from the shudder, Shonagan guessed that his eyes must have shifted from the pale blue he’d managed to force to a dark gray, perhaps even black.

“If there is anything else you wish to say to me, King Bekkil, please direct everything through my steward, perhaps with the courtesy your rank implies.”

Shonagan brushed past the stunned King and slammed open the garden-side doors. Inside, Steward Palron waited for him. The man bowed, grinning.

“Most eloquent, Shonagan. That should keep him subdued.”

“I should hope so,” Shonagan replied. “Is he really so foolish to believe that every isle in the Pirate Islands should bend to his will?”

“Your father didn’t care much for him either.” Palron’s expression changed to one of sadness. “Arrangements and preparations for your father’s send-off and your coronation tomorrow are well under way. I think we can spare you the time for a brief rest.”

“Thank you, Palron. Your services, as always, are invaluable.”

“I do try to make myself irreplaceable. But go and find some place to rest, Shonagan. I’ll make sure you aren’t disturbed. Though I would take a round about route back to the Cliff House. You don’t want to chance running into his majesty again. Go down through the kitchens and back out. Then if he asks, I can tell him you wanted to personally check on the preparations for tomorrow’s feast.”

“Thank you again, Palron. Tell Hana I appreciate her cool-headedness in all this as well.”

“I will. Go. Bekkil is headed this way.”

Shonagan nodded, took the sheet of parchment Palron held out and headed for the kitchens. The parchment wasn’t just for show; it contained a report from Hana concerning room assignments, marking the changes that had been made to house King Bekkil and his get. Everything was in order and Shonagan was far more grateful to his servant staff than he could possibly express. He followed Palron’s suggestion, as much because he really did want to check on things as to avoid Bekkil.

“Your highness,” the headservant said when he stepped into the expansive kitchens. “I thought I told Palron that you should take some rest while you can. Did he not find you?”

“Oh, he found me. I just came down to see where things are at.”

“Ah. They’re going well. The pulled pork is already underway, as are the other, lengthier dishes. I promise, everything is fine, even with the unexpected arrival of their graces of Baronis.”

Shonagan groaned. “I don’t even want to think about them right now. Bekkil just accosted me in the gardens, demanding that he be better taken care of.”

“Now, your highness, you can’t let him do that. He’ll walk all over you like he does his fancy Sehmadonian rugs.”

“I didn’t. And if I was a little rude with him, I don’t even care.” Shonagan paused to watch the activity in the kitchens. There must have been thirty people cooking. “Have you seen Sarophia?”

Hana shook her head. “No, I haven’t, but my daughter said she went to the temple… and that Prince Kelath followed her. That was just a moment ago. I don’t like that boy.”

“Nor do I. If you’ll excuse me….”

“Of course. Get some rest, your highness.”

“I will, after I find Sarophia.”

He jogged out of the kitchens, lengthening his stride as he bounded up the stairs, taking them three at a time. His sleeveless black robe snapped behind him, echoing his growing aggitation with the Baronisian royals. This day was already hard enough, but in true De’yarron fashion, the King and Crown Prince of Baronis had made it worse. As he neared the open doors of the temple, he heard Sarophia’s angry voice, accusing Kelath De’yarron of being a worthless rutting pig.

“Brave words for a peasant girl,” he heard Kelath reply. There was a slap, then another and Sarophia snarled in protest.

Shonagan found the Crown Prince standing far too close to Sarophia. He had her cornered against the statue of the three favored gods of Lisile, his back to the doors. Shonagan strode forward and by the time Kelath realized he was no longer alone with his prey, Shonagan’s hand was around his arm. It took everything Shonagan had to keep his fist at his side and not send it into Kelath’s sneering face.

“Sarophia, are you all right?” he asked.

“Not really. This De’yarron pig followed me here. That’s twice today my prayers have been interupted. He seems to think that he owns Se’tanara Palace and all those who dwell within its walls, even the royal family of Lisile.”

“Stop pretending, you little peasant whore. You are no royal.”

“Your highness, I strongly suggest you keep that vile tongue or yours silent.”

“Or you’ll do what to me? Yell for your mother?”

Shonagan clenched his jaws shut and waited for a moment, unable to speak without jeapordizing the fragile grip he still had on his control. “If either you or your father, or any of your staff for that matter, question or insult my hospitality or treat my family or servants as you treat your own, I will not hesitate to personally escort you back to Baronis without an invitation to ever return.”

“You think yourself so great, Shonagan,” Kelath spat. “But you are nothing more than a worthless pirate.”

“At least I remember that I am a pirate, and that my ancestors––and yours––were pirates. I know who and what I am, though I doubt you know yourself as well. You will apologize to my wife and if you touch her again or even bother her again, I will not be so courteous.”

“She is no Princess.”

“According to the laws of every Pirate nation and the records of our marriage, she is. I understand that my servants have a far better quality of life than your own and that they do have finer clothes, but surely you are not dumb enough to believe that a woman wearing such a gown of silk as my wife’s would be a servant.”

“I thought that––”

“Did you think? Oh, I believe you thought, but not with your brain. You try my patience, your highness. Apologize to her highness Sarophia.”

Kelath muttered something that sounded like an apology and Shonagan took his wife’s hand and led her from the temple. Neither of them spoke until they were heading through the gardens toward the Cliff House. What were Bekkil and Kelath trying to do? His reign was not starting well, having to argue with the royals of Baronis. Exhaustion became acid, etching into his muscles. When would this nightmare be over?

“You’ve met him before, Shon,” Sarophia said as she ducked under his arm and stepped into their private room in the Cliff House. “So, tell me. Is he always such an ass?”

“I’ve only met Kelath once. And yes, he was an ass then, too.”

“Not that he really has any call for it,” she continued. “Baronis is the tiniest Pirate nation, more or less as broke as the Territorials, and Kelath is about as pleasant to look at as a sea slug.”

Shonagan chuckled and by the look on Sarophia’s expressive face, she’d intended him to. He was going to miss her. Jerrian was a lucky man to be loved by such a bluntly compassionate woman.