Shadow Touched

43. FINCH

I hate mornings. This is my first thought as I head to the Throne Room. I've barely slept three hours, too riled up from all that went down yesterday.

I'm exhausted and hungry, which makes me miss Grey. He always has snacks. He once told me that if we ever needed to run into battle, he hoped I'd be hungry since that's when I'm at my worst.

"A hungry Finch on the battlefield—I can only imagine how many men you'd cut down if I told you a platter of sandwiches and a pint of stout waits behind them." I smile at the memory.

When I make it to the castle's main floor, I'm met by a court messenger wielding a note from General Welland summoning me to his office.

The meeting is—gloriously—brief. It's also concerning. Apparently, the gossip around Greyling has made its way to Vurge, Caro and Poletrove, which, in truth, means it's in all the Six Realms. As our relations with Caro and Poletrove are uneasy at best, the news that the Atheccan heir is ill weakens us. It gives our enemies confidence that we cannot afford them to have.

I swear there's a part of him that relishes this news. I think it gets him off, the idea of Athecca in peril.

"His Majesty has decided the best show is a united front. He has requested Prince Greyling at today's Receiving." He pauses, waiting for my response. Not because he values my opinion but because he loves to knock me down. It brings him great joy to let me know that my thoughts and ideas are unwelcome and unwanted.

So, I bite my tongue. Even though I know this is a mistake. I love Grey. He is my best friend. He is also the greatest threat to the King and the entire castle.

He is Shadow Touched. No one denies this, but the King, these men, want to pretend it's not that bad. Bury their heads in the sand and hope for the best while the world has its eyes on Athecca, all because of a gods-damn party. It's madness. If General Roman were alive, we would be mobilizing. Grey would be under constant surveillance. We would have soldiers out hunting down the Shadow-Touched that must be out there.

Yet, I say nothing. Yes, I'm the youngest Captain of the Guard in known history. But I have no real power here. Not with Welland and his loyalists whispering in the King's ear.

And the King—I have no idea what's happening there. Is this just what happens to great men when no one says no?

When I say nothing, he continues, disappointment evident on his face.

"You'll, of course, be expected to continue watching over Lady Naima."

"I don't see how—"

"You don't need to see anything," he says. "All you have to do is follow your orders to watch over the Lady Naima. The commoners, it would seem, have taken to her return. Talk in Varran has shifted away from the Prince. This is a good thing. Wouldn't you agree, Captain?"

I nod yes. Though what I'd really like is to flip him two fingers.

"Glad to hear it. So, as I was saying before, you rudely interrupted me. You are to continue watching Lady Naima. I know, I know—you've got a lot of responsibilities to oversee. Don't worry; I've spoken with Lieutenant General Wales, and for now, she will supervise the Guard. You'll be a bit busy over the next few days. King Vincent has decided that Lady Naima will join Prince Greyling in his duties outside the castle. There aren't too many." He adds, ticking off the list as he goes, "The royal hunt, the poetic arts contest, the state dinner, and of course, the Jubilee ball, of which you are to act as Lady Naima's official escort."

"I—what?"

"Oh now, don't give me that look, Captain. It's a great honour to escort the beloved daughter of Athecca's greatest hero." He says all of this in his trademark silky tenor, yet his words have underlying venom. He hates Naima almost as much as he hates General Roman.