Chapter 273 - 273 Official mission

273 Official mission

However, Zavian could feel the energy in the air, tense like a wound-up cord ready to snap. Aaron must have spread his grief to his people and taught them the art of faking smiles and greetings at a King they had come to hate.

They reached Duke’s home, grand and magnificent, and where the flags of Selesee had once hung at different posts and with window sills, flowers bursting with colours, the Duke’s castle now bore an emptiness that belonged only to graveyards.

Zavian stopped before the Selesee guards who had come to escort him to Aaron. A bold move on the Duke’s part, seeing as he had refused to come to greet the King himself.

Azriel was by his side, ever poised and ready to attack. His eyes were everywhere, and his men, the best, trailed after Zavian, half forming a ring around the King as they approached.

“Why do I feel we have to fight our way out of here today, Zavian?” Azriel asked as the guards led them into the mansion.

“I don’t want that, especially with Freya feeling left out of her playground,” Zavian said. Freya had argued and almost smashed a plate on Zavian’s head that narrowly missed him when he said she couldn’t come along. At the end of the day, when she couldn’t be contained, he had ordered her to be sedated, and hopefully long enough for their return.

“I should have eaten a heavier breakfast if I knew I was going to fight.” Azriel said. “Let’s pray he gives us a good meal to replenish.”

They entered into a grand parlor, where every piece of furniture was of different matching colours yet it didn’t clash in tones, and Zavian thought of it as rainbows and peacocks and the natural way they all blended. At the centre of the parlor, just above the mantelpiece, a huge painting of Jasmine was hung. She was wearing one of her polite smiles. Zavian searched in him for a feeling of loss, but all he could feel was the guilt in marrying her at first, but not in a way one felt to someone who bore the title of a wife.

“She still lurks within these walls,” a voice boomed from behind them. Aaron walked to them with no hurried steps, his eyes upon his daughter’s painting. “My wife swears she sees her walk through chambers at night, and I hear her tell me things,” Aaron stopped in front of Zavian, and from his periphery, Zavian could see Azriel inch closer to the duo.

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“She tells me things, most especially about you,” Aaron said, those dead eyes trained on Zavian. “Do you want to know what she says about you, my King?”

“I have come on an official mission,” Zavian swept the talk out of the way to focus on the purpose of his visit.

“She says,” Aaron’s voice rose in pitch, not appreciating the change in topic. “She says she will be back for you. She is coming back. And I want her back, and I don’t care for her intentions of coming, but when she does, my King…”

“That’s enough, Aaron,” Azriel stepped in.

“At this rate, you might be diagnosed with melancholia and sent out to the bedlam for treatment,” Zavian said. “I understand the grief of a loss, but I would never come close to understanding the loss of a daughter. But if at this point you are seeing and hearing things, I will be forced to take action for your own good, Aaron. And there is no telling how long treatment would last upon you.”

Aaron’s lips set into a thin line, and his eyes twitched as silent trembles rode his body. He stilled himself by clenching his fists, which looked like he would rather have them against Zavian’s face.

“To what do I owe this visit, your Majesty?” Aaron asked, the curtness of his question barely masked.

“I have received men from every Kingdom, and even Darstun sent over two hundred,” Zavian drove straight to the point. “Tell me why I don’t have men from Selesee moving over to my Kingdom already?”

“But I did send my men, your Majesty,” Aaron answered.

Azriel scoffed, and Zavian continued. “I want at least five hundred men in my Kingdom by nightfall the day after tomorrow.”

Aaron’s pallor turned white. “But… but… you can’t… your Majesty… I sent my men over…”

“Failure to do so,” Zavian talked over his stutter. “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, shall we?”

Aaron kept his head aloft. “Yes, your Majesty.”

“And before we go, my General Commander and I would like to check the training grounds,” Zavian added.

“Certainly, your Majesty,” the Duke said. “Perhaps while you go and see it, your men would have a feast? They must be parched and hungry from the journey.”

“We are well. Thank you for the hospitality,” Azriel answered immediately. Later, Zavian would be sure to poke fun at him for refusing to be fuelled before the fight as he wanted.

“It is the least we could offer you, seeing as the peace in the land is off balance,” Aaron said. “Surely, we all should be cautious of which Kingdom we don’t want to cross.”

A threat, blatant and direct, that Azriel drew out his sword from his scabbard in a swift motion. Following that were several swords drawn, and Zavian looked around, his men poised to fight, Aaron’s men, ready to defend. Zavian was sure his orders wouldn’t mean anything to Aaron’s men at that point, but he found the one thing he was looking for.

He put his hand on Azriel’s, lowering the sword. “We’ll be expecting them,” Zavian told Aaron.

The King marched outside, and his men fell in step behind him. Just as he mounted his horse and was ready to ride to the training grounds, Aaron called to him.

“One more thing, your Majesty,” Aaron had said, and for the first time since before his daughter’s death, Aaron gave a full smile.