Chapter 2 : The Intruder

Lowlands, Governor’s Palace in Peare.

Keagan opened the large window, letting the evening breeze in, along with the scent of night-blooming flowers. The sky was shifting into a symphony of colours, mainly red and yellow, as the sun slowly disappeared behind the mountains. The land appeared so calm and peaceful, but Keagan knew better. These lands could be dangerous, and that serene mountain might hide a volcano waiting to erupt, spitting dust, fire, and death.

Keagan gazed at his father’s seal, now adorning his index finger. He couldn’t believe Black Jack was dead. For a long time, he had thought the old bastard was immortal. Keagan sighed, contemplating the major task ahead of him. First, he had to find his uncle, the traitor who believed he could usurp the crown. He was the heir, and no one would take his throne. The coward had probably fled to their enemies, hoping to get gold and men in exchange for lands when he crowned himself king.

“Over my dead body,” Keagan declared out loud. He trusted his brother to find the rat. His younger brother, Brogan, was a great soldier, and their uncle had few men left. Many of them had deserted him and joined Keagan’s forces. He wished he had gone with Brog, but a king had duties: audiences, endless problems to solve.

The most complicated issue was the situation in the Lowlands. Keagan had put to death noblemen, merchants, and soldiers, all involved in his uncle’s conspiracy. Unfortunately, not all the traitors had been captured. Keagan promised himself his uncle’s betrayal would be the only one and the last during his reign. And what after that? He needed a viable, long-lasting solution for the governance of the Lowlands – a strong, loyal man. The crucial point was obvious: the people had to respect their new governor. Keagan knew it was pointless to place one of his trusted, competent friends in the position. None of them could do it, as they were too close to him, too near the centre of power.

Since Alagar, the Lowlanders possessed a deep hatred for the royal family and its allies. They refused to fight for a family that impoverished them with heavy taxation and massacred them when they complained. Keagan understood how essential the men of the Lowlands were to guarding the southern borders. He had to regain the trust his father had foolishly lost. But he couldn’t find a good solution. Even his councillors were useless on the matter. The more he thought about it, the more he realised he faced an impasse.

Keagan rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on, as it did every time he thought about the Lowlands. If only his father had shown some mercy. His thoughts were interrupted by a few knocks on the library door. He had retreated to the quiet room to read the latest reports on his uncle’s rule in the Lowlands. Unsurprisingly, the report was calamitous.

Keagan massaged the back of his neck. “Come in, Talbot,” he called.

The man entered, adjusting his glasses. “How did you know it was me?” he asked, struggling to hold several files in his hands. He dropped a couple of sheets, bent down to retrieve them, and more fell from his grasp.

Keagan shook his head, watching his chancellor, the keeper of the seals, on all fours gathering his documents. “Simple. Even the way you knock is boring, Talbot,” the king remarked.

Talbot placed the papers on the nearby table. “You won’t find me so tedious when I tell you the good news,” he said.

“Are you finally getting laid?” Keagan teased.

Talbot took an immaculate handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped his glasses, ignoring the king’s comment. “We’ve just received a message from Prince Brogan. He hasn’t caught your uncle yet.” He breathed onto his glasses’ lens and wiped them again. “But, in his haste to escape our men, your uncle left a large portion of his gold. The prince is having it transferred, under escort, to the capital.”

This was great news indeed. Without funds, it would be much harder for Niall to travel and pay his men, who would undoubtedly turn on him. Niall was probably heading to Goria, their oldest enemy. Since Keagan was a child, both kingdoms had been fighting over lands. Therefore, the Lowlands issue had to be resolved quickly. In the past, Goria had often exploited the Lowlanders’ hatred of his family, inciting rebellion to expand their territory north. This had to stop – but how? Punishing the traitors wouldn’t help the crown’s popularity. His headache intensifying, Keagan groaned.

“I knew you wouldn’t be jubilant, but could you at least display some form of satisfaction?”

“I am satisfied, Talbot. I’ll be jubilant when we catch the piece of–”

There was another knock. Keagan told whoever it was to come in. Apparently, his time of peace and quiet was over. Alvize, one of his trusted advisors, entered the room.

“Your mother wrote again, Your Majesty. She’s wondering how long you’ll be staying in the Lowlands. She’s worried, and my sister is as well,” the councillor said.

“Keagan,” the king corrected him. He wasn’t like his father, who had wanted everyone – even his wife and children to use his title. The new king preferred his closest friends and brothers-in-arms to call him by his name, at least when they were alone. He didn’t want an additional barrier between him and his immediate entourage. Power isolated a sovereign enough from those around them. Keagan had told Alvize countless times to use his name in private, but Alvize still persisted in using his title.

Alvize had been a father to him when his own had been too busy chasing women and drinking to give him or Brog any attention. Alvize had taught him how to fight, how to ride a stallion, and the art of seduction. In that area, the apprentice had surpassed the master. Alvize had been one of his father’s most trusted soldiers, but he had left Black Jack’s service after the Alagar massacre, appalled by the king’s cruelty and what he had witnessed there. When Keagan came of age and had to select his companions and councillors, he had asked Alvize to join him.

Alvize’s family had been a surrogate one for Brog and him. His sister, Bianca, had been one of their governesses. Alvize’s niece, Nichola, had grown up with them. It was among them that the two brothers had escaped the weight of being Black Jack’s sons.

“What does she think will happen?” Keagan asked. His mother always worried too much and was overprotective. As if, leader and victor of many battles, Keagan couldn’t take care of himself.

“I understand her concerns. This territory harbours a lot of resentment towards the crown,” Alvize explained.

“It’s time to let go of the past. It’s been twenty years.”

“Twenty-one,” Talbot corrected.

“For many, hate is an inheritance passed from one generation to the next,” Alvize added. “Keagan, the Lowlands haven’t forgotten Alagar, and they never will.”

The king hadn’t forgotten either. He had been only eight, and his father had insisted on his presence despite his mother’s categorical refusal. The late king had considered his heir old enough to witness how disobedient subjects were punished. Thanks to Alvize’s intervention, Keagan hadn’t had to take part in the massacre. He had entered the village afterwards. He could still see the bodies lying on the ground, still remember the smell, still hear the cries of agony. He had suffered nightmares for years after Alagar. Even now, to this day, they occasionally haunted him.

Sensing that Keagan was thinking about that unfortunate day, Alvize decided to change the subject. “Have you had time to consider Lord Ambrose’s request?” he asked.

“Yes,” Keagan replied, grateful for the change of subject. “He can die with dignity; I don’t care, as long as he dies.”

“Keagan, about that, I–”

He was interrupted by a herald announcing that dinner was served.

“Let’s leave it for now. I’m starving,” Keagan said.

***

Keagan dined with his inner circle, his long-time friends. The conversation was always pleasant, full of teasing, real and imagined warrior exploits, and, of course, tales of conquests and nights of pleasure. He trusted all the men and women around him and would have fought for each of them. The food was delicious, and the wine excellent. For the first time that day, Keagan relaxed.

The king looked around at the luxurious surroundings. His uncle had expensive taste. The governor’s palace was superb, built with marble, gold, and precious stones. Keagan recalled how impressed he had been by the baths in the governor’s quarters, encrusted with lapis lazuli. All of this had been created with the money Niall had extorted from the Lowlands’ population. This palace was a reflection of his uncle’s desire for greatness.

Keagan’s eyes lingered on one of the servants – a blonde with big brown eyes and a generous bosom. He gave her a smile full of promises. She almost dropped the plate she was carrying. The maid blushed, her eyes eager, ignoring the disapproving look from the master of the service. Keagan then glanced at Oliver, who discreetly nodded in understanding. Oliver was in charge of the king’s household, including his comfort and pleasure, especially while they travelled. He would arrange for the servant to be sent to Lila, the second-in-command. After an inspection and a thorough bath under her supervision, the girl would be sent to the king’s bedchamber.

Keagan would have her tonight. A pleasurable night was all he needed to work out the tension caused by the Lowlands situation.

***

After dinner, the king and his court gathered in a small parlour. Musicians played while his friends lounged in comfortable seats, enjoying more wine and massages from the servants. Two women were massaging Keagan’s scalp, and he sighed contentedly.

“This is what life should be about,” said Dorian, the captain of the guards, as he looked down at the woman massaging his feet.

“Don’t get used to it,” Talbot retorted. “There’s a lot of work to be done in the coming months.”

Dorian threw his head back, and another woman placed a couple of grapes in his mouth. “You can always count on Tal to ruin the mood.”

“I’m not ruining anything. I just don’t want you to go soft,” Talbot explained.

Dorian straightened. “Who are you calling soft?”

“How long are we staying here?” Nichola asked the king.

“Are you missing your mummy, Nicky?” Dorian teased.

“No, I’m missing yours, actually,” Nichola retorted, making a rude gesture.

“Screw you, Nick,” Dorian replied.

“Come on,” Benedict interjected. “We should leave mothers out of our conversations.” The man, in charge of diplomacy among other things, was always the voice of reason, trying to talk sense into his comrades – a lost cause, Keagan thought.

“Quit being such a priest, Ben,” Dorian said.

“Yeah, you missed your calling,” Nichola added.

Benedict shook his head at the two and turned to the king. “We can’t afford to remain here for too long. Your absence from the capital will give your enemies time to plot against you.”

“He’s right,” Alvize agreed.

Keagan sighed. “I know, but I want to appoint a governor for the Lowlands before we leave.”

“I can help with that,” Dorian remarked, puffing out his chest. “If you need a high-calibre man–”

“He’s not, unfortunately, in this room,” Oliver quipped, causing the others to laugh.

“You’d get bored as a governor,” Keagan told his friend.

“You’re right. I enjoy risking my life,” Dorian replied.

“And ours,” Benedict muttered.

“Damn it, Ben, it happened only once,” Dorian proclaimed.

“And the time you left me in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by bloodthirsty Gorians?” Tyrell, in charge of the king’s journeys and scouts, interjected. He had found himself in a few problematic situations thanks to Dorian.

“Perhaps twice. But how many times have I saved your arses?” Dorian countered.

Keagan stood. “We won’t find a solution tonight.”

He was eager to move on to more agreeable matters.

***

Keagan’s heart raced as he lay on his back after his third orgasm of the night. His bed companion was waiting for her breathing to return to normal as well, her sweaty hair sticking to her face. She had enjoyed their time together, judging by the loud, annoying cries she had made. Keagan had no doubt about his sexual prowess – he excelled in both fighting and pleasure. He felt better now, relaxed, and his mind clear again.

His thoughts returned to the matters of his kingdom – the burden of power, as Alvize called it. He was a king now, and that burden would never leave him. What should he do? Damn it, damn the Lowlands, and damn Black Jack, who was hopefully being tortured in the underworld.

The woman in his bed chose that moment to place her hand on his member, smiling seductively at him. Keagan had forgotten for a moment that he wasn’t alone. He found himself annoyed by her audacity. He removed her hand.

“You may leave,” he told her. She straightened, surprised and disappointed. They always were, even though they knew who he was and what he wanted before they entered his chambers. He always made sure they understood. But they always hoped to be the one to keep his attention longer, hoping for gifts, lands, jewels, position, or status. Keagan rarely gave anything.

Keagan preferred those who hoped to gain something by sharing his bed. The worst kind were those who deluded themselves into thinking they were in love with him, believing they couldn’t live without him. Fools, first for believing in love, and second for thinking he did. Love was for imbeciles who had lost touch with reality.

“I thought–”

Keagan was not a patient man.

“You thought wrong,” he said. “I’ve enjoyed your company, as I’m sure you’ve enjoyed mine. You may leave… now,” he demanded.

The servant quickly got out of bed, dressed, and rushed to the door. Alone at last, Keagan thought. He stood up, went to the basin of water, and cleaned himself with a cloth. He put on his green silk dressing gown, lit more candles, and poured himself a cup of wine, which he drank quickly.

He went to the balcony doors, opened them, and walked out enveloped in the night. He stood there watching the landscape. He placed his hands on the cold stone and looked down at the gardens, submerged in darkness.

He headed back inside for more wine, but as his bare feet crossed the room, he knew he was no longer alone. Someone was behind him, on the balcony. His sword was too far away, his dagger hidden under a cushion. Calling for the guards would only make the assassin flee, and Keagan wanted to find out who had the temerity to try and kill him. Was it one of Niall’s men? An old house seeking revenge? Retaliation for the noblemen he had executed? Goria? He could handle it with his bare hands; he’d done it before. Now, he was waiting for the intruder to make a move. The moment Keagan heard a light step forward, he turned, ready to fight. But what he saw surprised him.

The intruder had fallen to one knee.

Keagan frowned, confused. Not taking his eyes off the figure, he backed up until he had his sword in his hand. He twirled it once before placing it on the person’s neck.

“Who sent you?” Keagan demanded.

A laboured breath escaped the intruder.

“N-No one.”

It was a woman’s voice, Keagan realised. He didn’t lower his sword – he wasn’t a fool. Women could be dangerous. They made excellent assassins.

“Uncover yourself,” the king shouted.

The woman pulled back her hood. The room was dimly lit, so he couldn’t make out her features clearly.

“Who are you?”

“I-I’m Thalen of the Ambroses.”

“Your Majesty, is everything all right?” he heard a soldier call from behind the doors.

“Yes,” Keagan replied, his eyes never leaving her. “Is it your habit to force men’s doors, Lady Ambrose?”

“I doubted you would agree to receive me, and… I had to see you… please.”

No, he didn’t have time to hear her plead for her father’s miserable life.

Now kneeling with both knees on the ground and her hands clasped, she looked up at him, her gaze intense. “I only need a few minutes of your time. I’m begging you, Your Majesty.”

Perhaps it was her imploring tone, or the tears he could see welling up in her eyes, but Keagan found himself willing to listen. She was already there, after all. He doubted she could change his mind. The king sighed and lowered his sword.

Damn it. Damn the Lowlands.