Mari Malhas
The Royal Beads: The Bead of the Outlander
Chapter 1
"Miss," a man in a lavender robe approached me with a confident stride. "Could you tell me how to get upstairs?"
The second scoop of ice cream, barely fitting in the paper cup, finally fell out. I jumped back to keep it from landing on my new shoes. It was heartbreaking. Would they ever leave me alone? Even in a foreign city! I had specifically come to the square in the middle of the workday when the capital’s residents were too busy for leisurely strolls.
"What did you say?" I didn’t immediately grasp his simple yet absurd question.
The man grimaced.
"I said, how do I get up there?" He nodded toward the royal palace. "Are you deaf or something?"
Maybe I am, but you’re just plain rude!
And rather foolish, too, because everyone knew the answer:
"Getting up there is impossible," I replied, unable to tear my gaze away from his strange attire.
The bright lavender fabric reminded me of the smooth, shimmering silks sold at the fair for a fortune. Who in their right mind would waste such expensive material on sewing an entire ridiculous robe, and—
"Now, listen," the eccentric fashionista exhaled nervously, his voice suddenly even. "Some people do get up there."
Some people! I laughed—who wouldn’t? What a maniac!
The noonday sun above our heads was blinding. Squinting, I tilted my head higher and higher. I had to practically rest the back of my skull against my spine to see the highest tower rising above the many spires of the royal palace, silhouetted against the sky at an impossible height.
I blinked and glanced at my companion—he, too, was studying the palace, the grand structure of bluish stone.
"And who, exactly, do you think gets up there?" I sighed, taking a sip of my already-melting ice cream. "Besides His Majesty and a couple of trusted figures?"
"And how do they get up there?"
"Good question."
Honestly, I’d never thought about it before. But curse it, I had come to Asilota to take a break from duty and enjoy the capital’s offerings, not to unravel yet another mystery of this kingdom. Why did he come to me with this? Why did the lost, the deceived, the frightened always choose me? As if I had a sign on my back saying, How can I help you?
"You see, sir, I’m in a hurry, and I—" I tossed my ruined ice cream into the trash—unforgivable! "That’s it! Leave me alone! I’m not interested."
But my fury didn’t drive him away. Quite the opposite—his eyes gleamed with admiration, as if I had just performed a death-defying circus act. He raised an eyebrow, looked me over from head to toe, and then… did he just blush? At the very least, he averted his gaze.
"Forgive me. I’ve been a bit out of sorts since this morning."
"Not my problem," I said, stepping back, my thoughts whirling with just one word—"madman."
"If only," he sighed shortly before grabbing my elbow and pulling me toward him.
It was so unexpected that I didn’t even manage to cry out before he whispered:
"If you help me, I’ll pay you whatever you ask."
Oh, I see. So, his interest in the castle isn’t just tourist curiosity. Planning to visit the king’s chambers, are we? But for an assassin, he’s far too conspicuous. An adventurer, then? A rather cautious one, if so.
"Sounds like a matter of state importance," I murmured in response.
"But you’re an outlander," he said with a slight shrug.
Ah, I see. Now it makes sense why he picked me. He was wrong. Yes, I may be an outlander, but I serve the Dragon Armada! And that means I cannot simply stand by while some stranger plans to waltz into the king’s chambers in that absurd robe.
"I can see from your eyes—you have an idea."
I yanked my elbow free.
"Sir, would you mind waiting here? I’ll be back in a moment."
"Of course," he nodded, "but bear in mind—I will find you."
Naturally, he followed me with great caution through the bustling streets of the capital. I glanced back at every turn, feeling like a traveling performer leading an exotic pet on a leash. Workers stole glances at him, guards froze in place, turning their helmeted heads, merchants peeked from behind their stalls, coachmen reined in their horses. Even the horses themselves watched us with long, bewildered stares.
A passing baker carrying a tray bumped into the door of his own bakery and fell, showered with round, golden loaves.
The stranger in the peculiar robe was already shaping up to be the event of the week, something people would discuss in clubs and markets for days. That walk of his—hips swaying, chin held high, shoulder blades drawn back—was a sight to behold!
I was relieved to leave the crowded part of the city and turn into the old park. A few whispering children trailed after us but quickly fell behind as we weaved through back alleys and abandoned homes blackened by past fires. This district had a sinister reputation.
The remnants of charred buildings, scorched trees, and ransacked stalls could stir the imagination of even the dullest mind. But that wasn’t why people claimed to see undead and ghosts here. I knew that for certain.
Pushing through a vine-covered grove, I reached a fence twice my height. The rustling of branches behind me confirmed my companion was still there. Brave man—but he wouldn’t get any farther.
I approached the gate, whispered the necessary words, and slipped through the narrow opening that instantly sealed shut behind me.
Two guards lunged at me. Hardly anyone would mistake them for living people—awkward movements, vacant stares. The undead. With a practiced motion, I raised a protective barrier. I had no interest in attacking mindless slaves.
Through the overgrown garden—more a wild thicket—I made my way to the leaning four-story manor. Remnants of past grandeur—statues, ornate carvings—bared their teeth from the walls. Empty dark windows gazed sorrowfully at unwelcome guests. But was I unwelcome?
Climbing the porch, I pushed open a surprisingly new and sturdy door.
A horned butler met me in the dimly lit hallway. I ignored his ominous glare and turned toward the staircase leading to the second-floor library.
Gredevar stood at the large central table, reading as usual, hunched over. His long black hair was tied back with a band, the way teenagers wore them—but Gredevar looked nothing like a teenager. Broad-shouldered, imposing.
He raised his head, a smile lighting up his face, though his eyes still seemed to flit across invisible lines of text.
"Back again? Business or pleasure?"
"Looks like business," I sighed.
"‘Looks like’?"
I told him about the strange man who wanted to reach the top.
"Really?" Gredevar perked up. "And did he offer a good price? Because I’d pay plenty myself to see… the monarchy toppled."
His last remark didn’t faze me. As long as I’d known Gredevar, he’d always been ready to overthrow everything—returning the world to some tribal state. Honestly, it was a miracle he was still tolerated at court.
"He doesn’t seem like an assassin," I muttered.
"Excellent. That means he’s a professional. Otherwise, he’d be worth no more than a copper coin."
"That’s not the point! Just… take a look yourself. By the fence."
"How intriguing!" Gredevar walked to the window and pulled back the curtain. "That one, in the robe?" His question was clearly rhetorical.
He reached for a pair of binoculars on the bookshelf and peered through them. What followed was a long phrase in a language I didn’t recognize. I knew it was a curse, but its meaning remained a mystery.
For another minute, he clicked his tongue and shook his head before finally looking at me, his green eyes alight with excitement.
"So, this guy told you he wants to go up there and he’d pay you?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes!"
"Well, he’s definitely not going to kill the king." Gredevar lowered the binoculars and let out a breath. "Because he is the king."
I would have sat down—if there had been an empty chair. But the only one nearby was stacked high with books.
"Gredevar… this isn't funny."
"I'm being serious," he replied, turning back to the window. He raised the binoculars to his eyes once more and immediately burst into laughter. "I mean, I am laughing, but not at you. The situation is just hilarious!"
I stepped closer to the table, which was finally touched by daylight. The library had five windows, yet every single one was covered by thick curtains. Gredevar, to put it mildly, despised sunlight and always read in the dark. I glanced at the strange, tiny symbols covering the pages of the heavy tome, trying to occupy myself while he got his amusement out of his system. I, for one, was not in the mood for jokes.
"My dear girl, I am serious. There is a king standing under my fence!"
"Then let him in! That doesn’t happen twice in a lifetime!" I muttered, my eyes still fixed on the incomprehensible script.
Gredevar snorted mockingly, shaking his head.
"No, thank you."
Of course, I understood just how absurd my suggestion was—inviting anyone into his hermit’s mansion of horrors, which doubled as a laboratory for forbidden arts…
"By the way," Gredevar continued, "if he asks whose house this is, tell him the owner left long ago. Went off to… where was it you’re from again?"
"Taprican," I grumbled. As if people with dark skin could have any other homeland.
"Right. Tell him the owner went off to Taprican and left you here in his place! And may he forget the way back!"
Strange. Isn’t he being a little too dramatic?
"I'm almost ready to believe this really is the king."
Gredevar met my gaze and placed a hand over his heart.
"I swear by the One Creator of all things, living and dead. May these books burn, may my magic fail me for seven years if he is not the king."
Curse it! Gredevar never swore in vain. The king, wandering the streets of the city? That was the scandal of the century! And yet, of course, I had to get involved.
I stepped to the window, and Gredevar shrugged before handing me the binoculars. The man who had led me here stood in the shadow of the trees near the grove, craning his neck to look up.
"I still don’t know what the king looks like," I said, returning the binoculars to the shelf. "No one does."
"That’s true. Almost no one. But the seven members of the Council should know, and as far as you’re aware…"
"…you're one of them."
"Exactly."
"But Gredevar, how is this possible? Why is he here? The king? Alone, without guards, lurking in the shadows and asking for help? Did he fall out of a window?"
"No idea. Ask him—he chose you as his savior."
"And how exactly am I supposed to help him?"
Gredevar shrugged.
"Take him back up, obviously."
"I thought you said you were ready to pay anyone who overthrew the monarchy."
Gredevar thoughtfully scratched his chin.
"And? Could you?"
"Of course not! I don’t understand you at all. He’s a good ruler. A good man."
"Really?" Gredevar cast a sideways glance at the window. "So you’re not going to abandon him to his fate?"
"What does this have to do with me? I already brought him to you. You’re his advisor, and—"
"And?"
"And you know how all this works!"
"Exactly. And did you notice that he didn’t turn to his advisors?"
"Well," I looked at him from under my brows, "for starters, one of them is actively hiding his whereabouts."
"Ehh, irrelevant," Gredevar sighed. "In any case, as a Council member, I am ordering you to ensure His Majesty’s safety."
I nearly choked.
"You haven't been my mentor for a long time, Gredevar!"
"I said, as a Councilor."
"And since when do I take orders from the Council?"
He sank into his armchair, the prelude to a lecture.
"Yes, yes, of course. The Dragon Armada is an independent mercenary force. But a warrior who achieves the rank of knight swears an oath of loyalty to the king. Or did you not swear?"
"I did."
"Exactly. That’s the first thing. The second—" he leaned back, folding his hands over his stomach, "—the Dragon Armada is currently led by Orne the One-Eyed, Count of Opdor. And the Count of Opdor is a Council member. A Council I lead. Meaning, I have every right to issue orders to the Armada’s knights in matters of state—so long as they do not contradict the orders of the king or Count Opdor."
It always amazed me how quickly he could shift from a wild hermit-mage to a cold-blooded politician. The only thing I could muster in response was:
"Curse this damned bureaucracy!"
"Yes, well, it’s an art in itself. You won’t last long in the Council without it. Now, off you go, my hero. And remember, this is a completely secret matter. No one must suspect that the king isn’t up there. I’ll figure out how to get him back unnoticed."
I had no idea what to say. “I have other plans”? “I couldn’t care less about your kingdom”? I had no plans. And even if I didn’t care about this kingdom, it clearly needed me.
And wasn’t that the whole reason I came to Serenid, became a hero, swore my oath? To find meaning in all this?
Meaning. Meaning. When will I finally find it?
Didn’t you, Gredevar, say that through the study of magic, purpose would come? And what now? All I do is deal with matters of state. One after another. I only just thought I’d have time to breathe, to finally take in the capital, and now—
"Gredevar!" I gasped in sheer exasperation. When will this involuntary heroism finally end?!
I wished I could set him on fire with my glare. In my mind’s eye, his robes and hair went up in flames, and he tumbled backward onto his bookshelf with a shriek—and that was where the real horror began. The books caught fire. Now that would wound him. Himself, he could easily restore. But the books…
Gredevar held my gaze and smirked.
"Oh? Did I make you mad? And what will you do with the king, then? If anything, remember—my offer still stands." He winked.
…And in my imagination, the flames licked the spines of his books. The paper blackened, crumbling into helpless ash. Slowly but surely, the fire crept higher, to the most precious, most beloved tomes…
Wait, what did he just say?
"You hope I'll kill him?!"
"Not at all," Gredevar shook his head. "I merely allow for the possibility." He waved a hand dismissively. "I’m not like that—you know me. Besides, I’ll do what I can. Come back in three days."
"Three days?!"
"At least," he cast a long look over the rows of books. "I don't even know where to start looking. Kings don’t just fall out of windows every day."
At the door, I turned back.
"From now on, I won’t be sticking my nose into other people’s business. No matter how strange it seems!"
"I always do," Gredevar smirked.
Chapter 2
There was no need to rush. The undead paid no attention to departing guests, merely lurking clumsily among the overgrown ruins of the garden. I watched the hero of my day through the one-way transparent gates, considering my next move. Should I tell him I knew who he was? That would immediately raise questions of rank and etiquette, and I was not prepared for that. Neither in my native tribe nor among the mercenary ranks was I ever taught proper courtly manners.
And what if he isn’t the king after all? Of course, Gredevar wouldn’t lie—he wasn’t even capable of it—but leaving things unsaid? Now that was his specialty. So what if… what if… what if what? What if there were simply other men who looked like him? Gredevar was only human; he could be mistaken. Besides, reading in the dark was bad for the eyes.
The thought was absurd, but somehow, it gave me confidence.
I pushed the gate open slightly. The sun had long since passed its zenith, yet the heat was still unbearable. Hardly the typical weather for the beginning of Serenid’s autumn.
"Hotter every year," I recalled bitterly. "And the more freedom the king grants them, the more Serenid turns into that pathetic colony."
Poisoned words I had heard recently in an inn. Words that had boiled my blood so fiercely, I had lost control. Words that had cost me my position—at least for now.
Again, after all the pain, the losses, the sacrifices. Again, after the downfall, the rehabilitation, the rescue. As if none of it had happened. As if neither side had learned a damn thing.
Was it any wonder that I lost my temper at those words? Who wouldn’t have? And I didn’t just disgrace myself—I disgraced the entire Dragon Armada.
The only thing that saved me was my reputation as a hero and the codes His Majesty had put in place to protect us: the Tapricanese and the Retanese. Former slaves. Former!
"You are free people, under the protection of a sovereign state…" – the king’s words. The king…
And only by his grace, by the laws he had written, was I not standing before a tribunal but merely placed on temporary leave—something I hadn’t dared to tell Gredevar.
And just when I thought this was my chance. A chance to live an ordinary life, to see old friends, to remember who I had been before my service… this very king comes falling from the sky.
A cursed cycle. Beyond all reason.
I stepped outside, and he turned toward me.
On the portraits, all Serenid’s rulers looked the same—an elongated sour face, a long nose, a small mouth, large eyes. So I studied the true appearance of the king with great interest. From a distance, he was tall and lean, with short, dark brown hair.
I stepped closer. As for his expression—the portraits had not lied. Sour. Absolutely, categorically sour. It was impossible to imagine a smile on that face. There were no laugh lines at the corners of his mouth or eyes, but a deep crease sat between his brows.
He was younger than he seemed at first glance—perhaps thirty. The only thing that aged him was his gloomy expression and the silver at his temples. A king burdened with joyless affairs high above the clouds.
In any case, he was no leech upon the honest folk. No heartless tyrant.
So what was it about him that unsettled Gredevar?
The king’s brown eyes studied me intently.
"Well? What have you found out?" he asked, barely parting his lips.
The image of a just and noble protector vanished from my mind, soaring up toward his distant tower. I stiffened. Oh, so that’s how it is? Straight to orders, straight to demands? And which one of us needs help here?
And for that matter, I didn’t recall making any promises.
"What are you talking about?" I blinked, feigning ignorance.
"Our business," he said, his expression unchanged.
"I’m waiting for information. You know, it’s not every day that strangers break into the royal palace."
"How long?"
There was no way I could answer that calmly, so I simply held up three fingers.
I can’t believe it myself—three days to get the king back to his palace! What kind of madness is this?!
"That’s too long. We can’t just sit around. We’re going to the palace."
Looks like this won’t be boring.
"The lower level is open to visitors," I said. "What good will that do?"
"We’re going. Now."
He truly seemed to believe he could speak to me exclusively in orders.
I turned sharply and strode off along the soft ground by the fence, only to realize—somehow—he was already standing in my path.
"What’s your name?"
"Keita." It caught me so off guard that I answered without hesitation.
He snorted—if I really strained my imagination, it might have passed for a smirk.
"Do all Tapricanese girls have the same name? What’s the point of names, then?"
I should have ignored that with dignified silence. But I had a response ready.
"Says a subject of a country whose king is named Bernard the Twenty-Fourth? What’s the point of letters, then, if only the numbers change?"
I shouldn’t have said that. His face twisted in displeasure.
"An outlander. What else could I expect?" He exhaled sharply. "For your information, Bernard is a throne name. Every heir to the crown takes it at their coronation, honoring the greatest of rulers—Bernard the First, a sage and a warrior. The king’s true name is something else entirely."
Total defeat. My words dried up like rivers under the scorching sun.
Nothing left but to get on with it. I turned again.
"So. To the royal palace, you say?"
We walked back in silence. The wind stirred through the alleys, swirling dust and ash as we passed through the abandoned district. By the time we reached the bustling streets, where the workday was coming to an end, his lavender robe had turned a dull gray, like that of any common beggar. He no longer attracted as many stares—a welcome change.
We were nearing the city center. The place where we had met was now unrecognizable. In the late afternoon, when the sun dipped behind the palace and cast its magnanimous shadow over part of the city, the square filled with people eager to unwind after a hard day’s labor. Merchants squeezed into every available space, orators took their stands to explain the laws and latest court rulings to the common folk, guards kept a watchful eye, and wanderers of all kinds drifted through the crowd.
The gates to the palace’s lower level stood open as always, pouring out an unnecessary yet alluring glow from hundreds of burning lamps. Ahead of us lay forty long minutes of weaving through market stalls, carts, beggars, and idle onlookers before we could reach them.
Had I been free, I would have simply joined the crowd—strolling at a leisurely pace, listening to news and gossip, scanning the square for familiar faces, admiring the palace lights, and indulging in… mmm… waffles!
The scent hit me mid-step, making me freeze for a heartbeat.
Unbelievable! Here I was, finally in the capital, and I hadn’t even had fresh, crispy waffles!
I have to work.
…But maybe His Majesty would take pity on me? Allow me a short break for a snack? After all, he needs to eat too, doesn’t he?
His sudden exclamation jolted me from my thoughts.
"What do you think you’re doing?!"
To the left, beyond the market stalls, four guards were beating a raggedly dressed boy.
"What do you think you’re doing?!" His Majesty repeated. "Stop!"
The guards paid him no mind. They likely didn’t even realize he was addressing them.
"Stoooop!" The king bellowed, his voice booming across the square.
The guards froze. People stumbled into one another, turning to see who had dared to shatter the usual order.
"What’s your problem, huh?" The guard in the golden helmet gawked at him.
"Captain, what crime has this young man committed?"
"What’s it to you?" the guard rasped. "Get lost! We’ll deal with you soon enough."
The other three chuckled eagerly.
"So you don’t even know," the king said, raising his chin even higher and crossing his arms over his chest.
"You think you’ve got an army behind you or something?" The captain spat on the ground.
A heavy silence fell over the square, so thick that even the ragged boy’s breathing became audible.
Bernard the Twenty-Fourth stepped fully into his role.
"By law, you have the right only to arrest him," he declared, his voice strong and unwavering. Each precisely enunciated syllable rang through the square, echoing in my chest—and in everyone else’s. Even the orators fell silent.
"And only in the case of armed resistance, posing a threat to the life of one or more subjects, are you permitted to use force…"
A few people in the crowd hummed in approval, a quick murmur spreading through the square.
For a moment, even the guards stood there, mouths slightly agape—until one of them pulled a face and sneered:
"Well, aren’t you a clever one?"
And then, as if lifted by an invisible hand, the battered boy sprang to his feet. He doubled over in pain, wincing—but then bolted forward, his bare heels flashing as he darted away. His silhouette vanished into the crowd so swiftly that the captain could do nothing but throw up his hands in frustration.
There were a few chuckles, but they died instantly when the captain reached for his sword, his snarl turning feral.
Clearly, no one had ever looked at the king that way before.
Yet he carried on as if nothing had happened.
"There. Now you won’t find him," he said, his tone almost casual. "Because the first thing you should have done was check his papers. But I’m quite certain you…"
Rage twisted the captain’s face like a warped mirror.
"Come here, you wretch," he snarled. "I’ll gut you where you stand."
He drew his sword, and the other guards followed suit.
With a cry, the onlookers scattered in all directions, leaving only the four armed brutes—and us.
And only then did the king truly grasp the situation.
His face paled. His hand flew to his left hip—only to find nothing. No weapon.
I lunged forward, stepping between him and the guards.
Using magic or drawing steel would be a mistake.
That left me with only one option—drawing their attention to myself.
What to do next… well, only the God knew.
But another step, and Gredevar would finally have someone to pay.
And then, suddenly, the king flung up his hands.
I faltered mid-step, caught in the surge of energy radiating from him. And even as my thoughts screamed Impossible!, even as my mind reminded me that rulers were never born with magical genes for political reasons—a flash of light burst from his fingertips.
A whirlwind of dust spiraled around us, and all four guards froze in place, like snarling wax figures.
The captain, still mid-step with his sword raised, swayed—and crashed to the ground with a heavy thud. The impact sent a flock of birds scattering from the fountain.
"Run!" I shouted, grabbing the king’s hand.
We plunged into the retreating crowd at full speed. Pushing forward with little resistance, we broke through the throng and sprinted down the streets, weaving through alleys and twisting corners.
Only when our lungs burned for air did we finally stop—in the courtyard of some old, forgotten quarter.
I dropped onto the edge of a crooked well.
The king leaned against the trunk of a tree nearby, catching his breath.
"I can’t believe it," he spat. "I just broke the law—I used magic against the city guard!"
"You’ve lost your mind!" I blurted out, still catching my breath.
"What was I supposed to do? Let them kill me?"
I jerked so hard I nearly slid off the well’s edge.
That’s what he thought was the real problem here? The only thing he considered wrong was using magic?
"What?! This is the end, do you understand? The end! They’ll turn the city upside down, scour the streets—they will find you! No one… No one…" Words failed me. "No one is allowed to lay a hand on the keepers of order! You should have just followed me, gone about your business like any normal person. Instead, you staged a spectacle for the entire capital! You publicly called their honor into question, interfered with their duty, and then threw a Paralysis spell at them!"
"You—" He pushed away from the tree, stepping toward me, his face torn between anger and disbelief.
"You were there!" he snapped. "Did you see nothing?! Honor? Duty?"
"And what of it?"
"What?!" His voice shot up. "You’re an outlander—why should you even care what happens in this country? Four armed men kicking a half-naked, defenseless boy into the dirt, and you truly believe that’s none of your concern?!"
"None of my concern…"
My voice rasped, cracking just in time to keep me from shouting.
He says that to me?
To me, a fighter for freedom and equality?!
To me, the hero of his kingdom?!
To me, a knight of the Dragon Armada’s combat division?!
To me—who was ready to throw myself into the fray to defend him, even at the cost of losing my position forever?!
Of course, he knew none of this.
I exhaled, forcing down the fire in my chest, and spoke as calmly as my emotions allowed:
"Then know this, oh great patriot—this happens in your kingdom ten times a day."
"Rubbish! If that were true, I—people wouldn’t stay silent!"
"And who exactly are they supposed to tell?" I shot back. "Should they stand in the middle of the square and shout, like you? Brilliant plan! The guards catch lawbreakers and punish them as they see fit. Yes, sometimes they exceed their authority—but what sane person would step in to defend a criminal?"
The king clenched his fists.
"This slave mentality infuriates me!" he hissed through gritted teeth. "It has poisoned the minds of my own people—they’ve stopped fighting for their rights. Just like you!"
"We?!" My throat tightened, cutting off my breath. I swallowed hard.
No. No, I must have misheard him.
But then, with the same simmering anger, he spat:
"Taprican!"
"What the hell do you know about it?!" My hands shook, a familiar heat surging through my veins.
He merely snorted, mocking.
"I know. Enough. You made excellent slaves. And I know why."
I couldn’t hold back any longer.
"You bastard!" I snapped. "So that’s how it is?! Well, guess what? I know plenty too. I know exactly who you are! The king of this whole damn circus—one that makes your own hair stand on end! You can’t even keep your own guards in line! And yet Tapricanese are the ones to blame? What, did you let us stay just so you’d have someone to pin it all on?!"
"You know who I am…!" he shouted so fiercely he nearly choked on his own words.
Oh, how anger suited him—his eyes ablaze, his cheeks flushed—he was born for it. So this was the true face of the ruler.
"You know who I am, and you dare speak to me like this?! You ignorant, uncivilized savage!"
"And you’re a thick-headed, arrogant boor!" I inhaled sharply, tilting my head back, but my eyes stung. Hopefully, he didn’t notice.
"You think you deserve better? You, who bear full responsibility for everything happening in your own kingdom, yet refuse to acknowledge it? All you do is rant and blame outlanders! I can’t believe I ever—"
"Insolent brat! How dare you?!" He practically spat the words, his jaw clenched so tight his muscles twitched, his fists so rigid his knuckles turned white.
"With your level of education, you wouldn’t be fit to run a roadside tavern! What could you possibly understand about state affairs?!"
"Then go ahead, Your Majesty! Go rule your brilliantly governed nation! Try surviving just one night on the streets of your own damn country!"
"I’ll manage without masks and totems!"
"Monster!"
"Cannibal!"
"To hell with you!" I spun on my heel and stormed off.
Where? I had no idea.
I just knew I couldn’t stand another second near this thick-skulled idiot.
"That’s right!" he roared after me. "Get out of my sight!"