“That sounds like Keita.” Celyn shrugged. “It is a nice color on you, though.”

When Elina just stared at him, her brows pulled low behind her new eye patch, Celyn quickly turned to the Rebel King.

“Your sister is in the Great Hall.”

“And?”

“Alone. And we have no clue where Annwyl is, which means the queen could be not knowing who your sister is right at this moment. Much to your sister’s annoyance.”

“I see.” With that annoying smirk fixed on his face, the Rebel King nodded at Elina. “I hope to see you at the feast tonight, Elina Shestakova.”

“I will need to eat,” she replied drily. “So most likely I will be there.”

“Captain Celyn.”

The royal walked away, and Celyn turned to find Elina gazing at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Captain? I did not know you had rank.”

“I’m captain of Her Majesty’s Personal Guards.”

“Did you get title because queen is your aunt and Southlanders are known for their incessant nepotism?”

“No. I got it because I threw the last captain off Devenallt Mountain after he said something rude about one of my older sisters.”

“Why would that make you captain? Dragons can fly.”

“Aye. But I threw him in such a way that I broke both his wings against the mountainside and made him cry when he landed on his big, fat head. When my uncle Bercelak saw him crying, he called him weak and made me captain.”

“That was cold and unfeeling of you.” Elina nodded. “I am impressed.”

“The feast will be happening soon. You should get cleaned up.”

“All right. I need lake.”

“Or we can get you a bath in your room. The servants will bring you warm water.”

“Lakes and streams all around this property and you make your workers fetch water so you can clean yourselves?”

Celyn gave a small nod. “Yes.”

Elina glanced off, then shrugged. “All right.”

They headed back to the hall. “You may want to take a nap as well,” he suggested. “Our feasts tend to last until the wee hours.”

“The wee hours of what?”

“The morning.”

“All right.”

“And something else . . .”

“Yes?”

“You are not allowed more than one husband or wife in the Southlands.”

Elina stopped at his sudden change of topic and, like a confused bird, turned her head to look at him. “Why would any man want more than one wife? Is that not too much work for him? Especially if both wives are warriors and still of breeding age. The male can barely handle one wife, much less two, and would need several brother-husbands to assist him. Although I guess—”

“The point is,” he cut in, “only one mate. You can’t have several.”

“That is sad for Annwyl. She deserves many husbands.”

“What I’m saying is that you can’t have a lot of husbands.”

“Of course I cannot.”

“You can’t?”

“No.”

“Oh. All right.”

“Because I am not worthy. I have failed two queens and deserve nothing. So I will live out my life alone and bitter. Perhaps my sister will allow me to care for her offspring until I die of old age . . . in shame. At least, that is my plan.”

Celyn threw up his hands. “I have no response to that, Elina.”

“Why would you? It is my plan. I am sure you have your own plan. One filled with more dragons tossed off mountainsides and many offspring who will get to positions of power through nepotism and the willingness to break the wings of their enemies.” She smiled and patted his chest. “See? There are plans for all of us!”

Elina headed up the stairs to the Great Hall, and Celyn stood there . . . so very confused.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Kachka walked into the Great Hall after bathing in the stream. She heard gasps and turned to the poor, sheeplike servants setting up the dining table.

“What?” she asked.

“My lady—” an older woman began.

“I am no lady. I am Kachka Shestakova of the Black Bear Riders of the—”

“Perhaps,” the servant stated over Kachka, “my lady would like some fresh clothes to put on.”

“Oh.” Kachka looked down at her naked body. “I guess—”

A robe was thrown over her shoulders, her dirty clothes removed from her hands so that her arms could be stuffed into the sleeves, and the robe quickly cinched at her waist by a silk belt.

“There,” the servant said, smiling, “don’t you look lovely?”

“I do not know. Do I look lovely?”

“Um . . .” The servant pointed at the stairs. “Why don’t I take you to your room, my lady?”

“Kachka Shestakova. Not my lady. I have no royal ties to this world or the next.”

“Very good. This way.”

As they walked up the stairs, Kachka asked, “Do you not long for freedom from these shackles of oppression?”

“Shackles?” The servant glanced at her. “I wear no shackles, and I’m free to come and go as I please. Annwyl is a fair and courteous queen.”

“Do you fear if she hears your complaints, she will have you killed?”

The servant snorted. “I complain to the queen whenever necessary, and she simply handles our needs. She’s never killed one of us for having a concern or voicing it.” The servant stopped and faced Kachka. “Perhaps it is her father you’ve heard of. He was a most unpleasant ruler by all accounts. But that is not Annwyl. If you are displeased in some way, though, please just let one of us know and we’ll be more than happy to—”