The Cold King(20)

The king turned to her with a smirk. "Very good. You will find I will  come to rely on your impressions of my guests and our conversations. You  seem to have a natural talent for reading people but I think you are  wrong on one account. Watch closely tonight and when this dreadful  evening is over we'll discuss it."



Calia nodded then straightened up as she heard the clicking of heels  coming down the long hallway. The Cold King groaned then stood.

Marchello seated the guests for dinner and Calia watched closely from  her spot behind the king. King William poured his wine freely and was  soon noticeably louder and more boisterous. His oldest girl, Sola, sat  perfectly straight in her chair, neither eating nor drinking. Her eyes  cut over to her father every time he opened his sloppy mouth and Calia  began to wonder if it really was the Cold King she feared. She had yet  to acknowledge him even though she sat next to him.                       
       
           



       

The younger girl was a nauseating show. She had changed into an even  more daring dress that squeezed her chest up and out, like a flabby  shelf. The only thing more pushy and offensive was her hair. Great piles  of looping curls perched precariously on her head and drooped down to  her bare shoulders. She simpered and smiled and tittered and blinked  more than she did anything else. Calia wanted to slap her then cover her  up.

The meal seemed to last forever even though nothing of importance was  discussed, as far as Calia was concerned. King William regaled the Cold  King with tales of a virulent firstborn, a son. He referred to his wife  numerous times as ‘built for birthing sons'. Not to leave his children  in tow out of the bizarre compliments he pointed out all their  remarkable feminine charms while Sola sat like a stone and the younger  giggled.



"Now," the king said drunkenly, "my Sola here is quite spoken for. I had  to beat the men off with a stick! It took sometime but I finally found  the perfect husband for her." He sighed dramatically. "And now, so soon,  I have to do it for my precious baby. It's heartbreaking, really, to  have to give a child up, even for marriage. So what's a father to do  other than make sure she has the best match?"

The Cold King murmured a reluctant agreement and William seemed to find that encouraging.

Finally the meal dragged to an end. "Surely your fair and delicate  daughters need their rest after such a strenuous trip," the Cold King  said through gritted teeth after the other man failed to get his more  polite attempts at ending the occasion.

"Ah yes, so soon," the drunken king said. "And I fear we must be off  again tomorrow. But there is one matter I should like to discuss before  we leave."

"Of course. I would be happy to hear you in the throne room before you  leave in the morning." From her vantage point, Calia could see his lie  in the tightness of his shoulders.

Marchello appeared to lead the ‘guests' back to their rooms. As soon as  they were out of the dining hall Calia let out long pent up breath.

The king, Valanka, she reminded herself, turned to catch her eye. "My sentiments exactly."

"Do you have to do this sort of thing all the time?" she asked warily.

He gave a weary laugh and stood from his chair. "Yes, much more than I  would like to. Come, let us have our discussion in private before you  retire for the night."



Calia followed him back up the stairs, still trying to play the role of a  perfect servant. But once through the doorway of his rooms she could do  it no more and kicked her shoes off with a sigh of relief and slumped  into her chair.

The king eyed her curiously but did not berate her.

"My feet hurt," she said defensively. "You try standing in a corner for hours in shoes like that."

"I do not have to. I am the king," he said drily. "Now tell me what your impressions are after that lovely meeting."

Calia settled back in her chair and gathered her thoughts. "The father  is a boisterous drunk. His older daughter is afraid of him, not you, and  the younger one is still a floozy."

The Cold King laughed and took the chair next to her.

"What else?"

Calia frowned. "Well, he spent most of his time bragging about his family."

"About what in particular?"

Calia shuddered. "His virulent son, his big hipped wife … He really is trying to marry off the floozy. To you?"

The king nodded, not taking his eyes from the low fire.

"But why? Surely he wouldn't want his daughter tied to you for the rest  of her life," Calia sputtered. "I mean, you never take off that mask,  you will never die." She winced, suddenly realizing what she had just  said.



"I am going to pretend not to be incredibly insulted. But yes, he is trying to marry her off to me."

"But why?" Calia pressed.

"Because I am wealthy, I am seemingly immortal, I keep the peace, I get whatever I want."

Calia shrugged. "But surely he wants more for his daughter than that."

The king sighed. "Think, Calia, and not with your kind little heart.  Think with that sharp little mind I know you have hiding somewhere in  there. It's not about what he wants for his daughter; it's what he wants  for himself."

"A powerful ally?" she guessed.

"Exactly. He wishes to align himself with me. In a way that I could not  undo should I grow tired of the backward and sometimes evil way he runs  his country."

"So he would just offer his daughter up like some kind of tempting bait?" She shuddered again.

"I wouldn't call her tempting. And I also wouldn't count her out of the  scheming. She should be frightened of me and yet she acted like a  strumpet."                       
       
           



       

"But what would she get? Other than you," Calia added hastily.

"Wealth. Her own castle and staff to boss around. Freedom from her father."

"That's disgusting," Calia finally commented.

He just shrugged. "That's life. I've been avoiding scummy men throwing their viscous daughters at me for years."

His words reminded her of his earlier promise. "How many years?"

"Three hundred."



Calia gasped and twisted in her chair to face him. "You are three hundred years old?"

"No, I was cursed three hundred years ago. I was twenty three when it occurred."

"Who did it? Why?" Calia demanded.

The king got up and poured two glasses of wine. Calia looked up with  surprise when he handed her one but he just sat back down in his chair  and kicked his feet up.

"My father did." He fell silent for a moment and Calia bit back all her  questions. She could not see his face but clearly it was a hard story  for him to tell.

"My father was the king then. He was a wonderful ruler. Everyone loved  him. He was fair and kind to all his people. No one went hungry, we  never went to war. He was harsh but just. Those are easy qualities to  appreciate in a king but much harder to appreciate in a husband or  father. He had no time for us, no time for my mother and sister. When I  was seven and my sister eleven our mother fell ill and did not have the  spirit to rally against it. She died without the comfort of her husband,  as he was too busy being king." He leaned his head back against the  chair and his eyes slid closed under his mask. "That was when I first  began to hate him, but it wasn't until years later that I truly reviled  him." Calia leaned closer, taking in every word.

"When my sister was just fourteen he pledged her to be married to a king  from a neighboring land. He was a vile fifty year old man that had  already been through three wives. He was stupid and brutish and clung to  his post with the aplomb of a rabid dog. My sister was terrified and  begged my father not to make her marry him but he did anyway." The king  fell silent again.



"Why?" Calia asked. "How could he do that to his own daughter?"

The king huffed. "He said he was doing it for the good of everyone, that  if he tied the two kingdoms together he could use his influence to  improve the lives of the people living under the king."

Calia bit her lip. "How very … noble?"

The king shook his head. "No, it was selfish. The neighboring kingdom  was a drain on all of us surrounding it. So my father offered up my  sister as a sacrifice to gain some control and improve the crumbling  situation."

"What happened then?"

Calia saw the muscles in his jaw bunch and his hands tightened on the  arms of his chair. "She became pregnant. She was little more than a  child, a tiny thing and he was a brutish beast, much larger than even my  father. She died in labor." He turned his face towards Calia and she  could almost make his eyes out from under the hooded lids of the mask.  "I loved my sister very much. She cared for me in much the same way that  my mother did."