A commotion sounded at the end of the hall. Feet shuffled, and men grunted. The door flew open and three soldiers dragged the King inside. He shoved and pushed while the men gently moved him in her direction.
She called, “If he does not walk on his own, bind him, hand and foot, then carry him to me.”
At her words, he caught sight of her and where she sat. His throne. He broke free with a lunge.
Despite her advice to give him a few bruises, the men had handled him gently as their King. His expensive clothing was clean and appeared new. Each hair was in place. Seeing her sitting on his throne turned his growing anger to fury. A soldier tried to stand in front of him to prevent the King from charging her. Another held his shirt from behind.
“Let him alone, and everyone leave us,” Hannah said, louder than she had intended. “Close the door and wait outside.”
After they had exchanged looks, the men obeyed.
“Stand,” King Edward warned in a growl.
“It is good to finally meet you, too.”
“I am the King!”
“You are a fool, even if we are related, which I’m beginning to wonder about.” The King was nearly a foot taller than her, wider at the shoulders and perhaps five years older. His face was powdered because nobody had that color complexion.
His deep purple robe glittered with sparkles from tiny stones, and his feet wore matching shoes made of the same material. Hannah decided he looked like a plum.
He charged. She sat and waited. He shouted threats as he ran through the hall towards the stairs. She waited. Long before he reached the five stairs, he tired. He panted and huffed up to them, fists balled, face red.
Hannah stood, and as she did, casually her left leg swung wide and struck him high on his right leg, above the knee. She spun, and the same leg came around again neck high. It stopped when it touched him, her heel resting on his cheek.
“Huh?”
He hadn’t seen them coming. Not the first kick, and certainly not the second. A wooden column beside him drew her attention. Without thinking, Hannah pulled the throwing knife and let it fly. He never saw that, either. It struck head-high, an arm’s length from him.
“You might want to reconsider some of what you said to me when you entered.” Hannah sat again, on the same throne.
The door at the far end flew open, and Brice strode in without pause. He walked quickly to them, his face also flushed with anger. “Kill him. Or, allow me.”
“Brice, that doesn’t sound like you,” Hannah said.
“His people starve and die, and he laughs about it.”
Hannah stood, holding up her hand. “Stop right there.”
Brice pulled to a reluctant halt but glared at King Edward as if he was half a worm in Brice’s apple.
Hannah turned to the shaken King who seemed to have deflated. “I came here to request your help by borrowing a few hundred soldiers long enough to reach Wren and be crowned. In return, I planned to help you defeat Ansel. One favor for another given to cousins.”
His eyes narrowed, and he started drawing himself back up. “Yes, we can do that.”
“No, we can’t,” she cut him off. “Not now.”
“I’ve heard about you. . .”
“From Jam? I wouldn’t believe a lot of what he says.” Hanna said while adjusting herself theatrically on the King’s throne. “This thing needs more padding.”
“It is my throne. I have also heard of you from others. The rightful heir, for instance. Elenore visited here only last year.”
“Did she bring her pet mage with her?” Hannah asked, and then reconsidered. “No matter. Here’s how this plays out. If you are to see another sunrise, you will surrender your crown, in public, today.”
“You can’t make me do that.”
“You’re right. But Brice here wants to kill you—which serves the same purpose. Give up your crown, and I’ll assign a detail of your soldiers to escort you to the Ansel border. You may take whomever you wish with you, and enough gold to fill one small purse.”
He glared at her. Hannah waved a hand in Brice’s direction. “I don’t think I’ve introduced my Knight of Knights. He is small in stature for the position, but he has never failed to kill a man when I ordered it. Not once. Is that a lie, Brice?”
“Your word is my command.”
Hannah smiled sweetly. “Besides, I don’t think he likes you, Edward. Brice, do you like the King?”
“I do not.”
“There, I think the subject is settled.” Hannah stood, walked to the column and retrieved her knife, and turned her back to King Edward.
The King shouted, “We’re not done.”
She walked slowly down the stairs, and when she reached Brice, she paused and said softly, but loud enough to carry to the stage, “One or the other. Before you leave this room. His choice, not yours.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Hannah didn’t know if it was a bluff or not. If Brice killed him, she wouldn’t mourn, but she had other things on her mind. She went to the ballroom and climbed the stage there. The people were becoming resistive and anxious. When she called for attention, they continued talking, and a few shouted threats.
She turned to a nearby officer. “Get them quiet. Use reasonable force.”
The officer passed an order to a few men who relayed it to others. A man shouted an obscenity. A blow from the side of a blade dropped him to his knees. Another soldier used the grip of his sword to strike one man in the head. The officer drew his blade in full view of everyone and placed the tip against the unprotected neck of one of the King’s favorites, a young man dressed to make a peacock feel drab.
The room went deathly quiet.
Hannah didn’t waste time. “All palace servants and workers are free to leave and return to normal duties. Go. We’ll speak later.”
They rushed the door with more than a few giggles. A few Royals tried to sneak out with them, but the soldiers blocked any who tried. There were shouting matches, threats, and a few scuffles, but the Royals remained. In the space of a few breaths, most of the people in the room were gone, those remaining were dressed in cheerful-colored clothing better suited for parties.
Hannah called to the guards in the rear, “Close those doors.” Then she paced the stage a few times, trying to think of what to say. When nothing came, she decided to simply try speaking and see how it went. “You don’t know me, but I think we’re related, most of us. My mother was from Peermont. I am Princess Hannah of Wren, the Rightful Heir to the Throne and I plan to hold my coronation within a ten-day.”
They were unimpressed.
Hannah decided to try a new tact. She pointed to a snooty woman of mid-years. “You. Where is the official Line of Succession kept?”
“The King’s library.” The answer was quick but resentful.
“Thank you.” She turned to an officer. “Go fetch it.”
He left. When the door banged closed, she continued, “Is the next in line in this room?”
A man stepped forward.
Hannah said, “Good. Come up here with me. Who is next in line after you?”