Chapter 2 - Sam
Sam stared up at the ceiling and willed the roaring in his blood to calm. The voices in his head that whispered ‘danger!’ were much harder to quiet tonight than on other nights.
He rolled onto his side and propped his head in his hand. Kenna slept deeply beside him. She faced away from him curled onto her side like she did each night. She was doing the thing again, where she tucked her head against her chest and crossed her arms over her stomach, almost like she was fending off some attack.
Sam fought the urge—the tickle in his fingers—to reach beneath the mattress for the knife he had stuffed in there months ago. He ignored the voice telling him to shove it into her heart, fitting it right between her ribs. He could almost picture it. The way her eyes would fly open, first in shock, then in disbelief, then finally in pain. He’d have to stand, of course, to have enough power to deliver the killing blow. He’d be sure to roll her onto her back to get the perfect angle, too. A shiver rolled down his spine. Oh, how he could already see the light fading from her eyes. Feel her skin cooling under his hands.
It would be so easy to kill her beside him while she slept. No one knew he spent his nights warming her bedside. She certainly made sure of that. No one would assume a small kitchen boy could get into the Queen’s rooms and deliver the killing blow.
But no. That measly Tiberius would know. The future Duke of the Beyond, or whatever title he touted to cover up that he did nothing and had no purpose. He followed Kenna around like a lame puppy, doing whatever stupid trick or task she conjured just for the mere opportunity of recognition. It was so pathetic. He would suspect Sam at once if anything were to happen to his precious Queen. That weasel was always lurking and looking for a reason to pin the blame on Sam for every tiny inconvenience that fell across his holy royal lap. A royal scum looking to push his problems off on an innocent, good working man.
Sam sat up and stretched his arms high above his head then cracked both sides of his neck. Moonlight filtered through the lazy openings in the window curtains. The remaining embers in the fireplace crackled in a merry response. This little room of Kenna’s, this haven of hers, was the biggest slap in the face of this entire relationship.
She never did a single thing to earn this room. Never worked a single hour under the scorch of a brick oven to earn this luxury. She hadn’t spent the last fifteen years of her life bent over a slab of stone, kneading dough until her arms felt like the very jelly stuffed inside it. It was dehumanizing. If anyone should get to live in a room as nice as this, it should be Sam. He, who had baked her treats and delicacies for fourteen years, unnoticed, never thanked.
She was a cruel brat who took every ill-gotten reward in her life for granted. She appreciated none of the work others put in, bending their backs to be steppingstones on her way to the throne.
How ready Sam was to knock her down a few pegs.
To show her exactly what this poor kitchen boy could do and had earned.
With a grunt, Sam rolled off the soft bed.
Kenna sighed as the bed rebounded, stretching her legs beneath the duvet in her sleep. Almost as if she were saying he had taken up too much space in this monstrous bed and had caged her in.
He crossed the room to the bathroom, sniffing his armpits as he went. So help him, if he smelled like that sickening perfume she always wore… It wasn’t enough for her, it seemed, to be the Queen of the Mountain Kingdom. She had to fucking smell like the forest-covered slopes, too. As if those spindly sticks that barely survived each winter were something worth being proud of.
Passing the ridiculous porcelain sink and clawfoot tub that he was sure she never appreciated, he paused in front of the human-sized, gilt-framed mirror. He knew the room would be dark, but he still wanted to look good for this meeting. These men needed to exalt him. There was simply no other acceptable option.
He did his best to flatten his hair and smudge the sleep out of his eyes in the shadows of the mirror. Attempted to make it look like he hadn’t just tumbled out of bed with the one person he most loathed.
On the farthest wall, there hung a giant tapestry of a stupid evergreen tree on the crest of a stupid mountain. Kenna tried explaining its symbolic meaning to him once when they first started hooking up, but he didn’t care enough at the time to listen. He still didn’t care to remember.
Sam braced his feet and lifted the tapestry’s staggering weight, revealing a small passageway hewn through the stone wall. Monarchs long before Kenna’s time had ordered this servant passage made to ensure the help could enter and exit the suite quickly without ever being noticed. As if their presence bearing food, hot water, and restocks of soap and firewood had been enough to dampen the suite’s cheery mood.
Kenna preferred him to keep to this access point as well, of course. Great Goddess forbid any of her noble peers knew the two of them were seeing each other. She loved being with an inferior working man, just until it came to telling others.
But what was it that her grandmother used to croon to anyone who would listen? It isn’t a charity case if everyone knows about it. Sam wouldn’t be Kenna’s version of a charity case—her way of showing a lesser man the finer side of life and getting to pat herself on the back for her generous work—if every lord and lady knew she did it.
Once inside the passage, Sam let the tapestry fall back into place behind him, dousing him in darkness. His cloak from earlier hung beside an old lantern pick, and he grabbed both the cloak and the low-lit lantern before beginning his journey. It was a tight fit: the walls occasionally hugged his shoulders or even forced him to turn sideways and scuttle through like a roach. Dirt paths and steep, jutting staircases alternated without rhyme or reason as he slowly descended to the palace’s basement.
The earth grew damper and a chill settled in the air. Sam’s breath whistled out of him and danced away on a phantom draft as his feet found rickety wooden floors for the first time tonight. The passage spat him out one story below the massive kitchens into the even more massive pantry.
Without making a sound, he set his lantern down on the first step of the passageway; there was no need to announce his presence by shadow before he was ready. Creeping low to the ground, he wound around crates of potatoes and boxes of various cooking oils. The heady aroma of dried spices swinging above his head masked the stench of unrefined liquor and the kerosene burning of the midnight oil.
Sam followed the growing murmur of voices but paused before stepping into view. He took one last moment to ensure that everything was perfect and as it should be. There was no hair out of place, and his face was clean. He pulled his cloak tighter. These men could not see him in silly pajamas if he were to be taken seriously as a negotiator at this table. With a deep breath, Sam stepped into the light.
The three Valley Kingdom emissaries sat on stacked flour bags and had tipped a whiskey barrel to use as a makeshift table. Their whisperings stopped once they saw Sam enter, and they all turned to appraise the newcomer. They, too, wore dark cloaks with giant hoods to hide their faces from prying eyes. A few gun barrels strapped to their sides glinted and flickered in the light from the lone open flame atop the barrel table.
Sam cleared his throat. “Evening, gentlemen. I—”
“Sit down, boy.” A burly emissary with arms the size of tree trunks grabbed an extra sack of flour and yanked it forward. He had the trademark lilt of the Savannahland. The disturbance of flour dust hid Sam’s face as he dropped into his seat, his cheeks aflame with indignation. How dare the man—
“You’ve got a lot of nerve, boy,” the emissary with the big arms started, “to write to us like that today and order we skip a dinner held in our honor. I was looking forward to that meal. My King had objectives for me to fulfill tonight.”
“As did mine,” growled the man to his right. The dancing vines inked on his forearm betrayed his allegiance to the Jungle Kingdom.
Sam spread his hands in a soothing manner. “Men,” he said, “do you all truly think I would have you skip that dinner without some greater plan in place?”
“You made us skip the meal so we would ruffle the young queen’s feathers,” the Jungle emissary huffed. “As if we didn’t do that well enough during that vanity parade.”
Sam fought the annoyance that rose in him at their constant interruptions. He needed to be their friend for a while longer yet. Just until he could access the armies their leaders commanded. He lowered his hands and braced them on the edge of the barrel. "If it were my goal to ruffle some feathers, then success would be ours. But while you lot missed dinner tonight, I had a letter delivered to Kenna in your stead. She now thinks the Valley Kingdoms will declare war on the Mountains and the Beyond.”
Silence.
Only the sigh of the spices twisting in the wind met his declaration. The emissaries stared at Sam with jaws agape. Only the Marshan emissary had the nerve to appear bashful and nervous.
The Savannahland emissary lunged across the barrel. “My king will have you hanged for this, boy! To speak in our place and for our lands!” A hand closed around the collar of his shirt and yanked him forward over the table. The candle flame danced dangerously close to the hem of his shirt as his feet scrambled for purchase in the unnatural position. The Savannahland emissary sneered at him and pulled him closer to the flame. “I should burn you for this treason. Do you think anyone would miss a lowly kitchen boy?”
The heat of the flame on his stomach grew warmer. Sam gritted out, “Kenna has a plan to beg your forgiveness.”
The hand loosened a fraction as surprise flitted across the Savannahland man’s face, and Sam pulled away with disgust. He stood, ignoring the singed mark in the center of his nightshirt. He had to muster everything left of his dignity. With clenched fists, he said, “Kenna is going on a hunt tomorrow. She plans to hunt down three blue bears and gift a pelt to each of your leaders.”
A new silence met his words: a contemplative and uneasy kind. The emissaries exchanged looks among themselves. “A blue bear's pelt would be monumental,” the Jungle emissary said slowly. “But how can we be sure that what she gifts us is authentic? I have it on good authority that your famed bears are nigh impossible to find—how can we know her gift will be legitimate?”
“You’re missing the point.” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose where the smell of melted wax lingered. “Instead of helping her hunt the bears, we’re going to hunt her. It’s going to be an ambush."
“Your coup,” the Marsh emissary gasped, speaking for the first time.
Sam nodded. “She’s so worried about making peace with you lot before fighting breaks out that she’ll never see this coming.”
“You are but a little baker boy,” the Savannahland man hissed. “How do you plan to take down an armed, royal hunting party in the light of day?”
Sam leveled him with the coldest look he could muster. “I’m not,” he said. “Your guards will do the dirty work. I will be with you three here at the palace. Preparing to swoop in and take control in the inevitable chaos that follows.”
The Jungle emissary leaned back and stroked his chin. “No one will believe or support your claim. Not when the Duke of the Beyond is right there to step in.”
Sam’s blood boiled at the mention of that spoiled ass. “The heir-apparent to the Beyond will be on the hunt with Kenna. He will conveniently and valiantly forfeit his life in service to his queen. Just as I’m sure he does in whatever nasty fantasies he has.”
The Jungle emissary cocked his head. “That’s an awfully convenient step in your plan. You’re placing a lot of trust in the assumption of heroics. What if he doesn’t run to her rescue? What then?”
Sam felt the vein under his eye twitch. “Then your men will have to get creative.” He paused, practically daring the Jungle emissary to talk back again. The emissary only held eye contact for a moment too long before finally nodding. Sam turned to the other two emissaries. “As for supporting my claim to the throne, it will have a lot more validity after the three representatives of the Valley Kings back it.”
The Marsh man tapped the table as if he were fighting an intrusive tick. “I don’t know,” he squeaked out. “The Queen is only one generation removed from Marshan royalty. Our blood courses through her veins, sure as it rains in spring. Blood does not harm blood. Blood certainly does not ambush or usurp or even kill blood.”
“Who said anything about killing her?” The roaring in Sam’s head quieted. His voice dropped an octave and he spoke as slowly and clearly as possible. “Kenna is not to be harmed. She is to be captured and returned to me at the palace.”
The Savannahland man stilled. He leaned forward and said, “How, exactly, do you intend to rule the Mountains when its rightful queen is still alive? That is pure folly.”
“You can leave those semantics for me. I have a plan for it all.”
“The Savannah Kingdom will not go forward with this suicide plan without an explanation,” the man challenged. The Jungle emissary nodded in accord.
“I need her alive so she can tell me the Sacred Name of the Mountains and Beyond.” Sam’s teeth felt like they were grinding each other to dust. “Once I have that information, I will either use or dispose of the girl as I wish.”
The Savannahland man barked out a laugh. “Boy! You don’t even know the Sacred Name yet? I thought you said you were bedding her?”
The wooden barrel groaned under Sam’s tight grip. “It is a work in progress. You don’t need to worry yourself about the details of my process. I have been planning for every outcome for years. My only question is whether I can count on your men to pull through in your roles tomorrow?”
The three emissaries exchanged long and weighted looks. Sam couldn’t decipher its meaning, but it felt as if they held an entire conversation in only a few seconds. Finally, the Savannah Kingdom’s emissary turned to him. “You have yourself a deal, boy. Our guards will track the hunting party tomorrow, and we will back your claim when the time comes. We only request that you turn the queen over to the Valley Kings once you finish with her. After that embarrassing show of pride and might today, there are some words our Kings must have with her.”
Sam would never relinquish her—he would never willingly part with this most prized bargaining chip. Kenna and her crown were his and would be until he decided otherwise. But these men didn’t need to know that right now. It was a problem for another day. He stood and held out his hand. The Savannah Kingdom’s emissary gripped it in a tight handshake. “Then it is done.” Sam smiled. “The reign of Kenna Aurelia ends tomorrow at sundown.”
About the Author
Madeline is a third-year student at the University of Iowa. When not focused on classwork, she can be found catching up on her tv shows and enjoying a mug of coffee. Madeline loves hanging out with her friends, reading anything fantasy-related, and is inspired by TikTok edits and cheesy Pinterest posts.
Instagram: @Madeline_Hussey , @madelinehusseywrites
Cover design made using Canva design tools.