“For the last time, you can’t come inside!”
Titus’s voice thundered from behind the door, rattling the wood just as my knuckles left it.
“It’s me, Sir Titus. Can I come in?”
The door creaked open, just a sliver at first, and Titus’s wary eyes darted out, scanning the street as if expecting trouble to leap from the shadows. When he spotted me, something in his face eased, the lines of worry softening for a moment. He waved me in with a hurried gesture, though his gaze lingered on the Tribesman outside, sharp and unwelcoming.
“Come in, come in quickly; I don’t want the door open for too long.”
I slipped inside, and Titus quickly pulled it shut. He fumbled with the key, twisting it until it refused to budge. I caught his eye, my brow raised in a silent question, and he gave me a sheepish, almost tired smile.
“You have no idea how persistent they have been. Apparently, there is a custom some tribes follow where they steal their wives from their family’s home, calling it some kind of challenge. Halva has forbidden them from using this custom, but I don’t trust them.”
“Halva?”
At my question, Titus’s hand flew to his mouth, his eyes darting around the room as if the walls themselves might betray him for speaking a name he shouldn’t.
“Oh, um, the Ivory King”
So they were on a first-name basis now? The thought barely settled before hurried footsteps echoed down the stairs, and before I could even turn fully, I was swept into a fierce, almost desperate embrace.
“Ah, Ruby, thank the gods you are here. I wanted to send a letter, but ever since they showed up, the postmen no longer dare to collect the mail.”
I returned the embrace. So much had happened since we last saw each other, even though it had been only a few days. And with the church soon revealing my healing magic to the world, I didn’t know when the next time would be.
“If I’d known it was this bad, I would have come sooner. Are you alright? They haven’t tried anything, have they?”
Rika gave her father an accusing look; for the first time since I’ve known him, he looked a little small. She averted her eyes and answered,
“No, not yet. For all he is worth, at least they listen to him. But enough about that, let’s get in my room.”
Rika tugged me up the stairs, her grip warm and insistent. Inside her room, she locked the door with a practiced twist, then peeked through the curtains down the street. Only when she let out a shaky sigh did I finally take in the chaos around us—flowers spilling from every corner, letters stacked in precarious towers, the air thick with the scent of too many blooms. There was barely enough space to reach her bed, where we perched together, surrounded by the evidence of the Ivory King’s relentless affection.
“Is all this from the Ivory King?”
Rika almost jumped when I said his name, then shuddered in disgust as if she had stepped on a slug.
“Let’s not talk about him, okay? I’ve been forced to think about him for long enough.”
I readily nodded. The way the Ivory King courted me was indeed a bit too intense for my taste. So I told Rika what happened between me and the church, what the twins had been up to, and of course the massacre at the hunting party. I hadn’t paid much attention because I was tired, but even Rika, holed up in here, had heard about it. Apparently, despite my efforts, twenty people have died, with several more going missing. Of the twenty, eight belonged to noble families, with one of the victims even being Lieselotte Bodmann’s husband, Vernon, whose horse panicked and threw him off onto an unfortunately placed rock, breaking his neck when the panic started. I knew they didn’t love each other, but as a mother I couldn’t help but think of her son crying for his papa; the thought alone made my stomach churn. If I hadn’t ridden into the forest, would I be a widow now, too?
But most didn’t care about Vernon Bodmann’s death, since he already had an heir and no one really liked him. Most of the other nobles were young, lower-ranking bachelors with no children, so they had no one to mourn. The real headline was the death of Percy and Pascal Solaris. In one day, House Solaris lost half its direct successors, leaving only the young Liam and his brother Peter, who, as I listened to Rika’s description, matched the blond fool who couldn’t stop staring at me.
This already looked bad enough, especially once most learned it wasn’t a freak accident of a wind spirit going rogue, but the work of Halfling assassins. Except for Vernon, all the other nobles were from the south. Adding to that came the unfortunate release of information about the two assassinations of two of their clergy who were also from the south on the same day. Suffice it to say the Southern nobles were furious, especially those who had lost someone, and quickly threw accusations at the North, believing it all to be some kind of plot to weaken the South. Meanwhile, House Solaris acted as a mediator and demanded an official, crown-led investigation.
For what felt like the hundredth time, I found myself grateful that House Yuwen stood apart from all these tangled alliances. Neutrality felt like a rare kind of safety.
Once all was told, however, I anxiously looked at Rika, who immediately knew what I wanted to talk about.
“Sigh. Fine, ask away.”
A sheepish smile tugged at my lips. Rika always saw right through me, no matter how hard I tried to hide.
“What has he done so far, and why does your father call him Halva?”
With a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the whole week, Rika finally gave me the tea. The Ivory King had been sending her letters every day since that first awkward meeting at the welcoming party, but she’d ignored him until Hildegard’s tea party changed everything. Now, his persistence had only grown—two letters a day, gifts and flowers until her room was overflowing. Some of the treasures left outside were worth more than her family’s entire fortune, but even when she politely refused them, he simply left more, stacking them higher and higher as if he could build a bridge to her heart out of gold and petals.
“It’s infuriating. I told him again and again to give up, but he just keeps coming back with more.”
Frustration radiated from her, but I couldn’t help but wonder why she kept any of the gifts at all. Still, I bit back the question and asked what had really been gnawing at me.
“And your dad is fine with this?”
“Not at first; he was really protective, but the last few days he has changed his mind. I think he has started to feel sorry for him.”
“And how do you feel?”
Rika looked at me as if I had gone mad.
“I don’t ‘feel’ anything; I just want him to stop,” she said, then grumbled, “You are starting to sound like my mom.”
“You really expect me to believe you when you say you feel nothing? Look, Rika, I’ve never even heard of a guy making that much effort while only getting the cold shoulder.”
“I-I can’t believe you are on his side?”
“No, I’m on your side, but have you even given him a chance?”
“Why should I? Is a simple No not enough?”
“It is, it’s just… Sigh… Look, Rika, he is the Ivory King, the leader of a nation. If he wanted to, he could walk right up to the king and ask for your hand.”
Rika’s gaze slid away from mine, her eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the cluttered room. She wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“If he hadn’t been a titan, I know you would already be over the moon with how much attention he had given you. I don’t think your father is sorry for him; he just knows how Halva must be feeling right now.”
I reached for Rika’s hands and held them gently until she finally looked up at me, her eyes uncertain.
“Just try to forget what everyone else thinks,” I said softly. “Give it a chance, and if it still feels wrong, then you’ll know for sure.”
“URGH!” Why do you have to be so annoying?”
“Because I’m your friend.”
“Is this payback for how I tried to push you onto Janus?”
“If I remember correctly, you broke your promise and told him that the twins were his children while I was unconscious.”
…
……
Then suddenly a booming voice came through the closed window. It was, without a doubt, the Ivory King’s voice, reciting a poem again.
“Not again…”
Rika sat up like an arrow, gathered her courage, pushed through the presents, reached the window, and pulled it up. She took a deep breath and almost screamed,
“Enough!”
The poem cut off mid-verse, the silence outside suddenly heavy. From where I sat on Rika’s bed, the street was hidden from view, leaving me to imagine the scene unfolding below. Rika turned back to me, her face pale and a little shaky, then faced the window again and, in a voice much softer than before, said,
“I give you one chance. Next week, the mask ball. Pick me up at six and don’t be late.”
She shut the window with a finality that left no room for argument, never glancing back. A sudden roar of cheers rose from the street below, as if the entire neighborhood had been holding its breath, waiting for this moment.