a matter of weeks before famine set in, and that was only if the inevitable surge of disease didn’t kill everyone first.
But instead of using his gods-damned-given mark to protect his people, Killian was currently dragging a drunk palace guard down the hallway by his ankles, the useless bastard snoring as his head slid across the plush carpet. Reaching the top of the stairs, Killian balanced the man on the edge, then gave him a nudge with one booted foot.
The guard rolled down the carpeted steps and landed with a thud at the bottom. Swaying, he sat up, eyes fixing on Killian. “Wha’s goin’ on?”
“You’re fired.” Killian bounced a silver coin off the man’s forehead. “This should cover a night’s worth of entertainment before you march off to the front lines. Enjoy.”
Turning on his heel, he started back toward Malahi’s suite only to find Bercola standing behind him, the giantess’s head nearly brushing the ceiling. “That wasn’t very nice, Killian,” she said, cocking one brow.
“Drunks bounce,” he replied flatly.
“You’d know.”
He glared at the giantess who’d watched his back since he was a child. “I fight better drunk than any of this lot does stone-cold sober.” Then he skirted around her and strode down the hall.
She only fell into step with him. “You’re supposed to be the captain of the Princess’s guard, but currently, you’re captain of nothing. That one was the last.”
“She’s better off with nothing than the lot her father assigned to guard her. Useless conscription dodgers and cowards. Not a one of them would put himself between Malahi and an angry kitten.”
And cowardice was the least of their sins. Killian had dug into the backgrounds of the men Serrick had selected to protect his daughter, and far too many had dark pasts full of violence and worse. A handful had clean records, but Killian swiftly determined that that was only because they’d never been caught, which made them doubly dangerous. The looks in their eyes—the way they looked at Malahi … He’d fired the lot of them the moment Serrick had marched off to take command of the Royal Army.
And there were no better guards in the city to be had. Every man capable of wielding a blade either had fled south or north beyond the King’s reach or was already fighting with the Royal Army. Killian covered his anger at the situation with a smirk. “Bercola, I don’t need other guards—I have you.”
“Reluctantly.” Bercola ducked her head under the frame of the newly installed oak door protecting the wing that contained Malahi’s suite. “I spent over a decade ensuring you didn’t get yourself killed, Killian, and I spent most of it alternating between wanting to drink myself to the bottom of a wine cask and wanting to fall on my own sword. You are overestimating my desire for this role.”
“How much more gold will it take to compensate for that lack of desire?”
“I’ve no need of gold. And I’m not interested in spending day and night guarding a Rowenes princess. Make it worth my while, or I’m going home to Eoten Isle.”
That stopped Killian in his tracks. His father had saved Bercola’s life during the Giant Wars, earning a life debt from her. High Lord Calorian had spent that debt ensuring his god-marked son’s recklessness didn’t overwhelm the gifts the god of war had bestowed upon him—or, in Bercola’s words, protecting Killian from his own stupidity—but his father was dead. Bercola owed Killian nothing. Yet it had never occurred to him that his friend might leave once her debt was paid. Convincing Bercola to stay would be much easier if he could tell her the truth about Malahi’s mark and her plans and the threat to her life, but the Princess had sworn him to secrecy. And Killian was not one to give his word lightly.
Stopping outside the door to Malahi’s sitting room, the faint sound of ladies laughing filtering through the stone walls, Killian rested his head against the wood. “I’m not suited for this.” Not suited to following after a princess while she secretly played at politics. He was a warrior, not a gods-damned courtier.
Bercola exhaled a long breath. “When was the last time you slept?”
Killian couldn’t remember, which meant it had been too long. His mark gifted him greater endurance, but there were limits. Limits that were being tested as he trailed after Malahi all day, then stood guard in her room through the night, but despite Serrick being leagues away and all the