The Mad Raven's Tale (The Accarian Chronicles Book 1) by Andrew Walbrown (the lemonade war series txt) 📗

It was the first time he had been in the Great Hall, never having the courage to call on Morganna. Though she had clearly taken an interest in him, and Jaga had directly told him as much, Amantius still could not work up the courage to request a meeting with her. After all, she was a Countess and he was no one.

“State your business,” one of the guards spoke, stepping out of the shadows.

“I have come to speak to, with,” Amantius stuttered, “with the, with the Countess.”

“Amantius, is that you?” A honeyed voice spoke from the back of the hall, “Why this is a pleasant surprise, I was beginning to fear I would never have you as my guest.”

Morganna emerged from behind a beautiful, exotic tapestry that obscured a doorway, wearing a fire-red gown with a silver brooch just above her left breast. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall, breaking over each side of her face to frame the smile on her ruby lips. Amantius could not tell what burned hotter; the flames in the hearth or those in his heart.

“Speak when you are spoken to,” a dead-eyed guard muttered, a stark coldness contrasting the warmth emerging from Morganna at the end of the hall.

Amantius nodded nervously. “Y-y-yes, it is me. It is I.” Which one is right? Dammit, man, pull yourself together!

“Don’t forget who you’re addressing,” the same guard growled.

Gods, Amantius, you are such a nitwit. “Yes, my lady.”

Morganna descended the dais at the end of the hall and motioned for the guards to stand down. She sat at a table along the hearth and beckoned Amantius by quietly patting the open space beside her with the palm of her hand. All around the scrubbing children disappeared, vacating the hall for Amantius, Morganna, and a couple of loyal bodyguards to share. The last person to leave was the servant resuscitating the flames in the hearth, and even he left before the job was completely finished.

Amantius noticed little of what was happening around him, his vision clouded by the desire burning in his soul. He could feel Morganna’s eyes on him as he crossed the hall, trying his best to find some degree of composure. His breathing shortened, and time felt as though it stood still.

He took a seat near Morganna, although not the one she had indicated with her hand. He attempted to straighten his posture, an aspect of polite society that had always eluded him. As he did so he could hear his mother chastising him, telling him he would someday regret not learning the basics of high society. I should have listened to her. Maybe I wouldn’t look and feel so stupid right now, especially with Morganna watching me. You’re such a moron, Amantius.

Morganna watched the awkward display, a playful smile on her lips. She poured two cups of wine, sliding one across the table to Amantius. She then leaned on one elbow, calmly sipping the wine in her goblet. She said nothing, choosing to observe instead. When she was not drinking she was tracing the top of the goblet with her index finger, her skin glowing from the light from the hearth.

Surely she isn’t waiting for me to speak. I don’t even know what to say. With only a few gulps Amantius drained the wine in front of him. He had originally planned to ration, to take small sips, but he was too nervous for such restraint. So nervous, he unintentionally consumed two entire cups before Morganna finished her first. You’re already a fool, Amantius, and if you don’t slow down you’re going to be a drunken fool instead.

“I do not know about the customs in Accaria,” Morganna began, a smirk forming on her lips, “but in this part of the world, when a guest visits, they at least attempt to converse while drinking their host’s wine. Perhaps you are exhausted from the day’s labors. After all, if you did not continue to cut firewood for us, I am afraid my hall would be quite chilly.

Amantius nodded, grinning sheepishly. He could not tell if she was praising or chiding him. Maybe a little bit of both. “Apologies, my lady. My mother always said I wasn’t the best type of guest.”

“On the contrary, you have been a most pleasant guest.” Morganna smiled, dimples forming on her cheeks. “You must remember, when you arrived here you were my enemy. Sworn to slay me and everyone who fights for me, or rather, against my brother. And now? We are in my home, sharing wine together, basking in the glow of the hearth. I would say you have been the best kind of guest.”

“And you have been the best kind of captor,” Amantius replied, adding extra emphasis to the word “captor.”

Morganna chuckled at his jest, the joy filling the room and Amantius’ heart. She had politely laughed at his silly jokes before, but for the first time he thought she was genuinely laughing. She raised her goblet in a mock salute to him. “To the best prisoner I could have. May your sentence be long.”

He returned the gesture. “And to the best captor, may the key to my invisible cell never be found.”

They continued to drink, creating nonsensical chit-chat to fill the conversation. As time passed the butterflies in Amantius’ stomach disappeared, and eventually he grew bold enough to sit next to the Countess. They swapped stories of their childhoods, joked about how serious Jaga always was, and even played a few card games. After everything that had happened in the past year, Amantius needed a night like this, one where he could just relax and be himself. Ever since he was exiled from Accaria he felt trapped, as though all the gaiety of life disappeared as soon as he stepped foot on that ship bound for Silverwater. But