I Returned To Kill Monsters, And Created The Worst One

Chapter 8 — A Proposal

Elara Veyne

I didn’t sleep much after the ball.

Not because of the music, the conversations, or the absurd number of people who continued moving through the corridors even after midnight.

It was because of a single word.

Nythrium.

The Crown had offered access to the mineral to healers capable of stabilizing Kian Varesh.

I didn’t know whether the rumors were completely true. I also didn’t know what exactly “access” meant. A few stones? A concession? Purchasing rights? There was still too much information missing.

But it was the first concrete opportunity I had found since arriving in Azhareth.

And concrete opportunities had the terrible habit of disappearing when someone thought too much.

I sat at the small table in the quarters and pulled out a sheet of paper.

For a few minutes, I simply stared at it.

I had no intention of healing the prince and then asking how much that was worth. I had spent enough time in my first life offering my body, my mana, and my work before other people decided the price.

This time, the price would come first.

I wrote slowly.

Payment in Nythrium.

Legal protection within Azhareth during the treatment.

No attempt to keep me in the palace against my will.

The right to interrupt the treatment if any of the conditions were broken.

No interrogations about the origin of my ability.

I stopped at the last line.

Maybe I was demanding too much from a man who didn’t even know I existed yet.

Then I thought of Gideon.

I kept writing.

It wasn’t a beautiful contract. Much less a sophisticated one. It was a piece of parchment folded twice, with a few conditions scribbled down and three corrections in the corner because I still didn’t perfectly master Azhareth’s formal writing.

It would do.

The real problem wasn’t negotiating.

It was getting alone with the prince without being arrested first.

The celebration would continue for another three days.

The next morning, Samira informed us that the royal family would remain in the chambers near the main halls until the ceremonies ended. There would be breakfast with some delegations, private meetings during the afternoon, and another reception at night.

That greatly reduced the distance between Kian and me.

It didn’t make approaching him safe.

It only made it possible.

I spent the day working normally, although my attention was everywhere except on the pots.

I watched who carried meals to the royal wing. Which corridors they used. How many guards remained outside the doors. Who checked the trays.

It didn’t take long to realize that going in with some potion would be stupid.

The dishes intended for the royal family were inspected before leaving the kitchen and again before entering the wing.

An unknown vial would be found.

After that, I would be lucky if I managed to explain my intentions before someone accused me of trying to poison the heir.

So I wouldn’t take anything.

First, I needed to convince Kian to listen to me.

Then I would think about the rest.

Near the end of the afternoon, while the kitchen prepared to send a light supper to the chambers, the first opportunity appeared.

One of the employees responsible for deliveries to the royal wing was sitting near the pantry rubbing her ankle.

“I twisted it on the stairs,” she complained.

Samira made the expression of someone who had been personally offended by the woman’s ankle.

“Can you walk?”

“I can.”

She stood up, took two steps, and nearly fell onto a basket.

I stepped in before Samira could choose someone else.

“I can take it.”

Her eyes immediately went to me.

“You don’t work in the royal wing.”

“Someone has to take the food in her place.”

Samira didn’t like it.

The cook who usually left fruit on the counter for me intervened.

“She knows the service corridors. And she works properly.”

Samira examined me as though assessing the possibility that I might steal the silverware along the way.

“Deliver it and come back.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t talk to anyone.”

“All right.”

“Don’t even look at anyone.”

That seemed like a slightly excessive demand, but I kept my mouth shut.

I picked up the tray intended for the prince.

The parchment was hidden beneath the inner sash of my clothing.

My heart started beating faster.

Not because I regretted it.

Because I had enough common sense to know that what I was doing was dangerous.

The royal wing was quieter than the rest of the palace.

Carpets muffled footsteps, the walls were decorated with carved stone panels, and there were too many guards for anyone to mistake the place for an ordinary area.

Two men were stationed outside the door to Kian’s chambers.

That was the part I still hadn’t completely solved.

The first examined the tray.

“Leave it with us.”

“I was told to deliver it directly.”

He looked up.

“By whom?”

Great.

I had prepared three possible answers.

I chose the one that seemed least suicidal.

“The man in the blue tunic who was supervising the wing after the meeting. Tall, short beard, golden seal on his shoulder.”

I had seen that man twice during the day giving orders to employees and soldiers.

I didn’t know his name.

I hoped the guards did.

They exchanged a look.

“Master Farid?”

I inclined my head as though that confirmed exactly what I meant.

“That’s him. He also asked you to check the side entrance of the west corridor. He said there was a problem with one of the delegations and that the men there needed reinforcements.”

The second guard frowned.

“No one told us.”

“I only deliver food. If you want to argue with him, I imagine he’s still near the smaller hall.”

The first muttered a curse under his breath.

Important officials had a very useful quality: no one wanted to be the person who ignored one of their orders.

“Stay here,” one of the guards said. “Don’t go in until we return.”

“Of course.”

The two of them went down the corridor.

I waited.

One second.

Two.

Three.

When they disappeared around the corner, I opened the door.

I entered.

I closed it behind me.

The room was darker than I expected.

The curtains filtered the golden light of late afternoon. There were medicine bottles on a table, a bitter smell of herbs in the air, and an enormous bed that looked practically untouched.

Kian was sitting in a chair near the window.

Still completely covered.

Mask.

Gloves.

Dark layers up to his neck.

Without the crowded hall around him, he looked even thinner.

I placed the tray on the table.

“Leave it and go.”

His voice surprised me.

It was low, deep, and much firmer than I expected from someone the rumors described as practically dead.

I looked at the door.

The guards wouldn’t take long.

It was my last chance to abandon this.

I pulled the crumpled parchment from inside my clothes.

Then I turned the key, locking the door.

The click sounded far too loud in the silence.

Behind me, there was a slight movement.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

I turned.

The iron mask was facing directly toward me now.

I inclined my head just enough to show that I still remembered I was standing before the crown prince.

“Making you an offer that will probably keep you from dying.”