The king's Shadow

The first thing I noticed about the palace was that nobody looked at the guards.

They looked at the soldiers.

They looked at the horses.

They looked at the banners snapping above the towers.

But never the men standing beneath them.

Perhaps that was why I liked the palace gates.

Nobody expected anything from you there.

You stood straight. You kept your mouth shut. You watched.

And you waited.

I had been doing that for most of my life.

My name is Kael Veyr.

I was born in the South Quarter of Valedon, where the houses leaned against one another because none of them had the money to stand properly on their own.

My mother washed clothes for wealthy families.

My father had died before I was old enough to remember his voice.

We never starved.

That was the compliment my mother always gave our childhood.

“We never starved.”

As though survival itself were a luxury.

I grew quickly.

Too quickly, according to the tailor who made my first proper uniform.

By sixteen, I was already broad-shouldered and taller than most men in our street. Years of carrying sacks at the docks had built muscle where good food never had the chance to.

My hands were rough.

My knuckles were scarred.

My boots had been repaired so many times that I suspected the original leather had long since retired.

But I was strong.

Strength was one of the few things poverty couldn’t take from you.

If anything, it gave you plenty of reasons to develop it.

At twenty-four, I joined the Royal Guard.

The other recruits laughed when they saw me.

“Dock rat.”

“Look at his boots.”

“Does the palace know they let street dogs in?”

I ignored them.

I’d spent my entire life learning how to ignore people who wanted a reaction.

Eventually, they stopped laughing.

Not because they respected me.

Because I beat the best fighter among them during training.

After that, they simply stopped speaking to me.

Which suited me perfectly.

One year later, my mother died.

Two years later, I received my first royal assignment.

The personal guard of Princess Elara.

I remember standing outside the western palace entrance that morning, staring up at the enormous doors.

The palace had hundreds of rooms.

Hundreds of servants.

Hundreds of guards.

And somehow, out of all of them, they had chosen me.

I adjusted my gloves.

My uniform was new.

The boots weren’t.

Then the doors opened.

A steward stepped outside.

He looked at me.

Then at my boots.

Then back at me.

“You are Veyr?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ll stand outside Her Highness’s chambers.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ll speak only when spoken to.”

“Understood.”

He looked vaguely disappointed that I had answered correctly.

Then he stepped closer.

“And remember something, soldier.”

His eyes travelled over my uniform.

“You are guarding a princess.”

“I know.”

“You are not her equal.”

I held his gaze.

“I know that too.”

He seemed pleased.

Then he walked away.

I followed.

The western wing was nothing like the barracks.

The floors were polished marble.

The walls were covered in paintings.

There were flowers everywhere.

Real flowers.

In vases.

Everywhere.

I had seen flowers before, obviously.

But never arranged in rooms simply because someone wanted the room to smell pleasant.

At the end of the corridor stood two guards.

Both looked at me.

One smirked.

“You’re the replacement?”

“Apparently.”

“From the regular barracks?”

“Yes.”

He laughed.

His companion joined him.

“Careful, Veyr. Don’t touch anything.”

“I won’t.”

“Especially the silver.”

I looked at him.

“Why?”

“Wouldn’t want you confusing it with the plates at the docks.”

They laughed again.

I didn’t.

The first guard looked disappointed.

Then the doors behind us opened.

Everything changed.

The laughter stopped.

A young woman stepped into the corridor.

Princess Elara.

I had seen her portrait before.

The portrait had made her look severe.

The real woman looked tired.

She wore a simple pale-blue dress and carried three books against her chest.

Her hair was loosely tied, and several strands had escaped around her face.

She looked at the guards.

Then at me.

Her eyes paused on my uniform.

“You must be Kael Veyr.”

I straightened.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

She smiled.

Not the polished smile of someone greeting an important ambassador.

A real one.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Your Highness.”

She glanced at the other guards.

“Have you introduced yourselves?”

They exchanged uncomfortable looks.

“No, Your Highness.”

“Then perhaps you should.”

Neither seemed pleased.

Princess Elara looked back at me.

“I apologize.”

“For what?”

“They should have welcomed you properly.”

I didn’t know what to say.

Nobody had ever apologized to me because someone else had been rude.

So I simply said,

“It’s fine.”

She studied me for a moment.

Then her gaze dropped to my boots.

One of them was beginning to split at the heel.

She noticed.

Of course she noticed.

“You need new boots.”

I looked down.

“They still work.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

I almost smiled.

Almost.

She turned toward the steward.

“Have the armory issue him a new pair.”

The steward hesitated.

“Your Highness, the regulation...”

“New boots.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

She turned back to me.

“And Captain?”

“Your Highness?”

“I don’t care where he came from.”

The corridor went silent.

She looked directly at the other guards.

“If he is good enough to stand at my door, he is good enough to be treated with respect.”

Nobody answered.

Princess Elara adjusted the books in her arms.

Then she looked at me again.

“Welcome to the western wing, Kael.”

And she walked away.

I watched her disappear around the corner.

The guard beside me muttered,

“Don’t get used to it.”

I looked at him.

“Used to what?”

“Her being kind.”

I looked toward the corridor where the princess had vanished.

Then back at him.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

But for the first time since entering the palace, I wasn’t entirely sure that was true.