Rogue Legacy by Jeffrey L. Kohanek (classic reads .txt) 📖

Lyra turned and eyed her reflection, examining her hair. Long needles held her black locks in a pile atop her head, per the latest fashion. The yellow dress she wore was tight in the waist, ruffled and flowing at the hips. While it was uncomfortable to wear, she appreciated the results.

With a nod, she opened the door and passed through the bathing room to knock on the door at the other side.

“Are you ready, Tiri?” she asked through the door.

The knob turned and the door opened to reveal a work of art. Like Lyra, Tiri’s hair was piled atop her head, with lonely strands hanging down at the sides. Unlike Lyra’s black hair, golden hues highlighted Tiri’s brown hair and perfectly offset her jade eyes. With her shoulders and upper chest exposed, her green dress augmented Tiri’s curves in an almost obscene manner. If Lyra didn’t love Tiri as a sister, she would hate her for the way she looked.

“I’m ready, if you are.” Tiri smiled, warm and heartfelt.

“Let’s go then.”

They passed through Tiri’s room, along the dark corridor, down a flight of stairs, past the throne room, and through the double doors that led to the dining room.

The staff had extended the long table, now able to seat twelve. Those already seated were in deep discussion, with three separate conversations happening at once. Tallinor occupied one end, as usual, while the chair at the opposite end stood empty. Oddly, the queen occupied Lyra’s normal position, the furthest side chair from the king. Donte, and a man with dark curly hair and a black doublet, sat between Jessibel and two empty chairs.

Hamilton sat adjacent to Tallinor. Seated beside him were Baroness Lamona, Duke Rionelle of Sol Gier, and Baron Clavelle, whose face was twisted in a grimace as he stared at Jessibel.

Tiri approached the table and gave a curtsy with Lyra doing the same. The man seated beside Lyra’s chair turned and her eyes lit up with recognition.

“Garrett!”

The Duke of Sol Polis stood, and gave her a hug. When he released her, she stepped back and examined him. A finely trimmed dark beard framed his smile, his dark eyes glowing as much as his white teeth.

“You look well,” Lyra remarked. “Dukedom appears to suit you.”

“You look amazing, Lyra. I must say that you’ve grown into quite the young woman.”

“Sol Polis is not so far. You could have visited us before now,” Tiri chided.

Garrett slid around Lyra and hugged Tiri. “Sorry, Tirialle. Getting Sol Polis in order has fully consumed my life these past years. The government was in shambles after we captured the city. It took quite some time to fill out the necessary positions and to rebuild the city guards with men who were sufficiently trained. And then, there is The Hand…even as little as half a year ago, I found their spies hiding within Sol Polis. ”

“Well, now that things are running more smoothly, I hope you’ll visit more often.”

“I will make an effort to do so, Miladies.” He smiled and gave a slight bow.

Tiri and Lyra gave him a curtsy before all three sat.

“Hello, father,” Tiri chimed.

“Hello, Tiri…Lyra,” Tallinor smiled. “You two look lovely tonight.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Lyra intoned.

“May we eat now, Sire?” Rionelle grumbled, his forehead covered in sweat despite the temperate evening. Lyra covered her nose when the scent of body odor wafted her way, undoubtedly from the vastly overweight Duke sitting across from her. Well known for his love of food, Rionelle was also known for his lack of hygiene.

“Soon, Rio. Soon. We await our guest of honor.”

Rionelle sighed, the motion accentuated by his size.

Two guards unfamiliar to Lyra entered the room. One stationed himself beside the door, the other stopped behind the empty chair at the end of the table. A tickle of recognition teased Lyra upon seeing the guard standing near the table. He was of average height and average build. His short-cut brown hair matched his trimmed goatee while a strong nose and brow surrounded steely gray eyes.

Another man entered the room, striding to the table with a sense of command, an air of confidence. Not a single wrinkle marred his gold-trimmed black coat, nor did one of his brown hairs stray from the others, all slicked back to appear as if he wore a shiny brown helmet. Like Clavelle, he sported a dark mustache, waxed at the tips. Unlike Clavelle, there was a weight to his gaze – visibly measuring his surroundings as his eyes swept the room. He smiled and nodded toward the king.

“You’re Majesty, a thousand pardons for my tardiness. I sincerely appreciate your invitation to dine, but I have been feeling ill and thought it best to let it pass before joining you.”

Lyra stared at the man standing behind the Duke. She couldn’t shake the sense that she knew him – knew those unsettling gray eyes.

Tallinor stood. “Nonsense, Berrilon. Please, sit.”

Upon hearing the name Berrilon, her memory connected the man to the moment.

With a smile, Duke Berrilon took a seat opposite from the King as his man, Rainer stood behind him. Here, in the same room where Lyra dined with her new family, stood the man who had killed her father.