"No way, there's no way he could tell I'm not a princess," Hermi muttered as the carriage rolled on.
Her eyes were the same green as her father King Maximian's, and her hair the same black as her aunt Queen Constantia's. How could Cassian tell she was a mediocre air mage from just two spells?
From what Hermi had heard, Cassian's first wife was an earth mage, and the next a fire mage. Ferramonte kings never left their lands, and no sane mage would bother visiting them. Cassian couldn't have been familiar with what strong air magic looked like.
The carriage came to a stop just as Hermi picked up the sound of running water. The one opening the door was, again, not Cassian, but Commander Marco.
"Your Majesty, you seem very... unwell," Marco said, his voice heavy with concern.
A strange mix of relief and unease coursed through Hermi at seeing the Commander's face instead of her husband's.
After being drenched in the Silt Skulker's ichor, Hermi had only used air spells to peel the slimy substance from her skin. No matter how meticulous she'd been, cleaning with air was nowhere near as effective as cleaning with water.
When she asked to use some from the drinking pouches, Marco had refused with a look of genuine regret. He told her they had to save every drop for the journey ahead, in case something went wrong.
The only good thing about her wretched state was that, it might have been the reason why Cassian hadn't helped her from the carriage, or paid her any attention since the attack. Not because Cassian suspected she was a fraud.
As Hermi stepped out of the carriage, her gaze landed on the waterfall not far from where they had stopped.
"Is it possible that I go over there for a bit?" Hermi asked. "I haven't washed myself properly since the Silt Skulker, and we haven't stopped at any village."
Marco's face crumpled with regret. "I'm afraid that's out of the question, Your Majesty. The water in this region is highly acidic and heavily contaminated. You would scald yourself the moment you touched it."
Hermi's features fell at the Commander's warning. She'd had enough of the stickiness clinging to her skin and hair, along with the foul stench.
"What about the path ahead, Commander? Any luck further up the road?"
"I'm afraid all water around Ferramonte is the same, Your Majesty. If it isn't acidic, it's contaminated with heavy metals. You must endure until we reach the Black Fortress. The water there is the only source safe to use in the kingdom."
The more Marco talked, the more incredulous Hermi became. It was no wonder he had insisted on saving every drop of drinking water.
"How is that even possible? How do the mines or the villages away from the fortress survive?"
"That is simple, Your Majesty. Every day, the miners and villagers travel up the mountain to the fortress to fetch clean water."
Hermi stared at Marco, waiting for the punchline that never came. He spoke of their water supply as if they were still living in the era of the Old World.
To make matters worse, Marco was actually beaming. He remained blissfully oblivious to how primitive it sounded to a woman raised in an Aurellanza of flowing fountains and filtered springs.
As Hermi searched for a way to free herself from her miserable state, Cassian's voice cut through her thoughts from behind like a cold blade.
"You do not intend to eat? We depart in three minutes."
Hermi turned around, and a roasted sweet potato was tossed her way. Cassian's face was taut, as if the mere sight of her were a tedious chore he was forced to endure.
Once again, Hermi was stunned by the drastic shift in her husband's manners. Had she not cushioned the sweet potato with a swift burst of air, it would have struck her squarely in the mouth.
"Aurellanza sweet potato, just the way you like it. That's the last we have. Enjoy it well, my Queen."
Without waiting for a response, Cassian turned his back on her to join his knights. The moment he reached them, the tension on his face eased, replaced by a booming laughter that rang out across the field.
Hermi turned to Marco, her voice dropping an octave. "How much does His Majesty make from the mines, Commander? Do you know?"
Marco's face glowed with pride. "Ferramonte's metal and crystal exports bring in four hundred fifty trunks of coins each year, Your Majesty." He continued to beam, seemingly oblivious to the irritation that had slipped into Hermi's tone.
"Four hundred fifty trunks," Hermi repeated. "And with all that gold, he couldn't manage to secure a water supply? He couldn't even be bothered to build a reserve?"
The Commander's face went pale. "That's… um, that's…"
The sweet potato instantly landed in Marco's hands. "Go on and enjoy this, Commander. The last of Aurellanza's specialty. You won't get to taste it again for a long time."
Forcing her fury down, Hermi walked toward the group of men. They hadn't even reached the Black Fortress yet; she couldn't afford to shed her flawless princess mask so soon.
By the time she reached them, her features had softened into a gentle smile. "My King, may I have a moment of your time?"
Cassian turned to her, and all laughter drained from his face. "You have it, my Queen," he replied. There wasn't a trace of warmth in his tone.
Feigning a vulnerable look, Hermi started her fervent plea. "My King, I propose we address the water problem the moment we reach the Black Fortress. From what I've heard, there isn't a single place to bathe across our vast lands."
Cassian's eyes narrowed, as if his wife were speaking nonsense. "And what would you need a bath for around here? Surely you aren't planning to make yourself even more appetizing for the next Skulker you encounter?"
Hermi nearly snapped at the sneer, but she had more pressing concerns. "Not for me, apparently, but for the people. What good is forcing miners to climb the mountains every day, if they've already wasted away in the mines?"
Cassian offered a languid shrug. "I provide them with a generous wage for their toil. They have endured quite adequately thus far. If they haven't found the breath to complain, why should you find it for them?"
Hermi's suspicion flared. "And how much is this 'generous' wage, exactly?"
A confident smirk curved across Cassian's face. "Three coins per month. Delivered with impeccable punctuality."
Hermi stared at her husband's smug face, her lips trembling. She performed the mental math, and the math was easy because the number was so pathetic. Three coins barely paid for a single meal a day, let alone a life.
"That is a slow death sentence, not a wage."
"They signed the contract with both eyes open," he countered smoothly.
"Please. At least give them clean water."
"If I provided them with the luxury of clean water, they would spend their precious hours on vanity and hygiene instead of production. I pay for the sweat of their labor, my Queen, not the sanctity of their pores."
Hermi's frustration was reaching the point of combustion. "Do they even get fed properly, then?"
Cassian's expression shifted from boredom to genuine confusion. "Fed? Why would I feed them? I am a King, not a cook. They work to survive, do they not? Those coins are for them to purchase sustenance from me."
Hermi almost collapsed where she stood. "But my King... what could they possibly buy with what you give them?"
Cassian gave it some thought, then clicked his tongue as if it were a trivial matter.
"Well, admittedly, not a great deal. Food is expensive. Everything is imported. But look on the bright side: should they starve, their remains will eventually enrich this wretched soil. If the earth ever becomes fertile enough to yield a crop, perhaps then I'll consider hosting a feast."
Hermi smiled, the sweetest smile she'd ever given her husband. "Perhaps I've overstepped myself by venturing into this topic. Enjoy your lunch, my King."
She turned and walked toward the carriage, her steps heavier than the Atmospheric Sickness she felt. What she'd feared most had revealed itself. Cassian Malaspina was indeed a tyrant, just as the rumors claimed.