"We could kill him," Dorian suggested, back in Lillian's rooms.
"That will go over splendidly," Lillian said, handing Elaine the tunic, whose lace had come through unscathed. Go figure. "Assuming I even could."
"You could have beaten Cain in ten seconds," Dorian said. "I think you are entirely capable of killing my father in about five."
"But not the entire royal guard," Chaol pointed out.
"Have you seen your father fight?" Lillian asked, slipping into the bath Elaine had already had ready. "I'm curious, because I'm the one he threw off a balcony like a piece of paper and I am not a featherweight. He's not planning to hurt me tonight."
Chaol shot her a look.
"Not physically," she amended. "He's curious about something. I don't know if it's me not killing Cain or just me in general. I'm not ready to try some sort of suicide attack on your father, Dorian."
"I said we," Dorian said, offended, handing her her comb when she gestured. "At least let me come with you."
"He'll have more fun bothering me if you're there to be bothered too," Lillian said. "Two for the price of one. I'm going, I will probably not kill your father, and maybe I can, I don't know. Get some information from him."
"About what?" Chaol asked.
"Why he's such a dick, maybe," Lillian said, which broke the tension.
After some back and forth with Elaine, Lillian ended up wearing a black dress with a close-cut bodice, long sleeves, full skirts, and high neck. The white lace Elaine had insisted on putting at the neck actually brushed Lillian's chin if she slumped, and the lace at her wrists covered her hands to the second knuckle. Lillian had wanted to wear her boots, but after the duel her foot was too swollen for anything but her softest slippers, which were not quite the right black.
Elaine glared at the offending footwear.
"This is the part where I point out that they are both black," Dorian said.
"Even I can tell they're different," Chaol retorted. "Nobody's going to care, though."
"I care," Lillian and Elaine said at the same time, and exchanged rueful looks.
But it was the slippers or go barefoot, so Lillian adjusted her gait to make sure her tiny steps didn't allow the slippers to peek from beneath the hem as she set off to dinner. Dorian had wanted to at least escort her to his father's rooms but she hadn't allowed that, either.
The guards let her in without even asking her name. Lillian didn't like it one bit, but she was here already, so she walked in.
The king's rooms took up considerably more space than hers and Dorian's, she knew from Celaena's brief summary. They essentially formed a long row along the side of the castle that faced the sea, with each individual room containing large windows and, of course, his balcony. Inside the first room, the furniture had a great deal of red velvet and gilt, and finely woven tapestries hung everywhere.
"You've seen the formal study," the king said, entering casually from one of the side doors. "This is my casual receiving room."
Lillian said nothing, only dropped into an appropriate curtsy, and he grinned at her. The expression was eerily similar to Dorian's when she'd made a joke.
"I know. 'Casual.' It's ridiculous. This way." He beckoned and walked back through the door.
It was the first time Lillian recalled seeing him in anything other than white - the black shirt and pants suited him better - and also, she realized, he was barefoot.
Casual, she thought darkly, and made sure her spine was as straight as straight could be, shoulders back, chin high, tiny steps so with the skirts it looked like she was gliding.
"You look like a lady when you walk like that," he said easily, opening the door to the balcony to let her go past him. A little table for two had been set up. The chairs had soft, worn cushions, and the table had some covered dishes on it already.
"I didn't think you'd be comfortable with something more formal," the king said. He pulled a chair out and waited for her to sit. She did, still ramrod straight, and he took his own chair and served the food.
It was food like she'd eat at home, though less spiced - her father had tried her mother's family's cooking and never gone back to the blander Adarlanian fare, since they could afford it between the shop and her mother's mysterious discounts with Eyllwean merchants - and of course the vegetables were fresh, not pickled as her father preferred.
Halfway through the fish, the king said, "You're never this quiet, Lillian. I could wish you were, sometimes."
"What would Your Majesty like me to say?"
"You don't seem to have problems thinking of what to say when we're surrounded by the court."
"I know the rules at court, Majesty," Lillian said, and took another bite of fish.
"You ignore the rules at court," the king retorted.
Lillian inspected her fork. "One should know the rules before one breaks them, if only so one can ensure that one does so most effectively for one's purpose."
The king laughed. "You sound so much like her. I should have considered the possibility before."
Lillian did not want to know which 'her' the king thought she sounded like. All the possibilities she could think of were disturbing.
"What do you want from me, Your Majesty?"
He inspected her. She could feel his eyes creeping over the seams of her dress, the stitches in the lace, the pins in her hair. She suspected he could tell where her knives were, and it frightened her that he hadn't had his guards remove them.
"I want your help," he said.
Lillian raised both eyebrows without conscious thought. He grinned at her again.
"I know what people think of me," he said. "Tyrant king. Conqueror. So evil."
"Do they?" Lillian asked curiously. "In the city they told me you were a hero. You saved us from the demon-queens, and you ensured Adarlan's prosperity."
He shrugged. "Fine. I know what you think of me, and a few select others." He kept smiling. "Understand, Lillian. I didn't mean to throw you in Endovier. It wasn't personal. I couldn't give up one of my best tools, and I couldn't be seen to allow flagrant murder of Adarlanians. Now, though - now, you could be a better tool."
"Is that supposed to be flattering?"
"Plenty of people would think so," the king said. "Celaena, Erick - blunt force instruments. You - you're creative. You don't let expectations dictate how you solve a problem. I admit to my own, shall we say… limited problem-solving. Consider how you could mitigate what you see as my tyrannical methods. Give me alternatives. I'll take them if I don't have reasons not to. I'm practical, Lillian."
"I don't really want to help you with anything," Lillian said frankly, which made him laugh again.
"Let me put it this way," he said, still smiling. "Think of how much easier Nehemia will have it, if she negotiates with you and not, say, one of my less creative flunkies."
Lillian glared at him. The smile didn't falter.
"Hate me if you want, Lillian. Just do what I want you to do."
A small sound made Lillian look over. In the balcony door stood a young blonde woman in a nightgown. Her hair wasn't quite Lillian's gold and her curls were wavier than Lillian's tight ones, but something about the shape of her face and body type made Lillian look closer at the woman's eyes. They were blue.
She looked like a paler version of Lillian.
"See yourself out," the king told Lillian. "I'll call you when I need you."
Lillian saw herself out quickly.
"He didn't touch me but I require another bath immediately," Lillian announced as she threw open the door to her rooms, already unbuttoning the neck of her dress. Instead of Elaine and Chaol and Dorian and maybe Philippa, she found Hollin sitting at her breakfast table across from only Elaine, both looking awkward.
Lillian rebuttoned her dress. She wasn't embarrassed, exactly - she showed more skin regularly at court - but it didn't seem appropriate to have even just three buttons undone in front of the sixteen year old little brother of one of her lovers.
"Hello," she said.
"Hello," Hollin replied. The opal glinted in his ear.
Elaine rose, curtsied, and abandoned Lillian.
"How is Cain?" Lillian asked after a moment.
"You broke his foot."
"That seemed likely," Lillian said. "I'm glad you called it off. It was a brave thing to do."
"No it wasn't," Hollin snapped.
"No?" Lillian asked.
"I just proved what Father always says," Hollin said. "I don't have a spine. I don't have what it takes -"
"To what?" she asked. "To do what your father doesn't want? Didn't you just do that?"
Hollin glared at her.
Lillian shrugged. "I've had a long day, Hollin. Was there something you wanted?"
"How did you know you could trick me that easily? Was it obvious, or-"
"I didn't trick you," Lillian said.
"You weren't actually going to kill him."
Lillian sighed and sat down across from Hollin at the table. "The only reason I didn't kill Cain is because I didn't have to. All I had to do was show you that I could."
"And I quit," Hollin said, voice breaking - still, Lillian thought sadly, in the throes of puberty. "Because I'm weak."
"You quit because you love your father," Lillian replied. "If that's a weakness, then I'm weak too."
"My father wasn't-" Hollin cut himself off.
"I try to think the best of people," Lillian told him gently. "Sometimes it's hard. Sometimes it's impossible. I didn't want to kill Cain, but I was put in a situation where there weren't any good options. I would have killed him if you hadn't quit, because I didn't want to die, and I would have felt bad about it, and I would have thought less of you. I'm glad I was right about you, Hollin."
Hollin opened his mouth and closed it again, flushing. Angry or embarrassed? What Lillian remembered from being sixteen said it was probably both.
"You can hate me," Lillian told him, still gently, "you can be angry, but you should know that your brother doesn't want you or Cain dead or hurt, and neither do I."
Hollin stormed out.
"That went well," Lillian told the empty room, and went to take her bath.
