His breath dusted her lip, and she curled her toes in her boots as she suppressed the urge to turn her head away. Though she might not like this, she was his queen—at least for the next few years. She might as well come to terms with the fact.
Alaric’s gaze drifted from her lips to her eyes. His breath stuttered, and he used the wall to shove back from her. “I believe training is over. Good day.” He strode toward the other end of the arena, only to veer back around to face her. “I’m afraid I forgot to tell you yesterday, but there’s a dinner tonight. In the Great Hall, across from the ballroom. With the other nobles. It’s to celebrate the obtainment of my legislative powers. Will you be in attendance?”
Aside from that medical exam, it’d been a half-month since she’d been allowed to interact with other nobles. “Do I have a choice?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll be there.”
“Excellent.” A beat of awkward silence passed before he bowed toward her, said, “Good day,” and strode away.
She stared at his retreating back, marveling at a sight she’d never seen before: Alaric when he was flustered.
18
A Surprise Assassin
Her guards marched behind her, armor clanking. Though these guards would report her movements to Alaric at the snap of his fingers, they’d also sacrifice their lives for her without hesitation. What had happened to those mercenaries anyway, the ones that used to be her guards? She would ask Alaric, but she’d rather not remind him of her escape attempt. He still seemed salty at times about it.
Two guards quickened their pace to walk ahead of her and opened a pair of doors for her. Tables crowded the room. The benches were laden with nobles. Their chirping chatter and bright clothes reminded her of parrots. Everyone fell silent when she entered.
She hadn’t intended to make a grand entrance or anything. Hopefully the curls in her updo gleamed like Camellia had said they did, and that Clover had spoken true when she’d said the amethyst jewelry made her skin appear glowing and luminous. Even Zinnia had said she’d looked passable.
On the dais above the floor, red-cushioned chairs surrounded a large wooden table. Aside from the King, the only nobility seated there were dukes and duchesses, judging from the bronze glimmer of thread edging their clothing. When her gaze landed on Alaric, she caught a gleam of appreciation in his eyes before his head dipped toward her in a nod.
Accompanied by her guards, she breezed through the Great Hall. The stairs leading to the dais were steeper than the stairwell. She lifted her dress’s hem a scarce inch from the ground to climb the dais stairs.
With some assistance from Alaric, she seated herself. The chair was sized perfectly for her, and it was high enough so she’d be level with the nobles. Like a highchair. She crinkled her nose before schooling her expression into something more queenly. Her maid, Adria, stood just behind her and to the left. Likely to test her food for poison.
Alaric rose and lifted his goblet. “The Queen has arrived. Let the meal be served.”
Two doors against the wall opposite of the dais flung open and servants streamed out, their steps slow and steady as they heaved large platters of food toward the awaiting nobles. Everyone on top of the dais was served first. The meat on her side of the oval-shaped platter, which she shared with Alaric, was glazed with a sticky red-brown sauce.
Giggles rang out from her right side. A woman and a man were sitting as closely as possible to each other, each gazing into the other’s eyes with an intensity that made her heart ache. The man speared a green vegetable before slipping it between the woman’s lips.
Evelyn handed a piece of meat to Adria, who took a deep drink from her goblet before tossing the tidbit in and swallowing. Not poisoned then.
Evelyn wiped her hands on her napkin, picked up her pike and knife, and sawed away at the meat, careful to keep her flared sleeves back so she wouldn’t dip them in her food. Her hands trembled a bit, making the silverware clink against the platter. It was probably from lack of sleep. Though she’d napped between her training with Alaric and dinner, she was still tired from her late night.
“Good eve, Your Majesty.” The woman on the right had put some distance between herself and the man. A smile warmed her summer-blue eyes.
Evelyn nodded in greeting. Could such a loving couple be married or were they courting? “If you don’t mind me asking, are you courting?”
“Actually, we’re married.” A smile dimpled her cheeks.
“Congratulations. Not an arranged marriage then?”
The woman tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “It was most definitely arranged.”
Her eyebrows launched upward in surprise. What about love? You couldn’t love just any man, so how had this woman magically ended up with the right partner? Evelyn leaned forward to get a glimpse of the woman’s husband. He was engaged in a conversation with the man to his right, but his hand rested on her thigh, his thumb brushing back and forth.
“But… how?” Her gaze roamed the table. Though some flirted, many couples sat apart, ignoring their partner and avoiding conversation with them. Like she and Alaric were doing.
“A marriage of choice doesn’t mean a marriage of love, Your Majesty, just as an arranged marriage doesn’t mean one that’s loveless.” She nodded her head in the direction of another couple.
The woman had scooted as far from her partner as possible, her torso twisting to face the other man to her side. Her partner had his chin propped onto his hand and his elbow planted on the table, eyeing a woman with silver-blond hair across from him. Only their shared platter revealed they were a couple.
Evelyn jerked her head around so hard it hurt. Was Alaric staring at a pretty woman across the table?
He speared a pea-like food onto his pike before sliding it into his mouth. His gaze was completely focused on his platter. He seemed unaware of everything going on around him. Knowing Alaric, he was probably more aware than he appeared. Or maybe he was lost in thought.
The woman next to her cleared her throat, prompting Evelyn to turn back toward her. “The couple across from us was wed through a marriage of choice.”
Evelyn frowned. It seemed more likely you’d end up with someone you loved if you chose your own husband. “What’s a happy arranged marriage like?”
A soft smile curved the woman’s lips, making her face brighten and her eyes sparkle. “Like loving and being loved.”
Well. Good for them. “So what makes for a happy arranged marriage?”
The woman smoothed her dress, obviously pleased she’d been asked. “As you can imagine, it’s uncomfortable at first, but you simply have to remember you’ll make mistakes and that he isn’t going anywhere. Then it’s just a matter of loving him every day.”
Evelyn speared a piece of meat onto her pike. “What do you mean by ‘loving him’?”
“Forgiving him and being understanding.” Evelyn must have made a face, because the woman laughed before ending it with a sigh. “One day, you’ll understand.” She scooted back toward her husband before snuggling against his side.
Evelyn shook her head before popping the piece of meat into her mouth. She doubted that. Marriage wasn’t supposed to be like eating your vegetables, forcing yourself to have something bland because it was good for you. Marriage should be something you were passionate and excited about. Her gaze slid toward Alaric. Kindness was important… but didn’t there have to be something more?
With each chew, the meat grew spicier until it seared her mouth. Hadn’t Alaric agreed to make sure she would only eat foods Hybrids could tolerate? This was way too spicy. Maybe he’d only filtered out the sour foods. A glance upward revealed a few of the nobles watched her. If she were alone with Alaric, she would have spat it out, but she couldn’t here.
She forced a swallow and nearly yelped. It felt like a smoldering coal had been shoved down her throat. Tuteno, this was spicy. She gripped the table tightly, willing the meat to go down. Her entire chest tightened wit
h pain. It felt like the coal had burst into flames, ripping through her esophagus. She snatched the napkin from the table and pressed it to her mouth as she began hacking.
Alaric scooted back from his chair to stand by her side and cup her shoulder. “Evelyn, are you well?”
Before she could answer, another fit of coughs seized her. With every cough, pain raked its claws through her throat. Her tongue was drowning beneath a coppery, metallic taste. When she lowered the napkin, it was no longer a pure white, but stained with a blotch of red.
It took a few seconds for her to realize it wasn’t the meat sauce but blood. Her blood? What was in her food?
Alaric placed his hand against her cheek and turned her face toward his.
She tried to suck in a breath. It felt like Zinnia had tightened her corset into a little funnel. She drew in another shallow breath before nearly choking on the blood in her mouth.
Alaric’s gaze darted between her eyes, as if a solution would be hidden there. A slight tremor shook the hand that was curving over her cheek.
Alaric swept her up into his arms and descended the dais. Before leaving the dining room, he said over his shoulder, “Return to your meal.” And then he was off, jostling her as he sprinted up a flight of stairs and then down the hallway, through the infirmary and into the Healer’s room.
The Healer’s head jerked up from a book as they entered.
Alaric set Evelyn down on the pallet in the corner a bit quickly, and her rear smacked against the sparsely cushioned pallet. “Fire Acid.”
The Healer pulled a bottle from a drawer and uncorked the bottle before shoving into Evelyn’s hand. “It’s Ocean Blood, a medicinal sap. Drink it.”
Evelyn put the bottle to her lips before tilting it up. Her tongue moved sluggishly beneath the syrupy liquid. Its sharp, bitter taste stung her mouth. Her chest squeezed, and she began to cough it back up.
Alaric clamped a hand over her mouth, his fingers digging into her cheeks until she feared they might leave bruises. His eyes were both bright with emotion and dark with intensity. “No. Swallow it.”
The longer she kept it in her mouth, the deeper his fingers dug. She wasn’t sure if he did it consciously or unconsciously.
She gulped it down, though her tongue curled at the taste. The fire in her throat cooled a bit, but her ribcage felt like it’d been shrunk. She gasped for air, as if she’d finished a hard sprint. It felt like her mouth had been scrubbed with ash. Evelyn rolled onto her side and curled into herself.
The Healer sighed. “Now all she can do is rest. Hopefully, she drank the Ocean Blood in time.”
Alaric didn’t seem to notice his hand had twined around hers. “And when will we know?”
“By tomorrow morning.”
When his hand squeezed hers tighter, she squeezed back.
Alaric’s eyes burned with exhaustion, but he feared succumbing to the urge to rest. His gaze was fixed on Evelyn’s figure, willing her chest to continue to rise and fall. The room was blessedly silent, save for the soft breathing of Evelyn on his right side and the Healer on the other, who slept on the opposite side of the room.
It was past midnight, and Evelyn had woken up twice, coughing violently until they forced her to swallow more Ocean Blood. If the poison were to overcome her in the night, he would never forgive himself. Her death would haunt him all his remaining days upon this world, and her absence would leave a gaping hole in his life.
How had someone slipped poison into her food? How was it even possible? He’d been so careful to protect her in every way he could, from increasing the number of knights guarding her to having their food carefully taste tested. But it seemed that his efforts weren’t enough. And if he couldn’t protect her, he’d lose her—just as he’d lost his mother.
His mother…
Before Evelyn’s arrival, he’d avoided thinking about her as much as possible. Now it seemed he couldn’t help himself. Most memories of her were pleasant—her stargazing with him on the balcony, constantly smoothing his wayward hair, singing him lullabies as he drifted to sleep. But no matter how he suppressed it, his last memory of her eclipsed all others.
Alaric held the basket of freshly baked pastries with one hand and rapped on the door to his mother’s room with the other. It had been far too long since they’d enjoyed each other’s company. Now that he was approaching his majority, his role as crown prince continued to encompass more duties—balls, council meetings, practicing at swords, listening to petitions.
Hearing the commoners’ petitions was his favorite part. It was during moments like those when he was reminded why he studied old laws for hours on end and entertained haughty nobles. Even so, he should have made time to see his mother more often. Hopefully the pastries would serve as an apology.
When a few moments passed in silence, he turned to the guard standing to the left of the door. “Is the Queen in her quarters?”
The guard inclined his head. “She is, Your Highness. She entered this morning and hasn’t emerged since.”
A feeling of unease twisted his chest, but he ignored it and knocked again. “Mother?”
Silence.
Perhaps she was resting. Regardless, he ought to check on her to ensure she was well. He opened the door, and his heart stalled.
Blood. Matting the carpet. Staining the walls. Drying on the coverlet. His mother laid on the bed, her back to him. Even from here, he could see the blood stains on her blue gown.
Alaric stepped into the room, but a guard pulled him back. “Your Highness, allow us to first—”
Alaric threw their hands off him and charged into the room. He rounded the bed before stopping at his mother’s side.
She was so brutalized that she was barely recognizable. Gashes marred her face, her chest, her abdomen. Alaric stood there, paralyzed with horror. He should have been examining the room for evidence, asking questions about what had happened. But he could barely breathe, much less think.
When the guards pulled him away, he was too numb to resist. Then he was standing in the hallway, outside the door to his mother’s room, though he couldn’t remember walking there.
His mother was dead.
His father came marching down the hallway and stopped in front of Alaric. “What are you doing here, boy? Don’t you have studies to attend to?”
Alaric lifted his gaze to his father’s. If it were any other day, merely glancing at his father would have aroused a maelstrom of resentment and fear. But today he felt nothing.
His father shoved against Alaric’s chest. “Answer me when I speak to you, boy!”
The guards emerged from the room, and one approached his father and knelt. “Your Highness. The Queen has been… murdered.”
His father’s expression slackened, and for once, he had nothing to say. He brushed past Alaric and entered the room. A moment later, there was a roar of pain, of pure agony, and the sound of shattering glass pierced the air.
His father reemerged, his chest heaving, his eyes dull. “I know who did this.” His words were spoken so softly that Alaric almost thought he’d misheard. “Guards, I want this room spotless when I return. I want her body dressed, I want the burial grounds prepared—” His father covered his face for a moment, his breath hitching. When he glanced up, his eyes shone with unshed tears. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Your Highness.” The guards bowed before walking off.
“And you.” His father turned toward Alaric. “This is all your fault.”
His father stepped forward, so his chest brushed Alaric’s, and Alaric did as he always had and stepped back.
An ugly smile lit his father’s face. “You’re just as much a coward as when you were a little boy.”
Alaric knew what would happen next. He’d managed to avoid his father’s beatings for the last few years by keeping his door locked, staying in crowded areas, and keeping his head down. Even now, he could likely resist his father. He’d been practicing his swordsmanship, and he was among
the best. While the others often surpassed him in height, he surpassed them in strength.
But he wouldn’t resist this time, because for once his father was right: this was his fault. If he had only chosen to spend more time with his mother, if he’d come a few hours earlier, he could have protected her. He deserved whatever pain his father chose to inflict upon him.
His father slipped the coiled whip off his belt, and Alaric felt bile sear the back of his throat. Whips could only be owned by high-ranking officials, like his father. When Alaric was king, he would never use one—or even carry it.
His father unfurled the whip. “Remove your shirt and give me your back, boy. Unless you want your face to bear the marks of my whip.”
Alaric did as told, suppressing a shiver as his torso was exposed to the cool air. He knelt, with his back to his father, and planted both his arms on the floor.
The whip snapped behind him, and despite himself, Alaric flinched.
His father growled behind him. “Cursed dragon spawn.”
The first stinging lash landed on his wings, which was where his father usually started. The lashes came faster and harder, stripping skin and drawing blood.
Alaric’s arms trembled as tears welled in his eyes, blurring the polished marble floor beneath him. Grief tore through him, more painful than the whip shredding his back and wings.
And Alaric cried as he hadn’t cried since he was a boy.
Sometimes he could still feel the whip marks burning on his back and wings, though it’d been twenty-three years and the wounds had long since scarred.
Exhaustion tugged at his lids once more, reminding him of the late hour. Though he wanted to remain awake, ready to aid Evelyn as soon as she awoke, he would do her little good if he was exhausted the next day. If the Scorpio wanted to kill her, they’d try again and again until they succeeded—or until Alaric managed to stop them. To best protect her, he’d need his rest.
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