Enemy's Queen

by Frost Kay

  “They’re not as bad as they seem,” she murmured.

  “How did you come by them?” Maeve whispered, her tone uncharacteristically soft.

  “A Scythian thought he’d have fun with me.” Her words were slow and lifeless, even to her own ears. “I’m sure you know him.” Sage arched a brow. “You were there when the warlord executed him.”

  Maeve paled, her normally olive skin turning a sickly color. She dropped Sage’s wrist into the water and clutched the side of the tub. “No,” she breathed, anguish on her face.

  Sage’s brow furrowed at the intense reaction. “I’m sorry if he was your friend.” Her brows furrowed when one tear dripped down Maeve’s face. Was he more than a friend? A husband or lover? She searched her mind for something to say to soothe the woman, but she came up with nothing. Rhys was a monster.

  “All of them, were they from—” Maeve stuttered.

  She pitied the woman, but she wouldn’t lie to her. “He personally etched each and every scar into my body himself.”

  Maeve placed a hand on her own stomach and panted. “I had no idea. I—” She shook her head. “How can a little boy grow into such a man?”

  She blinked and tried to make sense of Maeve’s words. A little boy? She hadn’t noticed it before, but Maeve looked familiar. She studied her a moment.

  No, she thought. It couldn’t be possible. The Scythian woman looked hardly older than she and yet... when she thought of it, she couldn’t remember seeing anyone that looked older than 30 at the execution or the feast. Could it be possible? She was the warlord’s sister, but the mother of Rhys? That seemed too far-fetched. “Were you his mother?” she whispered.

  “I was,” Maeve whispered back, staring at her neither with malice nor friendliness.

  A thousand questions flashed through Sage’s mind, but only one came out. “How?” she breathed. “You’re too young.”

  Maeve gestured to her face. “I’m older than I look.”

  A product of Scythian tampering? Likely. “Like the Sirenidae?”

  A bitter smile twisted the woman’s lips. “Something like that.”

  Stars above, what kind of creatures did the Scythians create? Panic squeezed her chest. Had they been experimenting with her, too?

  “What has he been giving me?” she demanded, grabbing Maeve’s wrist.

  Maeve’s gaze shuttered. “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t lie to me,” Sage said desperately.

  “I’m not. You think he shares his plan with me just because the same blood runs through our veins?” The Scythian woman shook her head. “You’re still so young and naïve. You’ve no idea what you’re doing.”

  “I’m surviving,” she said simply.

  “No one survives him, child. No one.”

  That she could believe. “And you, how have you survived?” Sage asked. Maeve might be abrasive, but Sage was sure she wasn’t insane like her brother.

  A mirthless laugh burst out of the woman. “I didn’t. I gave up pieces of myself until all that remained was this perfected shell.”

  Sage stared hard at the woman, who stared back evenly. “If that were true, you’d have killed me already.”

  “How do you know I won’t?”

  “You fear him,” she said simply. Maeve’s expression didn’t change much, but the tightening around her eyes betrayed her. “You wouldn’t risk his wrath, not for yourself, but for the ones you love.” Sage leaned her chin against the tub, never taking her gaze from the Scythian woman. “You have shown me kindness.”

  Maeve scoffed.

  “You can pretend all you want, but I see the good you try to hide under your rough persona. You’re kind to me in spite of everything. I’m not Scythian, your brother wants me, and…” She paused and continued in a soft voice, “I’m the cause of your son’s death… I’m sorry for it.” It wasn’t his death she was sorry for, but that it caused this woman pain. No parent should ever have a child die before them, let alone witness it.

  The Scythian woman studied her. “Why apologize? You hated him. I saw it the moment you looked at me when we first met. Surely, his death pleases you?”

  A part of her, the dark twisted part, was happy he was dead. But that part also sickened her. She should never rejoice in the death of someone, no matter how depraved they were. A life was still a life.

  Sage pushed her thoughts away and answered, “Because no matter what he was to me, he was still your son and that means something to you.”

  Maeve’s brows rose in surprise, and then her face settled into its normal stoic expression. “How?”

  “How what?”

  “How are you so…so good?”

  A dark chuckle slipped from Sage. “There’s nothing good about me.”

  Maeve shook her head. “You should hate me, based on association alone.”

  “I could say the same about you. But that’s the type of thinking that got our kingdoms into this situation in the first place.”

  “He doesn’t deserve you.”

  Sage’s eyes widened.

  The Scythian woman stiffened and shot to her feet. “Enough of this conversation.” She blurred from the room in a burst of speed, then was standing before Sage holding a towel out for her in less than five seconds.

  “Get out. He’s coming.”

  Using all her strength, Sage heaved herself up, water sluicing off her body. Maeve held a hand out and helped her from the tub, wrapping the towel around her just as the door burst open.

  “I’ve wonderful news.”

  Sage turned carefully and clutched the towel tighter to her body as Zane’s gaze heated, slowly running over her barely-clad form. Time for a distraction. “Good news?”

  He lifted his hand, holding a letter, and grinned. The boyish smile softened his foreign, otherworldly beauty into something warm and approachable. Shame washed over her at the errant thought.

  “Aermia has responded!”

  “Responded to what?”

  “My letter, of course.”

  She forced herself to not step back when he pushed into her space and clasped her face between his huge hands.

  “Soon, we’ll have peace.”

  His smile was positively infectious, and she had to force her mouth flat to keep it from answering his. What was he really up to? He didn’t desire peace, he desired control. So, what was his game?

  The warlord seemed to know her thoughts, and his smile turned a little dangerous. “Oh, dear Sage, I long for peace. Peace of mind that no one can steal from me, that my line will continue, and that the Aermian dogs won’t interbreed with my people.”

  She swallowed hard, very aware that he could crush her skull between his hands as easily as cracking an egg. Still, she spoke her mind, “I’m Aermian.”

  His eyes darkened, and a fevered light entered them as he stared at her. “Much to my chagrin.” He pressed closer, his nose touching hers, his breath puffing across her lips. “You are my greatest crime against my people,” he whispered. “I hate that I want you. It would be easier to kill you. Believe me, I’ve mulled over the idea at great length.”

  Stars above. Her insides were quivering with fear. He had said it so matter-of-factly, like he was speaking of the weather, not that he’d pondered murdering her, all the while holding her like a lover. Something dangerous crossed his face and then cleared the next second, leaving her shaken.

  “But I cannot do it.” A disappointed sigh escaped him, ruffling the hair at her temple. “Despite your inferior birth and flawed genes, I want you, and I hate you for it. Yet, there’s something about your scars and green eyes that calls to me.”

  There was nothing to say to that. It was the ramblings of a madman. A madman who somehow managed to sway her emotions and who she was still inexplicably drawn to. A dangerous madman.

  He kissed her forehead and then stepped back to address Maeve, who stood next to the mirror, still holding the brush. “This is good news for you. It means you will see your daughter sooner
than we thought. You shall have her back in your arms by the end of the month.”

  Maeve looked like he had slapped her. “My lord?”

  He waved a hand toward her. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen my niece. Her punishment is over. I’m sure she’s learned her lesson. Now, leave us.”

  Maeve placed the brush on the vanity and quickly left the room, leaving the warlord and Sage alone. He turned to her and reached out to brush a finger along her bare arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

  “How was your bath?” he asked, strolling slowly toward the vanity.

  “It was refreshing,” she said.

  He picked up the brush and jerked his chin toward the bed. “Put on your new robe and then come and sit. I’ll brush your hair.”

  She glanced at the semi-translucent robe he’d brought in and back to the warlord. “Will you give me privacy?”

  “I’ve been generous enough for today.”

  Sage swallowed and slowly stepped up to the bed. She peeked over her shoulder to find the warlord leaning against her vanity, legs crossed, watching her. Turning back to the robe, she inhaled deeply and picked it up. He expected her to wear that?

  “You still aren’t changing. I think someone wants me to dress her myself.”

  Panic fluttered in her chest at his softly-spoken words. Carefully, despite her shaking hands, she slid her arms in without dropping the towel, and closed the robe before letting the towel fall to the floor. As fast as her shaking fingers could move, she tied it closed and smoothed the fabric.

  Turning, she almost stumbled when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. The robe reached the floor and trailed behind her, but that did not mean it was modest. It clung to her curves in a way that was seductive; the fabric was just see-through enough that it gave tantalizing peeks of what was underneath. Sage pulled her hair over her shoulders to cover her chest.

  Zane tilted his head as he studied her face. “Come to me, consort.”

  Rafe would have been proud at how she kept her mask in place, not reacting to the heated way the warlord gaze at her, or his use of ‘consort.’ She put one foot in front of the other and sank onto the stool.

  He pushed off the vanity and moved behind her, all grace and danger, and began to brush her hair. She avoided watching him in the mirror, his perfection almost too much to look at. What sort of sick game was he playing? One moment, he was cutting her friend open, and the next he was brushing her hair. Everything inside her was muddled, leaving nothing but confusion.

  Her jaw flexed as he gathered up the hair falling over her chest. She might as well be naked for all the good this robe did. Light fingers brushed her hair over one shoulder, and his lips ran along the skin of her neck in an unhurried way.

  A shudder worked through her body.

  He peeked up at her, his eyes glittering, his hair tickling her collarbone. “Kiss me.”

  She shook her head.

  “Remember the cost of your rebellion, wild one.”

  If Tehl were there, he’d tell her to fight the warlord, no matter the cost. But friends protected each other, so that’s what she did. She protected Jasmine.

  She twisted her neck and met the brush of his lips.

  Her stomach churned, and she willed her mind to go blank. Wrong, wrong, wrong, her mind screamed. The warlord softly touched her chin and skated his fingers down her neck to rest above her heartbeat. The kiss lasted far too long, and she felt dirty from the inside out. No amount of scrubbing would remove the guilt and taint from her soul.

  Finally, he broke away; she gasped out a breath as his lips left hers. He looked stunning, and innocent, which was the farthest thing from the truth. There was nothing innocent about him or the way he was gazing at her.

  “This pleases me, wild one.”

  Another piece of her heart shriveled in her chest. She just bet it did.

  His thumb traced her lips. “One day, you’ll look at me like you did before. You’ll see reason. We just need to be patient until that day comes.”

  He’d wait a long time.

  He pulled her up from the stool and led her toward the bed. He sat and tugged her onto his lap. Her heart jackknifed in her chest and she squirmed, uncomfortable. Hands landed on her hips and squeezed. Sage peeked up at him.

  “You need to stop squirming, wild one,” he said through gritted teeth, “or I will forget my promise, and eating will be the last thing we will be doing.”

  Hell. She froze like a deer scenting a predator.

  Zane plucked a grape from a platter sitting on her bed and held it to her lips. “Eat, consort. You must keep up your strength, so you can heal.”

  Her lips parted, allowing him to push the grape into her mouth. She chewed slowly and stared blankly across the room. A healing that she wouldn’t need if he hadn’t chained her to the wall for five days. Another grape entered her vision, and she glanced up at him, hoping her feelings were well hidden from the monster wrapped in this deceiving package. How could she ever escape him?

  Her answer was clear. There was no escape.

  Twenty-Three

  Tehl

  Tehl stepped into his study and examined the draperies, his brows furrowed in confusion. It seemed that his curtains were giggling. He closed the door and cocked his head, listening. Well, it certainly couldn’t be an assassin, or even a lady come to seduce him; the giggle was much too childish. The corner of his mouth twitched at the small purple shoes peeking out from the bottom. If he had to venture a guess, he would say there was a certain small girl hiding herself behind the material.

  Feeling mischievous, instead of just whipping back the curtains as he might normally do, he began speaking to himself in a loud voice, affecting bewilderment. “My, my, it seems as though my study is full of humor today.”

  Another soft snigger slipped from the draperies.

  “I wonder, could there be someone hiding in this room?” He crossed to his desk and peeked underneath it. “Well that’s odd. No one is under my desk. Where else might someone be?”

  He stomped dramatically to a tapestry, which hung on the far wall, and yanked it back. “Huh. No one behind my tapestry.” Tehl then crept quietly toward the curtains and whipped them back. “I found you!”

  The girl let loose a screech loud enough to burst his eardrums and then fell into a fit of giggles.

  He smiled to himself. “Isa?”

  She pushed a shock of fiery red curls from her face and looked up at him with enormous violet eyes. She grinned and jumped to her feet, wrapping her delicate arms around his leg. “Uncle!” she squealed, “I surprised you!”

  Tehl pulled her up and swung her into the air, landing her in his arms for a bear hug. “Isa, darling. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you!” His heart warmed when she wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed. It didn’t even bother him that her unruly curls were tickling his nose. “I’ve missed you so much! When did you arrive?”

  “Today. Papa sent for me and now I get to live with you! In the castle!”

  He stared at his three-year-old niece, slightly shocked at how different she looked from the last time he’d seen her. Her limbs had slimmed, her face was sharper, and it occurred to him that he had already missed a lot of Isa’s life. He didn’t like that idea.

  He was pulled from his thoughts when a small finger tried to smooth out his brow.

  “Uncle, did I make you sad?”

  It was incredible that, even at her age, she was so aware of the feelings of others. He brushed a curl from her face and smiled, cupping her cheek. “Of course not, Isa. You could never make me sad. Is your papa aware of where you are?”

  She glanced to the ground and then looked up at him sheepishly. “No.”

  Tehl rolled his eyes. Of course, the little rascal had escaped notice. She was infinitely more devious than any of them had been growing up. Turning on his heel, he opened the door and addressed the guard stationed outside: “Inform Gavriel that his daughter is with me.” The gua
rd nodded and bowed before striding off down the hallway.

  “What would you like to do, Isa?” he asked as he closed the door and moved toward his desk.

  “Can I paint?”

  He kissed the top of her head and sat her on his desk as he took his own seat. “Sadly, I don’t have any paints. Can you use a quill?”

  “Uh huh.”

  Tehl eyed his niece in doubt. “Are you sure?”

  Her little nose wrinkled. “Nurse’s been teaching me. I can do it.”

  He had to hide a smile at the indignation in her little voice. “I’ll make sure to have colors brought to my desk, so the next time you visit, you can paint.”

  She grinned and snagged the quill out of his hand. “Okay, Uncle.”

  There was something magical about having her here with him. He’d always loved children. They were so honest in their affections and full of vivacity. Reaching out a hand, he ran it over her curls. When was the last time he’d felt so light, so happy? He couldn’t remember. He banished the glum thoughts and began working on his own paperwork. The two continued that way for quite some time. Every once in a while, she’d ask him a question that he would answer, and then she’d go back to her swirls.

  “Uncle?”

  “Yes?” he answered, continuing his correspondence.

  “Where is Auntie?”

  He jerked and shot her a questioning look. “Auntie?”

  “Aunt Sage. Papa wrote in his letter that I would get to meet Auntie and that she’d teach me how to use a dagger.” Her eyes widened comically. “But Nurse said that wasn’t proper.”

  For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how to respond. His mouth opened and closed a few times as he thought about explaining what kept him up most nights. “Your auntie…” he drew out, “isn’t here right now.”

  Isa’s pixie face fell. “When will she be back?”

  “Soon,” he deflected. Hopefully soon, but hope was never on his side.