by Bec McMaster
“My queen.”
“My queen.”
“My queen.”
It echoes through the streets until there are hundreds gathered, all of them bowing toward me.
Thiago looks around. Something raw touches his expression; a mix of awe and love and admiration. And then he too is going to one knee, capturing my hand and squeezing it between his. “My queen.”
Every inch of me aches.
Burned fingers. Bruised ribs.
But more than that, the heavy cloak of fatigue that hovers over me like a pile of boulders about to collapse.
“Get me out of here.” I know too well the power of symbols. “Before I fall flat on my face.”
And my dark prince sweeps me up in his arms, cradling me close. “As you wish.”
Then he launches into the sky, not bothering to hide the sweep of his wings.
Because nobody’s looking at them anymore.
Chapter Eighteen
“What in Maia’s name just happened?” Finn groans, sinking into a seat at the council table. “I stopped to sit on the dam wall for a second and now I have thorns embedded in my ass.”
Thiago woke me an hour ago and I’d crawled out of bed for the meeting. He’d been wearing muddied leathers, and his dark hair was grimed with blood and dirt the last I saw him.
And now he’s late.
Finn and Thalia are the only ones pacing the council chambers.
I couldn’t be bothered dressing, so I simply drew a dressing gown over my nightrobe and ventured down here with bare feet.
“Maybe if you ask nicely, Eris might remove them,” Thalia tells Finn with a sweet smile.
Finn cuts her a look. “If I asked her to remove them, she’d pour salt in the wounds.”
“Few rewards are won without enduring great hardship.”
The pair of them bicker back and forth, while I lean forward and steal a handful of dried figs off the plate in the middle of the table. It groans with soft cheeses, hard-baked biscuits and dried fruits. Thalia’s doing, no doubt. She seems to take it upon herself to feed us at any and all opportunities.
“Speaking of Eris, where is she?” I stretch and yawn, tucking my feet up beneath me on my chair.
“Ransacking the city,” Finn says absently, staring at the map on the table.
“Cleaning the blood from her sword,” Thalia replies.
The double doors to the room slam open and Thiago strides in.
“Torturing our enemies,” Thiago says curtly.
Baylor follows at his heels, his green cloak swirling around his boots. I didn’t see him after Thiago rescued me, but he looks none the worse for wear.
“Princess,” he says, going to his knee in front of me. “Forgive me. I failed.”
“You didn’t fail,” I point out. “An enormous thorny rosebush attacked you and I had to run. I shouldn’t have left you.” I glance at Thiago. Bruises darken the side of his face and I’d been so exhausted when he put me in the bath, that I can’t even remember getting out of it. “What happened to your face?”
He gently touches the darkest bruise along his cheekbone. “What do you remember of your mother’s attack?”
Water gushing. Explosions. People screaming in the streets. A shiver runs through me. “That we drove her back.”
He bends to press a kiss to the top of my head. “You drove her back. I was too busy trying to defeat an enormous bramblethine that someone had dropped in the dam. It was punching holes straight through the stone walls.”
Not explosions then. But a bramblethine’s knotted power.
“Someone must have dropped a seed in the dam.” That’s why Mother’s Deathguard had been sent. Not just to attack the city and draw resources away from the dam, but to allow the bramblethine time enough to grow to full size.
I know I shouldn’t be shocked by now at the depths my mother will stoop too, but a hex like that? Bramblethine’s are twisted semi-animate creatures with no will of their own. They’re hexes brought to life. Take a wolf’s heart, knot a twisted string of brambles around it and bind it all together with a rabbit or squirrel’s entrails, until they form a kind of ‘seed’. Curse it and whisper enough hate to it over the years, and the hexes grow in power until you can practically feel the rage emanating off the seed.
Then all you need to do is add water.
They’ll grow several feet in a day, until they’re a monstrous creature that will lash out and kill or destroy anything that comes into close contact with it. They’re difficult to stop, and have ruined entire cities before.
They say there’s a castle in Somnus that is wholly swallowed up by a bramblethine. Originally it was in order to protect a princess cursed to sleep inside, but some stories say that when she woke from her enchanted sleep, the monster wouldn’t let her escape and so she lies there still, only now her sleep is eternal.
“How did you kill it?” Anger brews. There are innocent fae in this city. I blink and water is gushing toward me again, Ayelet’s arms wrapping tight around my waist as she screams—
“Finn found me just as I was trying to burn it alive. He sang it into submission, and then I drove a knife through its rotted heart. Vi. Vi.”
Thiago captures my wrist and I realize thorns are curling up my calf again. They’ve burst through the ancient flagstones of the floor, until I’m standing in an angry thicket of brambles.
“Sorry.” There’s a look in his eye I can’t read. I try to will them to shrink, but they seem to react to my mood, and not my conscious directive.
“We might have to hold future meetings in the Queen’s garden,” Thalia says. “Any chance you can grow roses? Araya used to have the most beautiful garden, but it has fallen into disrepair over the years.”
“I could try, but I don’t think I’m controlling it. They just… sprout.”
“The land reacts when you’re angry,” Thiago muses. He nudges one with his foot, and it strokes his boot. “Thorns, hmm.”
I am not my mother, though it doesn’t escape my attention that she sits on a throne melded of thorns. “Don’t ask me. None of this was planned.”
“Not by you,” he murmurs, then turns his attention back to the others. “Report.”
“The Old Quarter’s a mess,” Thalia replies, hooking one knee over the other, so her slit skirts part and she flashes a healthy sliver of thigh. “I paid the Prince of Shadows a visit, and while he is pleased to see the city above him standing, he’s wondering where he’s supposed to house his people now that the catacombs are flooded. I said I’d assist him with the clean-up efforts.” She shrugs. “I might not be able to sing the sea into a storm anymore, but I can help channel the water to drain away.”
“Hmm.” Thiago’s gaze fades away. “Tell him that if he brings me the heads of the conspirators who let the Queen of Asturia’s assassins into my city, then he may have the Palace of Many Moons.”
The room falls silent.
“I thought you wanted them alive?” I blurt.
“Thi….” Thalia gapes. “That was Araya’s favorite summer residence.”
“And it’s been locked away since she died,” he replies sharply. “It’s not as though I can use it. And Theron’s made quite pointed reference to how he’d like to move up in the world. If he wants the palace then he can have it. All he has to do is bring me those fae, bend the knee and accept the mantle of legitimacy. He proved himself true today.”
I arch a brow. “He did?”
“He saved Eris from the water,” Thiago says. “She doesn’t swim very well.”
“She still hasn’t forgiven him,” Thalia mutters. “Apparently he liked the way her shirt molded to her figure when it was all wet.”
“You’re going to take his assassins under your banner?” Finn blurts. “A legitimate guild?”
“He warned us this was coming. I’d rather have him at my side, than at my back. And he and his people need accommodation.”
“Sorry,” I say.
“Don’
t be sorry.” Thiago squeezes my hand briefly. “You saved the lives of everyone in the Old Quarter.”
“And drowned who knows how many beneath the city?”
It’s a thought that’s been bothering me since I woke.
“Your mother drowned those people,” he points out. “You did your best. Continue.”
I drift away as Thalia reports on healing tents set up in the city, and food refuges. But it’s her hesitation that captures my attention.
“And the rumors?” Thiago says, his voice laced with a soft sort of malice.
Thunder rumbles in the distance.
Thalia bites her lip. “There are stories that the prince is unseelie. That his wings were stained black with blood as he landed in the city. That he serves Angharad. That he stole the throne from the rightful heirs.” She sighs. “My little birds haven’t heard too many mentions of that last one, but again, I don’t think right now is the time to be giving away Araya’s summer residence—her summer palace—to an assassin.”
Thiago rakes his hand over his face. “We knew it was coming.”
Thalia pushes to her feet. “Then we need to be proactive. No more hiding away in the castle up here. We need to twist the narrative. The people of Ceres are frightened. Their city was attacked, and their prince revealed himself. But there is one shining ray of light.”
Every head turns toward me.
“Give Iskvien the Palace of Many Moons,” Thalia says, “and then she can make the gardens bloom. The people want a bound queen? Then let’s give them a bound queen.”
Whoa. “I’m not the… queen. Thiago rules the kingdom. I don’t want this.”
“You’re my wife,” he says, taking my hand in his. “You rule at my side. I wanted this, Vi.” His eyes darken. “If anything ever happens to me, then my kingdom is safe in your hands.”
He’s talking about the curse.
“Nothing is going to happen to you—”
“Thorns, Vi!” Finn calls, brandishing a chair against a particularly virulent bramble.
“Stop doing that!” I tell the brambles in exasperation and they all slink against the floor like whipped puppies.
The doors bang open and Eris strides in, clad in leather boots up to her knees and wearing the happiest smile I’ve ever seen.
“You found them?” Thiago demands.
She tosses a golden sword on the table in front of us. The circle of thorns in the pommel winks at me.
“Queen Adaia’s Deathguard have been dealt with. I left two of them alive,” she says with a shrug. “They’re down in the dungeons and I promised I’d pay them a visit later, once they’ve had a chance to think about what they’ve done. One of them wanted to know if our little bitch-princess drowned, so I spent a good half hour showing him what it might have felt like, before I let him know our queen was alive.” She sinks into her seat, her fingers curling over the arms of her chair as she shivers with delight. “Let’s just say, he was delighted to tell me everything. I have their names. I have all their names. Theron missed a few.”
Her smile is terrible.
Clearly she’s recovered from her near-drowning.
Thiago nods curtly. “Then give their names to Theron. Tell him I want their heads as well. In return, he can have all of their palaces and guild halls.”
And then he heads for the doors, leaving them swinging shut behind him.
I find Thiago on the parapets outside our bedchambers, staring down at the city. Enormous wings flare behind him, thick with glossy feathers. He’s no longer hiding himself.
I don’t know what that means.
Rain trickles down, the skies turning gray. In the distance, lighting flashes.
I thought at first it was his favorite place, where he can peacefully watch the bustle and flow of the city he loves, but I’ve come to realize over the months that he comes here because it’s safe here. He loves this city, this kingdom, but there’s a part of him that will always watch from a distance, uncertain of his welcome.
He’s still a young fae prince who was left alone on an altar in the woods, and no matter whether he wears a crown now, or surrounds himself with people who love him, there’s a part of him that doesn’t believe he deserves any of it.
It makes my heart break a little.
Wrapping my arms around his waist, I rest against his chest and close my eyes, listening to his heart beat.
I don’t know what yesterday meant.
Queen, they chanted.
And he called me his queen too, as he knelt to me in the streets.
Only a queen can truly rule the lands, my mother always says.
But I don’t want him to think that. I don’t want him to believe he is somehow unworthy of ruling this city, or that I tried to supplant him in some way.
“I love you,” I whisper. It’s getting easier every time. “I don’t want to rule.”
I did once. I was desperate to be named my mother’s heir, before I realized it was all a cruel trick she played on me. But after months here, I’ve slowly realized I never truly yearned to be Queen of Asturia. I wanted her approval. I wanted her love. And in some sick way, I equated love with the position of crown heir.
But then, I knew nothing of love.
He curls his hand over mine, half turning his head. “You don’t? What do you think I’ve been hoping for all these years?”
“But you’re….”
“A prince who has spent years hoping for a queen to rule by his side,” he says fiercely, turning and capturing my face in both hands. “A prince who has seen five hundred years go by while he stands alone. I’ve spent centuries dreaming you into being, hoping that you would be half the woman you are, and yet, my wishes couldn’t even come close to being true.” His thumbs stroke my cheeks. “When I took the crown, I knew I broke several traditions. I wanted…. I wanted to make my mother proud. I wanted to be a son that she would have loved. And I loved this kingdom, this city, even if they didn’t love me. I want my people to love you too, Vi. I want them to be proud of you. The way I am. I have never wished to rule over everything. Alone. All I have ever wanted is to share it with someone special.”
“Your mother?” I ask, for he’s never mentioned her before.
“Vi…. Don’t.” He goes to his knees, one fist clenched as he rests it on the cobbles.
I barely dare touch him. “Thiago?”
Reaching out slowly, I stroke the curve of his bare shoulder before my touch turns molten. Despite the coolness of the night, the heat beneath his skin is like a banked furnace.
He shivers into my touch, turning his face into my hand.
“What’s wrong?” I go to my knees, cupping the back of his neck. “Look at me, curse you. Have you slept?”
He slowly lifts his head, though his eyes remain shut. “I don’t think you want to see me right now. I can’t hold it in. I thought I could, but the look on their faces—”
I brush featherlight touches across his eyelids. “I want to see every inch of you. I want to see through all your secrets.” Leaning forward, I brush my mouth to his. “I fell in love with every piece of you, even the Darkness. And I’m not afraid of it.”
Still quivering, he opens his eyes. “You should be.”
Black eyes, tattoos painted starkly up his throat….
In that moment, he’s not the prince I love, but a stranger.
There is no kindness in his eyes. No hint of the husband I know.
Hunger. Rage. Fury.
It glints within him like the honed edge of obsidian.
But I promised that I would love every part of him.
I kiss him as lightning flashes in the sky, highlighting the shadows of our bedchambers behind us. The storm is finally here. Thick, fat raindrops spatter on my skin.
“Inside,” I whisper, and he sweeps me up into his arms and carries me inside.
The second our lips touch, his mouth turns ravenous. Hands slide through my hair, tangling there as he sets me on the bed. He’s always
been gentle. Always exquisitely careful of me. But that was when he was trying to woo a reluctant princess who didn’t remember how much she loved him.
It’s like he’s finally shaken free of his traces. Nothing restrains him anymore, and as his tongue slides against mine, I bite his lip, reminding him that he’s not the only one who’s angry.
We need this.
I need this.
I want to wipe the memory of the past two days from my mind.
He kisses my throat, beneath the jaw and the sides of my neck. And then he’s claiming my mouth again. Raw, openmouthed kisses that bruise my flesh and taste of salt and heat. I go to my knees on the bed before him, stroking the glossy black of his wings as I kiss his chest through his damp shirt.
“Off,” I tell him, because I have no idea how the shirt works with his wings.
He tears it loose, throwing the remnants of it aside with a wet slap.
Thiago pauses, shuddering as he kneels on the bed and rests his forehead against mine. “Last chance, Vi. If you stay here tonight, then you won’t be dealing with your husband. You’ll be dealing with the darker side of me.”
“Good,” I whisper against his lips. “I want to know every inch of you.”
His fingers dig into my ass. It’s not quite enough to be painful, but the edge is there. A promise that although he won’t hurt me, he won’t be my usual patient, gentle lover.
“Vi….”
“Every. Inch.”
Lifting me, he wraps my thighs around his hips, and then he’s tumbling me back on the bed, and hasn’t allowed my mouth a moment’s respite.
We crash down on the mattress, lost in a tangle of arms and legs and heated breaths. I catch a glimpse of his black eyes as lightning flashes once more. The shock of his body is painted against the back of my eyelids as we’re plunged back into darkness. Taut jaw, aquiline nose, dangerous mouth….
And it’s that mouth that ruins me as he claims me again, and again, and again.
He taunts me, soft little brushes of his fingers against my inner thigh, stirring the fabric of my nightgown higher. My robe’s fallen open, and he tears the wet silk with claws that spring from nowhere.
