I bloody hoped so.
“Queen Everleigh,” Maximus said in a low, smooth, silky voice. “At long last, we finally meet.”
“Maximus,” I replied in a cool, clipped tone, deliberately using only his name and not his title.
He arched a perfectly sculpted golden eyebrow, and amusement flickered across his face. My slight didn’t bother him at all. He kept studying me with his hard amethyst eyes, and I got the impression that I was nothing more to him than an annoying spider, one who kept skittering just out of his reach, despite his repeated efforts to squash me under his bootheel.
I expected him to make some snide comment about the assassination attempt. Like everyone else on the terrace, he had to suspect that I was behind it, given what he had done to the rest of the Blairs. But instead of confronting me, Maximus gestured for the other Mortan royals to step forward. There were four of them.
The first was a man about my age, late twenties, who was the spitting image of Maximus. Same golden hair, dark amethyst eyes, tan skin, and sharp, angular features. He too was wearing black leggings and boots, but the Morricone royal crest was done in silver instead of gold on his dark purple tunic, denoting his lesser status. I had never seen him in person before either, but I still knew who he was—Mercer, the king’s oldest son and the Mortan crown prince.
Mercer sneered at me. I drew in a breath, tasting his scent. He too reeked of hot, caustic lightning, although the aroma was much weaker and without the bloody note that clung to his father. Mercer was powerful, but not nearly as strong as his father.
The second royal was also a man in his late twenties, with the same golden hair, tan skin, and amethyst eyes as his other relatives, although his features were a bit softer, making him far more handsome. He too was dressed in a dark purple tunic, although the Morricone royal crest was just a small symbol stitched in silver thread over his heart. Nox, one of the king’s legitimate nephews.
Nox also sneered at me, but his expression quickly wilted under my cold glare, and he shifted on his feet. The last time I’d seen Nox had been the night of the royal challenge, when I’d killed Vasilia on the Seven Spire lawn. He had seen me shove my sword through my cousin’s traitorous heart, and he at least had the common sense to be wary of me.
Nox’s gaze flicked past me, and his eyes widened and his face paled. Auster stepped forward and stared at the younger man, his hand curled around his sword. The captain hated Nox even more than I did for his role in Queen Cordelia’s death. Nox had also tortured Auster for months after the Seven Spire massacre.
I looked at Auster, who bowed to me and stepped back. He might want to kill Nox, but he would never disobey his queen, and I had given Auster strict orders not to touch Nox. Not yet.
I turned my attention to the other two Mortan royals. To my surprise, one of them was Leonidas, the teenage boy I’d spoken to through the Cardea mirror at Seven Spire. He was dressed in a light purple tunic, but the royal crest didn’t adorn his clothes, further confirming my suspicion that he was a bastard, just like his mother was.
Leonidas stared at me, a worried look on his face, as though he was still concerned that I would announce to everyone that I had spoken to him through the mirror. I might still do that, but only when it benefited me the most, and now was not that moment.
And then there was the fourth and final Mortan royal, a woman in her mid-forties. Her golden hair was sleeked back into a high, elegant bun, and the perfect amount of understated makeup brought out her pale skin and amethyst eyes, along with the rest of her beautiful features, which were as familiar to me as my own face. She was quite a bit thinner than I remembered, although her face was finally free of the ugly mark that had marred it for so long from where the king had backhanded her after one of her failed attempts to murder me.
She was wearing a lovely lilac-colored gown, and a silver choker studded with amethysts ringed her neck. Two matching cuffs glinted on her wrists, while a ring gleamed on her index finger. All the gems reeked of magic, as did the woman herself.
Maeven, the bitch who’d orchestrated the Seven Spire massacre.
Icy rage surged through me, and once again my inner gladiator longed to draw my sword and ram it into her heart, before using the blade on Nox, Mercer, and Maximus. But I forced down my rage, just as I had the rest of my emotions.
This was supposed to be a civilized meeting, and I would not be the first one to break protocol and reveal it for the sham it truly was. Maximus had thwarted my assassination attempt, and I couldn’t afford another failure right now. Once you started losing at courtly games, it was hard to stop the bleeding, much less get back onto your feet and actually win anything.
“I’m sure you know my son Mercer and my nephew Nox,” Maximus said, breaking the silence.
“Of course.” I kept staring at Maeven. “I know all the Morricone royals. Even the bastards like Maeven and Leonidas.”
Maeven blinked, clearly surprised that I knew her son’s name, and her fingers twitched as though she wanted to grab his shoulder and shove the boy behind her to protect him from me.
“Why, I’m probably more familiar with the bastard Morricones than anyone else,” I continued in a light, pleasant voice. “After all, I’ve encountered so many of them over this past year.”
Everyone on the terrace tensed. Gossip spread faster than the clap at my court and all the others, and everyone realized that I was talking about how many members of the Bastard Brigade I had killed. I might not be able to wound the Mortans with my sword, but I could still cut them to pieces with my words. Or at least try to.
“Well, perhaps you’ll have the opportunity to meet even more of them.” Mercer sneered at me again. “Sooner than you think.”
The tension thickened, squeezing around the terrace like an invisible fist. The crown prince had just threatened my life. How sweet. Still, I took note of his words. He had just confirmed that the Bastard Brigade was lurking around somewhere, which meant that the Mortans were already plotting against me, just like I was them.
“I look forward to it. I’m sure I’ll have just as much fun with them as I have with all your other relatives so far.” I gave him a razor-thin smile. “Unless, of course, some legitimate Morricone wants to meet with me. Now, that would be a refreshing change.”
Several people gasped at my returning Mercer’s threat with one of my own, while others eased back, trying to get clear in case a fight actually did break out between me and the crown prince.
Anger stained Mercer’s cheeks a bright red, and his right hand curled into a fist. The stench of magic surged around him, as though he were an instant away from blasting me with his lightning. Mercer glanced over at his father, clearly asking for permission. Maximus gave him a cold, flat stare, and Mercer’s anger wilted like a flavored ice on a hot summer day, along with the scent of his magic.
Driscol cleared his throat and stepped forward, putting himself in the very dangerous space between me and the Mortan king. “Come. Sit. Eat. Relax. Let us enjoy the opening ceremonies. We’ve prepared a magnificent welcome spread . . .”
He kept chattering, trying to diffuse the situation. Maximus stared at me another moment, then followed the other man over to the buffet tables. Mercer smirked at me and headed after his father. Nox scuttled after them. The tension eased, and several servants and guards let out audible sighs of relief.
It seemed as though Maximus was going to completely ignore my attempt to kill him, and everyone was eager to follow his lead. By pretending nothing had happened, he was telling everyone how little he thought of the assassin’s arrow and whomever had arranged it—me. More anger sizzled in my chest. My plotting didn’t frighten him in the least.
Leonidas glanced at me, then at his mother. Maeven made a small shooing motion with her hand, and the boy hurried over to one of the buffet tables, although not the same one as Maximus, Mercer, and Nox.
Maeven started to join her son, but I moved forward and blocked her path.
�
�Hello, Maeven,” I purred. “I’m so glad you’re here. We haven’t chatted much recently.”
Her lips puckered, but she didn’t respond. Maeven stepped to the side, and I let her sweep past me and head over to Leonidas, who was piling pastries on a plate.
Everyone returned to their previous conversations, although they all kept shooting glances at me and the Mortans. I eyed the other royals. Heinrich and Dominic were both grinning, but Eon, Ruri, Cisco, and Zariza all wore far more reserved expressions. They were still waiting to see what might happen between Maximus and me.
I grabbed another kiwi mimosa from a passing servant and toasted the other royals. Only Heinrich and Dominic returned the gesture, but that didn’t surprise me. I tilted up the glass and took a long drink, but the sweet, fizzy liquid did little to drown the bitter taste of defeat in my mouth.
I glanced around the terrace. Cho was watching Maximus and Mercer, while Auster was glaring at Nox. Xenia had sidled up to Zariza and was murmuring in her cousin’s ear, while Sullivan and Paloma stepped forward and flanked me again.
“That actually went better than I expected,” Paloma said.
“How so?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Well, for one thing, the Mortans didn’t try to kill you. And we didn’t have to fight our way out of here.”
“True,” Sullivan agreed. “But even the Mortans wouldn’t be so bold as to try to assassinate another royal in plain view of the entire arena.”
He grimaced, as did Paloma. We all knew I had just tried to do that very thing and how easily Maximus had brushed it aside.
“Sorry, highness,” Sullivan murmured.
More bitterness surged through me, but I quashed the emotion. Now was not the time to dwell on my failure. Instead, I eyed Mercer, who was glaring at me while a servant poured him a glass of wine. Maximus was deep in conversation with Driscol, who kept glancing at me.
“They might not attempt to assassinate me here, but they’ll definitely try to kill me again the first chance they get,” I murmured, a dark and deadly promise creeping into my voice. “We might have lost this battle, but we still have a war to win.”
Chapter Ten
Driscol fluttered around, flapping his hands and announcing that it was time for the opening ceremonies. The kings and queens headed toward the round table in the center of the terrace, with everyone else sitting at smaller tables or standing along the back wall.
Sullivan and Dominic ended up at a table together, along with Paloma and Rhea. Xenia took a seat with some Ungers, while Auster remained standing with the Bellonan guards. Cho left the terrace. Still no sign of Serilda anywhere in the arena. She must have decided to head to our rendezvous point rather than risk returning to the terrace. Worry filled me, but Serilda could take care of herself, and I just had to trust that she would be okay until she could rejoin us.
I would have much rather remained with my friends, but I took a seat at the center table with the other royals. I sat down in the first chair I came to, one that had its back to the railing and the rest of the arena, making it the worst seat. Too late, I realized my mistake and that I wouldn’t be able to see the opening ceremonies without craning my neck and looking back over my shoulder. But my ass was already in the chair, and it would have been a bigger error to try to take a better seat from someone else, so I stayed put.
Heinrich sat to my left, with Eon beside him. Zariza took the seat to my right, with Ruri on the other side, and Cisco beyond her. Maximus took the chair directly across from mine, the one with the best view of the arena. Naturally. That left one empty seat, the chair with the coined woman engraved in the top, and Driscol scurried forward and plopped down in it.
According to Xenia, this table was supposed to be for kings and queens only, but Driscol clearly wanted a seat here—literally and figuratively. The only way for that to happen would be for all the kings and queens to formally recognize Fortuna as its own kingdom and the DiLucris as a royal family, something the DiLucris had been trying to achieve for decades. Perhaps that was what Maximus had promised Driscol—that Morta would support the DiLucris in their relentless quest to officially establish their own kingdom.
Servants deposited platters of fresh fruit, cheeses, crackers, and pastries on the table, along with tiny chocolate-cherry and vanilla-orange sweet cakes. A second group of servants handed out plates, silverware, and napkins, and poured mugs of warm spiced apple cider. I drew in breath after breath, tasting the subtle aromas emanating from the food, as well as the steam wisping up from the cider, but I didn’t smell or sense any poison.
Sullivan was right. The Mortans wouldn’t be so bold as to try to murder me on the terrace. After we left the arena, though, it would be open season on me, especially since I had already tried to kill Maximus. But I was safe enough for now, so I sipped my cider and downed several cakes, enjoying the mix of the rich chocolate with the tart cherry, and the lighter, smoother vanilla with its bright pop of orange.
The other royals, along with Driscol, downed their own food and drinks, as did the minor royals, nobles, and advisors at the surrounding tables. No one spoke, and the only sounds were the soft scrapes of forks and knives on dishes, along with the occasional clatter and clang of a servant refilling someone’s mug.
The silence stretched on and on, and the tension grew in commensurate measure. Everyone glanced at their neighbors, as well as the kings and queens, but no one dared to speak. I kept my mouth shut and concentrated on my food. This was yet another game, and I wasn’t going to be the first one to give in and break the quiet.
But that didn’t mean I still couldn’t take control of the situation.
An idea occurred to me, one that would fix my previous mistake in choosing this awful seat with no view and hopefully have the added bonus of annoying Maximus. Two strixes, one stone. I popped another chocolate-cherry cake into my mouth, then got to my feet.
The other kings and queens froze, their mugs and forks hovering in midair. They all looked at me, as did everyone else. No doubt some of them expected me to pull my sword and charge around the table toward Maximus in some reckless assassination attempt, but I had set that game aside—for now. Instead, I picked up my chair, turned it around so that it was facing out toward the arena, and sat down, deliberately putting my back to the Mortan king.
Ostensibly, I made the move so that I would have a better view of the opening ceremonies, but I was silently declaring that Maximus didn’t scare me, and everyone could see the motion for the insult it truly was.
Behind me, someone sucked in a surprised breath, and I got the impression that it was Driscol. Of course. As our esteemed host, he would want to keep the slights and insults among the royals to a minimum, and he especially wouldn’t want me or anyone else to do or say anything to anger Maximus. But I was a queen, and Driscol was not, and he had no power over me whatsoever.
Once again, the silence stretched on and on. Every quiet second that ticked by filled my heart with even more malicious glee. I might not have killed Maximus yet, but insulting him was still extremely satisfying.
Beside me, Heinrich got to his feet. He paused a moment, staring at Maximus, then turned his chair around, lined it up with mine, and sat down in it, also putting his back to the Mortan king. Heinrich grinned at me, and I winked back.
To my surprise, another chair scraped away from the table. Zariza didn’t even bother to stare down Maximus. Instead, she fluffed out her long, glorious red hair, then spun her chair around, lined it up with mine, and sat down, facing out toward the arena along with Heinrich and me.
“You’re right, Everleigh,” Zariza said in a loud, silky voice that carried across the terrace. “The view is so much better from this angle.”
Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but it seemed as though I’d impressed her enough to get her to join my little rebellion. That, or she simply wanted a better view of the ceremonies. Hard to tell.
More chairs scraped back from the table, and Eon and Ruri also moved
their seats so that they were sitting in a straight line with Heinrich, me, and Zariza. A few seconds later, Cisco joined them. That left Maximus and Driscol as the only ones still actually sitting at the table.
Several more seconds ticked by in silence. I couldn’t see what Maximus was doing, but I could clearly smell his pungent onion annoyance, along with more than a little hot, peppery anger. He didn’t like being upstaged and ignored.
Driscol cleared his throat. “Come, King Maximus. Let us move your chair over to the designated spots so that you have the best view possible.”
He was trying to spin it as though moving the seats had been planned all along, but his voice was soft and weak, and it was easy to tell that he didn’t even believe his own lie.
Maximus murmured his agreement, and Driscol carried the king’s chair to the far end of the line, positioning it a few feet away from Cisco’s. Driscol started to fetch his own chair, but Maximus waved him off.
“That will be all.”
Driscol visibly bristled at the curt dismissal, but he swallowed his anger, bowed his head, and headed over to the table where Mercer, Nox, Leonidas, and Maeven were sitting. Driscol started to take a seat there, but Mercer grabbed the empty chair, pulled it closer, and put his boots up in it. The Mortan crown prince crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back in his seat, and sneered at the other man.
Driscol bristled again, but he finally gave up and took a position next to Seraphine, who was standing with the DiLucri servants along the back wall.
I didn’t bother to hide my smug smile as I reached back and grabbed my cider off the table. Everyone was watching me, including Sullivan, so I raised my mug in a silent toast to him. Sullivan grinned at me just like his father had. I smiled back, then turned around, facing out toward the arena again.
Without saying a word, I had wrested away some of Maximus’s power and mystique and had shown everyone that I wouldn’t be bullied, cowed, or intimidated by the Mortans.
Crush the King Page 13
