Gods and Trickery: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (Unfortunate Magic Book 3)

by Candace Wondrak

  She grew up thinking the opposite, truly.

  So it did not hurt her to have Henrik stare at her so, did not bother her to meet his angry, superior expression. Lena was used to being looked down on. It was nothing new, and she knew she’d probably always be looked down on simply because she was a mage. It was how things were. Becoming queen, even if it was something she wanted to do, would never change it. She was not naive enough to think so.

  “Even if the Prince does not come to his senses, which I will constantly remind him to realize, you won’t be queen,” Henrik told her. “You are not royal. You are not of noble birth at all. Even if you weren’t a mage, you’d be a peasant by blood, the lowest of the low. A farmer.” He sneered out the word. “What would this kingdom need with a farmer queen?” He laughed at that, as if it was the most hilarious thing in the world, the funniest joke he’d ever encountered. “You wouldn’t last a day on the throne.”

  Lena could not argue with him there, so she didn’t. She remained quiet.

  “And a bloody mage,” Henrik added, shaking his head in disdain. “You are fortunate you haven’t met the block, but even Cailan’s fascination can only protect you so much. Anyone who catches the eye of a royal is at risk of…assassination.” He smiled. “Or in your case, extermination—for you are a rodent among kings, mage. You are nothing. You may wear the face of a royal, you may wear the clothes of a royal, but you will never be a royal. The people will never respect you as a queen. To wed you would be to court an uprising, something Rivaini has not had in decades.”

  She took his irate words in stride, already feeling shitty about herself because of the collar. Not only was she like a pet, but she was a worthless one, too. One everyone apparently would like to kill.

  What a day to be alive.

  Lena took a step nearer Henrik, startling the man into silence. Her eyes, a fiery, burning red, seared him to his spot. “You are lucky I am incapacitated, Henrik,” she whispered, soft enough so the guards in the hall would not hear. Unlike the seneschal, she preferred her threats to be unknown to others, except those on the receiving end. “Do you know what I did to my parents? Do you know how I killed Gregain?”

  She was fluffing herself and her accomplishments up a bit, but it was well-deserved, especially in the face of a man like Henrik, who thought he knew it all. The man knew nothing, and she felt the urge to enlighten him.

  “My parents were killed with a magic you’ve never seen before, a fire so black it’s darker than your pathetic soul. Have you ever heard of blackfire, Henrik? Can you imagine feeling the flames licking at your skin and drying out your eyes? I did not stab Gregain, he touched my blood. My black blood. It burned straight through his hand, ate the metal dagger he held. He died while bleeding tears of blood as boils and pustules devoured his flesh.” Lena cocked her head. “Tell me, Seneschal, which way would you prefer to die?”

  Henrik stood straighter as she spoke, his skin paling as she described how her parents and Gregain died. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but it felt so good. It felt right, showing off her power—even if she didn’t have that kind of power any longer. No one other than Lena knew of Zyssept and the bargain she’d made, the power the old god had given her. Henrik didn’t need to know her blackened blood and control over blackfire was gone.

  The only thing Henrik needed to do was fear her.

  “You do not threaten me and get away with it,” he growled out.

  “No,” she said, speaking louder. “You do not threaten the future queen and get away with it. Once I have the crown on my head, whether you like it or not, you will be beneath me, Henrik. You will be under a mage. Do you think your dragon-sized ego can handle it, or shall I tell Prince Cailan to start searching for your replacement?” Lena wanted to say more, but a small presence behind her stopped her from it. She turned to view Anne, who curtsied.

  Anne’s quiet voice cut in, “I am here to get milady ready for her meal with Prince Cailan.”

  Henrik muttered something to himself before storming off, his shoes clicking on the tile nearly as loudly as Lena’s uncomfortable heels. Lena watched him go with wary eyes, wondering how much of a problem the seneschal was going to be. So far, the man had proven himself untrustworthy and prejudiced. He was not a man Lena wanted to spend much time with.

  Anne’s soft “Come” snapped Lena out of her funk, and she followed her maidservant back to her room. She stormed to her bed, sitting in a huff as Anne closed the door.

  “I cannot believe that man,” Lena spoke. “He threatens me due to something I cannot control. If I could, I would leave—but I can’t. I am stuck here, and gods help me if I will be stuck here listening to him go on and on about how worthless I am, simply because I am a mage—”

  Holding her hands to her sides, Anne whispered, “I thought you sounded very queen-like, my lady. If Henrik were the kind of man to shake in his boots, I’m sure he would’ve.”

  Lena touched the collar around her neck. “Do you like my new necklace? Isn’t it pretty?” Her voice dripped a sarcasm so heavy her words came out in a hiss. “Don’t you want one for yourself? They’re all the rage here in the castle, but only if you’re a mage.” She knew she was overdoing it with the spiel, but she couldn’t stop. It felt…so…ridiculous.

  And stupid. Really, really stupid.

  “Maybe it’s a temporary thing, until everyone gets used to the idea of a mage queen,” Anne suggested, rooted to her spot near the door. Though she did meet Lena’s gaze occasionally, the woman still looked mighty uncomfortable. “Maybe once the public knows of you, Prince Cailan will take it off.”

  “And until then, I am no more than a prized dog to him.”

  “Pardon my argument, my lady, but I do not think so.”

  Lena looked at her. “What do you mean?”

  “I think the Prince cares for you, in his own way,” she explained, starting to fidget. She ran her fingers along the seams of her dress. “The Prince has been the only royal in the castle with his father for the last few years, since the Queen passed. He’s…taken the brunt of the King’s anger often. He is a kind enough man, but he needs someone who can take care of him.”

  Kind enough man. Cailan was anything but kind, deep down—Lena knew. But something else Anne said startled her. The Prince had taken the brunt of the King’s anger? What did she mean?

  “Do you mean to say the late King…” Lena couldn’t form the words, for they seemed so out of place here, in such a royal place.

  Anne shook her head. “Apologies. I shouldn’t have said anything.” She forced a smile, though it was weak. “Let us start getting you dressed for dinner.”

  Yes, because every meal here was an occasion to wear something new and different. How many months would it take for Lena to go through every single outfit, each dress? At the rate she was going, quite a few. Whoever needed all these clothes, she wondered, and why were they already in the castle when she was moved from the dungeon? While they weren’t in the room she was in, she knew they had to have been stored somewhere in the castle. Lena had a sudden and horrifying thought.

  What if these dresses belonged to Cailan’s mother, the dead queen? The mere idea of such a thing made her feel gross and itchy, and she wanted to take the dress and garments off straight away.

  Alas, she couldn’t. She was stuck wearing these gowns, with the ill-fitting shoes and stockings, until she either died or was free of the place. And as the hours and days wore on, Lena’s hopes of escaping dwindled.

  Anne, after her slip up, remained quiet as she worked and even as she walked with Lena to the private dining room. The more Lena thought about it, the more she wanted to find the truth of the matter. Did the King hurt Cailan—and if he did, did that make what Cailan did okay?

  No, it shouldn’t. Murder was murder…but who was she to talk? She’d done the same thing to her parents for what they did to her. Granted, she was only a child at the time, not a grown adult like Cailan, but it was impossible to re
member her thoughts back then. Did she intentionally set the blackfire raging, or was it all based on her hurt, angry emotions?

  Cailan was oddly silent as she entered the room. His lips were pursed as she sat across from him, his finger running around the rim of his wine glass. His dark, pitch-black eyes rose to her.

  She would not play whatever game this was. “What’s wrong, my Prince?”

  “Henrik told me of your exchange in the great hall after I left.”

  Her eyebrows rose, for she had a hunch that Henrik, the good man, did not tell Cailan everything. “I doubt he told you the entire story.” She started to fill her plate after taking a small sip from her glass.

  “And what is the entire story?”

  “He said the people would never accept a mage queen, that I wouldn’t last a day on the throne. He said there will be many assassination attempts.” Surprisingly, Lena was cool and collected as she recalled the encounter with the seneschal, a switch from how she actually felt a few hours ago. How furious she had been. “I grew tired of his threats, so I gave him a threat of my own. I asked him if he’d prefer to die as my parents did, or as Gregain.”

  Cailan listened to her intently, his expression twisting into…a smile? Truly, the prince was a man she could never anticipate. His moods were too unstable, too strange. “I’m glad you stood up for yourself. Once you are queen, there will be countless of times when you’ll have to do something similar.”

  A compliment from Cailan—was it a compliment at all? It only made her feel uneasy.

  He started to poke at his food. “And as for Henrik—I’ve been looking to get rid of him for a while now. I know he and my father were close, but…he is a weasel of a man. We would do better without him, I think.”

  Lena heard it, the fury behind his words, and in spite of herself, she found her mouth saying, “Were you and your father close, before…” She trailed off, unable to say it. Before you killed him.

  Cailan paused mid-chew. “He was not an easy man to get along with” was what he said after swallowing.

  “I know his feelings towards mages. Was he kinder to you, at least?” Why in all of Rivaini was she baiting him? Why did it matter if the King had done anything to Cailan? It was no excuse.

  “I do not wish to speak of him.” There was a finality in his tone, a that’s that end to the topic of conversation. It was more than clear he did not want to continue this talk, but Lena wasn’t satisfied yet.

  “All I mean to say, my Prince, is that…if the King had hurt you, I’m…” Gods, was she really going there? Yes, yes she was. “I’m glad he’s gone.” Lena chose her final words carefully, refusing to say she was happy Cailan had killed him. She would never be thrilled about cold-blooded murder, but sometimes people got what they deserved.

  Like…like her parents.

  Cailan stared at her for a few minutes, unblinking, his expression giving nothing away. “You,” he finally spoke, “are perfect. I am so unbelievably happy we found each other.” The words were supposed to flatter her only made her want to be sick.

  She did not want to attract a man like this, prince or no.

  And just like that, he was a giddy Cailan once more, practically bouncing in his seat as he asked, “Would you like to know what the report said?”

  Lena was seconds from asking what report when she remembered the scroll he was given, right before he walked away and left her with Henrik. Right after locking the collar around her neck. “Of course,” she said.

  “Truthfully, I’m not sure if this is good news for you or bad. I ordered the enchanters to find Ingrid. I had hoped to invite her to my coronation, as a surprise for you, but it would seem Ingrid has disappeared from the College entirely.” Cailan watched her reaction, adding, “You wouldn’t know how she escaped, would you?”

  The words fell upon her like a pile of bricks. Added to the weight of the metal collar around her neck, she felt as if the world was on her shoulders. Far too much weight for her to handle.

  Her skin grew cold and clammy as she asked, “Ingrid’s gone?” If her friend had used a projection potion, her body would’ve been found. And since the gate was guarded and locked, even a camouflaging potion wouldn’t have done any good.

  If Ingrid had left the College, she hadn’t come to Lena. Why would she run away and not come to see if Lena was alright? Unless…unless Ingrid didn’t know she was here, in the castle. Which was very probable, since the public didn’t know about her queen-to-be status.

  Ingrid might’ve thought Lena made a run for it, that she didn’t plan on coming back to the city, in which case her friend had nothing left here. Why would she stay? Rivaini would only serve to remind her what she thought she’d lost.

  “Any idea where she’d go? I know I’m making an exception for you, but I cannot have a mage running free while the public still believes it’s the entire College’s fault for the undead incident.”

  “The innkeeper.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and once they were said aloud, Lena stopped a gasp from escaping her throat. Until now, she hadn’t once thought of Harry. What kind of person did it make her?

  “You mean the louse that was caught aiding a wanted mage? My father had him put to the block the day after you both were brought in.”

  A louse. Harry had been anything but a louse. He’d been nothing but kind and understanding. He was Ingrid’s friend, a man who’d done them both a kindness. He didn’t deserve to be put to the block, to have the executioner’s axe come down on him unmercifully. He was a good man.

  Lena wanted to cry. For Harry’s fate, for Ingrid’s disappearance, and for herself.

  She was utterly and completely alone in this cruel world.

  Chapter Three

  It was the morning of the funeral procession. Cailan told her to spend the day in the library, though she’d have to have guards stationed near her until Cailan got back and could be with her, but she didn’t want to be in the library. She didn’t want to do anything. She just wanted…she wanted to give up.

  Ingrid was gone. Harry was dead because of her. Her men were probably gone. Lena had royally fucked everything up, hadn’t she? What made everything even worse was she had tried to do the right thing. Sometimes, though, the consequences of doing the right thing were worse than what they would’ve been if she’d done the wrong thing.

  She spent the day moping while Cailan marched through the city with his father in a golden casket. It didn’t seem fair that she was locked up in here, but she’d been too depressed from the news of the night before to try and convince Cailan she should go. What was the point? She’d have nowhere to go, nobody to run to. She was alone.

  It took Anne a few hours, but she’d finally managed to dress Lena in a thin wisp of a dress and drag her to the parlor, where visiting nobility often had tea with the queen while the men went to a separate study to discuss politics or war or whatever else men could talk about that women couldn’t.

  It was a room as large as the farmhouse. Its walls were covered in painted designs, black shapes on a white background, almost like flowers. A dozen cushioned seats sat around the room, lining the walls, interrupted only by small end tables with doilies and other useless decorations.

  Anne sat her down in the largest seat, saying, “I will be right back with some tea.”

  Ooh, goody. Tea. Just what this situation needed.

  Lena waved her off, sighing once she was by herself. Her fingers slowly reached for the heavy collar around her neck. Today her dress was low-cut, so the metal rested directly on her chest. Her skin was starting to sweat, to chafe. It was not the most comfortable accessory one could wear. But she didn’t deserve to be comfortable, after everything. She deserved this and more.

  So much for the take-charge Lena. She’d run away towards the hills the moment Cailan had told her of Ingrid and Harry. There was nothing left for Lena to do. She was just…just a body. She might as well have been dead herself.

  When foo
tsteps entered the room, Lena glanced up, thinking it was Anne. Alas, she immediately found out it wasn’t. She was too downtrodden to get to her feet. She simply stared at the man, frowning slightly.

  Henrik.

  She watched him enter the parlor, saying off-handedly, “I don’t think men are allowed in this room.”

  He gave her a smile that was rehearsed. “And I don’t believe mages are allowed to wander in the halls of the castle at their every whim, but here you are.” His back to her, he closed the parlor’s doors. “Cailan left me in charge while he is out parading his father’s corpse.” He turned to her, the smile still on his face. “Do you know that I walked in on him, right after he’d stabbed his own father in the throat with a letter opener?”

  Did he think the details would make her uneasy? No. She was not so easily frightened anymore.

  “No, he neglected to tell me that,” she said. “Why are you taking it upon yourself to tell me?” Her eyes spotted movement, and she barely reacted when she watched him pull a small metal object from his coat’s pocket.

  A letter opener, still stained with blood.

  Was he going to murder her in the same way, some kind of twisted poetic justice for what Cailan did to his father? Henrik and King Philip must’ve been close, for him to attempt something like this would undoubtedly get him killed.

  “I am not afraid of you, Henrik,” Lena said. It was true. To fear him would give him too much satisfaction.

  “You should be, for you are powerless with that cage around your neck.” Henrik approached her, fingers clutching the letter opener so tightly his knuckles turned white. But his plan was interrupted by a timely Anne, who immediately froze as she entered the room, carrying a tray full of porcelain cups and a teapot.

  Anne backed herself up to the wall, eyes wide in fright. “Seneschal, what are you…” She could not finish the question, for it was blatantly obvious what the man was doing.