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

by Candace Wondrak

  When Zys merely blinked at her, unmoving, she said again, “Go.”

  He stood, nodded once, and went to the door. He was so lost inside himself he forgot to bring up Cailan and the spirit resting within him. Zys exited the room, closing the door quietly. After throwing a look down both ways of the hall, he stood near her door, thoughts racing.

  They’d kissed. Something so little, something other mortals might’ve shrugged off as an everyday occurrence, but it meant more to him than he could ever say, and he spent the next few hours replaying the scene over and over in his head, wondering if there was anything he could’ve done to prolong it, to get her to say those words.

  Cailan, whatever was inside him, could wait. Zys had to focus on her.

  On Lena.

  The woman, who was still very much mortal, who had made his heart beat erratically, who made him want to experience other human aspects of life. Namely the soft touch of her skin everywhere on his.

  Chapter Seven

  Lena barely got sleep that night. Why in all of Rivaini had she accepted that kiss? And not only accepted it, but kissed the bloody bastard back? And, not only that, she’d called him Zys, which was something she’d sworn to herself she would never do. It was ridiculous and silly and it trivialized this entire thing.

  Still. It had been a good kiss. A calmness had enveloped her the moment his mouth was on hers, a serenity settling deep within her soul. Almost as if their kiss, their union, was meant to be, dictated by fate itself.

  Which, just, no. Lena could not argue against it enough. The whole point of this was so she could decide for herself, be her own woman, College or no. She did not want to wed Cailan; she wouldn’t want to become his wife even if he wasn’t batshit insane. She had Bastian, Vale, and Tamlen. Her heart was already full. But…saying she was too full, that her heart already held enough love for three men, seemed like the worst lie she could tell herself.

  Love was infinite. Who was she to say she had enough? Who was she trying to kid when she ignored the feelings stirring deep within her belly when Zyssept’s silver eyes looked at her? A fire so fierce it put the color of her eyes and her hair to shame. A feeling so strong it grew harder to deny it with each passing day, let alone minute.

  How much longer could she keep herself from him? Truly, it had not been so long ago when Lena declared boldly she would fight Zyssept with every fiber of her being, that she would never think to herself he was anything more than a monster of an old god.

  Lena was a weak woman. She had no willpower, no self-restraint. She was caving into Zyssept slowly but surely. All the bastard had to do was be patient, and he’d get her eventually. Gods, how she hated to admit it to herself.

  But the way he’d looked at her the night before, how easy his voice filled her head, the way his fingers lightly touched her, as if he thought her some fragile flower. Lena did not want to feel so delicate, but being able to let down her guard was the most wonderful thing.

  She was up and sitting at her vanity before the light of dawn graced the world, staring at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were tired, the bags beneath them dark due to her lack of sleep. Her fingertips moved to brush her lips; though they were dry, and though it was quite impossible, the feeling of Zyssept’s mouth on hers lingered.

  It wasn’t a bad kiss. It was a damned good kiss.

  Damn that Zyssept, she swore to herself. But even in her heart, she knew there was no anger behind it. Not anymore. Now, all her negative emotions went for another man, a different man, one she’d never thought of before returning to Rivaini after Gregain’s treachery.

  Cailan.

  She had to think of a way to escape this castle. And not only that, Lena had to be sure before she left Cailan would not turn his eyes to the College, not make those still inside its walls pay for her escape. She already knew she wouldn’t be able to return to the College, but she would never allow anyone to see harm that stemmed from a decision of hers.

  Lena was unsure of how much time passed before there was a soft knock on her door. Instead of getting up and letting Anne in, she merely said, “Come in.” She felt too tired, too confused, too mentally exhausted to even think about getting up right now.

  It was not Anne who entered her bedchambers; it was another servant, an older woman whose wrinkles seemed to deepen as she gazed intently at Lena after curtseying. Her hair was a greying blonde, her eyes a watered-down blue. She wore a similar fraying dress that Anne did, though she was taller, fuller, her back straight.

  All she said was “Anne won’t be available to get you prepared for your day, my Lady. I am here to get you dressed and prepared for a day out with the King.”

  Just as Lena was about to ask if Anne was sick, her mind zeroed in on the servant’s final words. A day out with the King? Were they to leave the castle’s grounds? This might be perfect. Perhaps she could slip away, tell Zyssept to send a message to her men if they weren’t to follow, if they were stationed inside the castle while they were out on the town.

  The old woman helped Lena into a light blue day dress, dotted her face with makeup to hide the darkness beneath her eyes, and braided her hair so its red lengths swept across a single shoulder, held together by a black band at its bottom. Dangling diamonds hung from her ears, sparkling with each movement. The anti-magical collar hugged her neck even more tightly this morning, only a few steps up from choking her.

  She was so focused on the fact she was going to leave the grounds she neglected to ask the old woman about Anne. What a bad friend she was. Regardless of what was going on, she should’ve at least spent the time to ask.

  But she didn’t. Lena was escorted to the front vestibule after the old maidservant was done with her. They didn’t even stop for breakfast, which was an odd enough thing.

  What was even odder, however, was the group of guards waiting for her in the front of the castle. None of them were her men, she could tell by the heights and the eyes, not to mention the way they wouldn’t look at her.

  Clearly, they either didn’t want a mage for a queen or they didn’t approve of her leaving the grounds in the first place. Either way, Lena didn’t care. She didn’t want to marry Cailan, and it was only a matter of time before she figured something out. Who knew? Maybe this day would prove fruitful.

  Lena threw a look around the guards. “Where is King Cailan?” She could not wait for the day when she did not have to say his damned title every time she spoke his name. Royal protocol, etiquette, whatever. She hated it.

  The guard nearest her nodded his head, and beneath his helmet, his voice was muffled, “He’s already waiting for you, my Lady. We’re to escort you.”

  Without another word, the group of guards led her—no, more like surrounded her—as they left the castle and walked down the long stone pathway winding from the castle’s front doors. Past the castle’s own gates, they left royal grounds completely. The sounds of marching men in metal suits were all Lena could hear.

  She tried to speak, “Where are we going?”

  It felt as if it had been ages since Lena had been anywhere else besides the castle. Since she’d been in the College, since she’d gotten leave to join the hunt for the white wyvern, since she found out Ingrid had kept quite a few things from her. Though she worried about her friend’s safety, she also knew Ingrid could take care of herself, if push came to shove. Only the gods knew all of Ingrid’s secrets.

  None of the guards around her answered; they kept walking, their faces stern and silent. It would’ve been annoying, had Lena been not so thrilled to be outside the castle. As it was, she found she’d let it slide.

  It wasn’t to say she wanted to have an adventure—Lena and adventures never went along well, if recent events had anything to show. What was supposed to have been nothing more than a search and research kind of day went haywire and she’d accidentally used necromancy with a banned book and rose an entire crypt’s worth of dead people. And then, when she was trying to fix her mistake, or fix it as much a
s she could without giving up either Tamlen or Vale, she’d discovered her mentor had a creepy fascination with her and Zyssept. Oh, and then she’d risen Bastian purposefully.

  Yeah. Mixing Lena with any sort of adventure would not end well. As soon as she got out of this mess, she wanted to find a place to lay low, a place to rest and recover from finding out the truth of her past.

  Though, really she should’ve known it would never happen.

  She started to realize this when the guards brought her to a wide, open square courtyard of stone, where Cailan sat on a chiseled throne, wearing his regal regalia and looking quite bored. The crown on his head looked heavy, and he rested his chin on a fist as he gazed out across the square at the crowd of gathered people. His personal guards stood behind him, beside him, and additional guards kept the crowd of people at bay.

  The courtyard was just outside the castle, and on a normal day it saw no use. Lena knew this, though she’d never been here before. This place…it was where mages and other criminals were executed.

  Her muscles tensed the moment she saw the stained block of stone with a curved, carved out slot where one would put his or her head before the executioner’s axe came down. Her feet dug into the stone below, but the guards escorting her would not let her stop until she was pushed to Cailan’s side. A cold sweat formed on her brow, the collar around her neck choking. But, she decided, at least they were not here for her. The guards would not have let her stand beside Cailan if she was the one to be put to death.

  Still…watching anyone’s execution was the last thing she wanted to do.

  Cailan barely looked at her as she moved beside him. Behind her, one of her escorts elbowed her back and growled out, “Bow to the King.” Lena blinked, shocked, but she made a sloppy bow-slash-curtsey.

  The King’s dark eyes were on the block in the center of the square. It laid at least twenty feet from them, far enough so there would be no blood splatter, but close enough they’d be able to see it happen. They were closer to the stained block than the citizens who’d come to watch were. Close enough they’d be able to hear it happen.

  “Starting your reign with an execution?” Lena asked, trying to make light of a situation that was the opposite of light. This was as heavy as any situation could get, and it would end in someone’s death, whether or not they deserved it.

  And since Cailan was now King, odds were they didn’t.

  Finally, Cailan’s dark eyes glanced at her. There was a different glimmer in his stare, something hidden behind its blackness Lena could not place. “I’m actually beginning it with two. Figure I’ll start with a bang, one these people won’t soon forget.” Though he was flippant and sarcastic as he always was, there was less heart put behind it. He was more serious than his mocking tone would let on.

  Cailan turned to the guard on his left, ordering, “Bring the first one.”

  The guard bowed and went off. Within a few minutes, he’d returned, dragging some poor fool behind him. The man was thin and wore nothing but rags. A sack hung over his head, his hands bound behind his back. He was not someone she knew, Lena was certain.

  But, no. She was wrong.

  The guard brought the man to the block, forcing him to his knees. He would face and look upon Cailan and Lena as the executioner took his life. The guard’s gloved hand yanked the bag off the man’s head, revealing an irate and petulant man who used to be the seneschal.

  Henrik?

  Lena’s brows furrowed, and she glanced between Henrik and Cailan, searching for an answer. She would get none, even after Cailan waved his hand and the guard pulled out the gag that had kept Henrik’s rantings contained.

  She would not shed a tear for him. He’d tried to kill her, all to get back at Cailan. It would’ve been a pointless death for the sake of revenge. But did she want to watch him die? She couldn’t say.

  Cailan got to his feet, standing tall even though he was only an inch or two taller than Lena herself. He lifted both arms, addressing the crowd, “This man has lied to the crown, to your King and your future Queen. He has committed the worst kind of act there is—treason. For this, he will be put to death and his judgement will lie in the hands of Enu.”

  It was a rehearsed speech, and made every nerve in Lena’s body freeze. Cailan did not know he was Henrik, didn’t know he was the true seneschal—but it didn’t make her feel any better about this. This was a sick, depraved, barbaric display of the crown’s force. It was utterly unnecessary. What would they gain from this? The only thing Lena would get from watching Henrik die was a queasiness in her stomach.

  With another wave of his hand, a large, lumbering man in all black walked to the block, his thick, giant-like arms carrying an axe whose edges were bloodstained and jagged. Whatever cut the axehead would make would not be a clean one, though with the muscles he had, it would be swift nonetheless. The executioner was possibly the largest man Lena had ever seen. Maybe not the tallest, but definitely the widest. His biceps were as thick as Lena’s head and his legs were near as wide as her waist. He was a giant.

  “Do you have anything to say for your crimes? Any last words?” Cailan hissed, and though she knew it was all in her head, she could’ve sworn he whispered an added, Henrik.

  Lena swallowed, not wanting to hear whatever Henrik’s last words would be. She did not want to hear him speak at all; she just wanted to get this done with. Her heart sunk in her chest, practically on the ground as she realized something else.

  There would be no escaping from this. She would not make her getaway today. Instead, she would watch a pair of people die.

  The night before, Cailan couldn’t sleep. Something hadn’t been sitting right with him, so he’d wandered the castle, eventually with the intent on visiting his future wife in her room. He didn’t care at the time whether or not it was proper for him to do such a thing; soon enough propriety wouldn’t matter. They would sleep together each night, and do much more than that. Much more than stolen kisses and caresses.

  Cailan couldn’t wait.

  He would figure out what to do with what Hunger had said later. He’d simply wanted to see his future wife.

  And then he’d reached her door. Everything had changed when he’d heard a man’s voice speaking, Lena’s voice proclaiming she didn’t want to wed Cailan. After a few short exchanges, her voice had grown muffled, almost as if she’d been stifled with a kiss. It did not take an overactive imagination to picture what went on in the room.

  Cailan’s will had hardened. His fingers had clenched at his sides as he debated on barging in. She didn’t want to marry him? She’d rather be with some stranger, some fool who had nothing? Whether he was a guard, the man masquerading as Henrik, or some nameless servant didn’t matter. Cailan would not let him have her.

  And if he could not have Lena, no one would. He would make certain of it.

  He hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep all night, busying himself with the next day’s preparations. Lena would know what kind of mistake she made after today, and she would regret her actions. All night, Cailan had scoffed to himself, drowning himself in anger. Pure, undiluted, righteous anger. She refused to be with him in an intimate way and yet had a man in her room at night? What a hypocrite.

  He’d lost all sense for an hour after the discovery. Cailan had stormed back to his room and promptly attacked the mirror, smashing its reflective face into bits with his fist, receiving only a few cuts on his knuckles. Something inside of him had changed, twisted. Hunger would not respond to him, not anymore. Perhaps Cailan’s fury had overpowered the spirit.

  Whatever. It mattered not. The only thing that mattered was Lena learning her lesson.

  And it would be a long, long lesson. A very bloody one.

  Maybe it was because he saw things with new eyes, but when Cailan had the man in the dungeon brought to the block, after watching the guard yank off the sack on his head, he saw the man for who he was. Henrik. Whatever spell had been put on him was gone.

  But it ch
anged nothing.

  So when Henrik shouted, “This is a mistake, my Prince—my King! There has been a terrible misuse of magic to make you believe—” The guard standing behind him gave him a harsh kick to the back, bending him over the maroon stained block. It was too long a last statement, and it was far too late to change Cailan’s mind. As his head was forced down to the grisly block, he pleaded, “This is madness.”

  “It is indeed,” Cailan whispered, slowly raising his hand. The executioner heaved his heavy axe to his shoulder, waiting for him to give the order. All it took was a swift glide of his fingers through the air, and that was that.

  The executioner’s grip on the hilt of his broad axe tightened before he brought the jagged metal down, landing it directly onto the back of Henrik’s neck. Cailan did not watch the axe sever Henrik’s head; he instead turned his eyes to the woman standing beside him, the one he did all of this for.

  As the sounds of skin and bone parting from metal filled the air, Lena flinched, turning her eyes away from the gruesome scene. She pretended to be shocked, pretended to be some delicate thing when she was nothing but a liar.

  Cailan felt his anger grow. He wanted to take his hands and wrap them around her thin neck, stifle her breath and make her beg him for her life. Hmm. Perhaps it could come later. For now—he turned his face back to the execution block—there was one more surprise he had in store for her.

  She was going to love it.

  Henrik’s headless body slumped over the stone, and as soon as the guard removed his foot from his back and stepped away, the body slumped to the side, falling to the ground. His spine and all the bloody nerves and muscle tissue were visible, blood seeping from the grievous wound. His head had fallen directly into the basket situated before the great block, staining its already-stained wicker material with a fresh coat.