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

by Candace Wondrak

  Though Lena had an inkling as to what it was, she asked, “What is it?”

  Behind Nilsan, the guards drew their swords, pointing their sharp tips at the back of Nilsan’s head. The man on the left said, “Drink it, or she dies, and we leave the body here with you.” It was not spoken maliciously, more like a fact. He was promising to do it if she didn’t drink the vial.

  “No need for that,” Lena said quickly as she uncorked the top of the vial. She met Nilsan’s eyes, wordlessly saying how sorry she was for getting everyone involved in this mess. Truly, anything Lena touched seemed to implode and become an unsalvageable mess. She really hoped Ingrid was far, far away from here.

  Breathing in deeply, she lifted the vial to her lips, pausing for only a moment before downing the contents. The liquid was soft and cold, tingling her throat as it went down. When she exhaled, she saw her own breath come out in a puff of white. Her vision flashed a deep blue, though it only lasted for a few seconds before everything became normal once again.

  As normal as it could get, considering.

  Not letting Nilsan say another word, the guards dragged her away, locking the door behind them. Lena turned to the window, gazing at the reflection peering back at her. She would not move to look at herself in the vanity, not while the wood was stained with blood and the basket of heads sat on its edge. They were starting to smell.

  It was as she suspected—she was a fiery redhead no longer. Her eyes were a deep blue, only a shade or two away from their natural color. Her hair, curly and oily since she had not bathed since the coronation, was as vibrant as the sky. A pretty color, but it was one Cailan had chosen. This was his way of reminding her constantly she was under his thumb, his rule, his castle, and she could do nothing to stop him.

  She would not remain so for long.

  Her fingers tapped the collar around her neck as she again wished for Zyssept. The god knew things, maybe he could tell her what was going on in the castle, whether Ingrid was safe from Cailan’s wrath, and how Lena’s plan of killing Cailan was going to work. Because that’s all she knew: Cailan had to die. She did not know much beyond it, like the how or the when, though she had a general idea. Before their wedding, if the crazy man still intended to wed her, that was.

  If not, then Lena supposed she was just stuck here waiting for him to put her to death next.

  What a fickle ruler the people would think he was, announcing a mage as a bride-to-be and then executing her the week after.

  Lena thought back to Cailan’s words. He’d spoken a lot of I wants. It was almost enough to make her wonder…

  Just as her mind put two and two together—frankly, she’d been beyond stupid for not realizing it sooner, or at least not thinking of the possibility—Lena was no longer alone in her room. Zyssept stood in the corner, materializing from nothing, stepping out of nothing, but whole and here he was.

  His white, windswept hair. The intensity behind his silver, metallic stare. How he carried himself, tall and straight, a deceiving quietness. A clean-cut jawline, a face without any imperfections or sunspots.

  Lena felt the urge to run to him, to hug him, to bury her face in his chest and try to forget the last two days, but she resisted. Her eyes moved to the door, where she knew guards stood just outside.

  Zyssept waved a hand, stepping around her bed, moving closer to her. “They will hear you humming to yourself, nothing more.” Still, his voice was soft, barely a whisper. It sent a chill down her spine for more reasons than one.

  “Unless it’s Cailan,” she told him. “Your…spell, glamor, whatever you want to call it—it doesn’t work on him anymore. He’s…snapped. He—” Lena was about to explain the executions, what he’d said to her afterwards, but the expression on Zyssept’s face stopped her. He gazed at her far too intently for her liking, almost as if…well, perhaps it was stupid, but almost as if she was the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen.

  Now was not the time to be blushing, she knew, but she couldn’t stop the heat from rising to her cheeks.

  “Where were you?” she asked, changing subjects. “I called for you…” Gods, it was not something she wanted to admit aloud. It was almost embarrassing, admitting she crumbled under his presence.

  “I was…not here. I was thinking.” Zyssept’s gaze fell to her mouth, dangerous territory, given what happened last time. “You’ve managed to surprise me, and I needed time to think about the King. Cailan is not alone in his body. He shares it with a spirit. The spirit is what allows him to see past my glamours.”

  Lena bit back her tears at remembering Anne’s execution as she muttered, “Hunger.” Yes, it made sense. He did what he wanted, his inhibitions were lowered. She’d know, and the damned spirit had only tried to touch her mind. The only one who knew exactly how Cailan felt was Vale, and she would not risk seeing him, not with Cailan on high alert.

  “Yes,” Zyssept agreed. “The one who tried to take you. I think, after so many years locked away, Hunger has evolved. Either that, or…”

  “Or what?” she baited him, stepping closer. They were less than an arm’s reach from each other. Too close, yet she did not dare move away.

  “Or Cailan’s mind twisted the spirit.”

  His mind was insanely messed up, Lena had to agree. But to twist a spirit? How was such a thing possible? “Whatever happened, I don’t care. There must be retribution for what he’s done. He executed Anne yesterday morning, threatened Ingrid. He’s a rabid dog who needs to be put down, one way or another.”

  His voice was an urgent whisper, “You want to kill the King?” A smile spread across his lips. It was a grin Lena knew she should not like, but it made her stomach flutter all the same. “My, my. Your hair may change, but you are still as fiery as ever.” As he spoke, his hand lifted to her hair, taking a thick strand between two fingers.

  She decided to pointedly ignore the comment. “He knows you’re not the seneschal. You have to stay away from him. I’ve been trying to think about how to do it, where to do it, but I’m stumped.” It was ridiculously difficult to speak while Zyssept seemed so enraptured by her hair. She thought about snapping her fingers and saying her eyes were up here, but breaking his concentration on her hair seemed rude.

  Stupid.

  “You do not want to make a scene, do not want to harm anyone other than him,” Zyssept spoke, already knowing her feelings.

  Lena nodded once.

  “I will see what I can do, see if I can…present an opportunity, one even Cailan cannot deny. It will have to get you out of this room and back by his side.” He tilted his head, finally withdrawing his fingers from her hair. “Do you have any ideas? Anything that could possibly merit you and Cailan taking some time for yourselves?”

  “No, I…” Lena could not think of a single thing, for before this, she was but a mage. A mage who’d never left the College. She was not accustomed to planning a murder. She might’ve not-so-accidentally murdered her parents, but it was a lifetime ago. She’d changed since then, and even though Cailan deserved it, it was still hard to think about.

  Ending a man’s life. Very final.

  How was she supposed to have any ideas? She’d never even kissed a man before the hunt—

  Lena inhaled sharply. “The hunt,” she whispered. Figuring Zyssept didn’t know, seeing as how the whole Gregain thing happened after, she said, “The old King set up a hunt for the fabled white wyvern in the King’s Gardens. After everything, I’m sure the hunt was canceled.”

  He studied her. “And what would make Cailan agree to such a thing? To go himself, and to bring you along?”

  “No one caught the wyvern, no one saw it.” If they had, the news would’ve been spread like wildfire. “No one but me,” Lena added. “I saw it. I told Jerome, the library aide, that I saw it. I told Gregain I wanted to do my dissertation on it. I have the best chance of anyone to find it again.” Certainly, for the beast had acted as though it liked her, sniffing and purring at her, wordlessly asking her to pe
t it.

  “You think to bait him with the promise of a catch?”

  “You don’t understand. The white wyvern is the catch of the era. Hunters have been searching for it for decades. Wyverns are all but extinct, and a white wyvern? To catch a white wyvern so close to his coronation, Cailan could claim it was fated by the gods, by Enu herself. He would be the envy of all royalty, all lords and nobles. Even the Empress in Sumer would look upon him with envy. Do I think Cailan is so easy to tempt?” Lena felt a smile growing, for this couldn’t have been more perfect. “Yes, I do.”

  The only question was how to do it.

  “Planting the idea in his head,” Zyssept said, “making him believe it was his idea to begin with, will be hard, but I think necessary. I will do what I can.” He took a step back from her, but she reached out to him, startling them both.

  She immediately dropped her hand, cursing herself for doing such a thing. Never, under any circumstances, was doing something like that okay. Lena was asking for trouble, a godly kind of trouble. It was a type of trouble she knew she did not need, yet did it stop her from dancing around the line? No. Not at all. In fact, Lena was fairly sure she’d already crossed the line when she’d asked for Zyssept’s help.

  Maybe this, them—maybe it was inevitable.

  “The others, keep them safe,” Lena whispered. “And when it’s time to go, I want…I want all of you there, but out of sight.”

  “If we are doing this,” he said, “you must be sure. There is no taking it back once the act is done.”

  Lena forced herself to smirk and joke, “I could always raise him from the dead, once this collar is off me—” The way Zyssept was looking at her caused her voice to stumble and halt, her heart to skip a beat or two. Why must he gaze at her so intently? And why must she feel so scrutinized under those silver eyes?

  “Lena,” he whispered her name gently, “I never took anything away from you.”

  She blinked, about to ask what he meant by it, but after blinking, he’d vanished, no longer standing before her. Zyssept was gone. Still, though, his presence lingered, and as she gazed out of her windows, she wondered just what he’d meant by it.

  Gods. They were a pain in the ass, weren’t they? Total enigmas, not to mention persistent sons of bitches. Lena was starting to like him, in spite of herself.

  Damn it.

  Valerius did not like being inside the castle again. For all it had changed, much of it had not. The halls were the same, much of the stonework was the same, the rooms were laid out the same, even though the furniture inside them was much newer and more finely crafted. His memories were alive more often than they weren’t, and he did his best not to think of Midas, his ex-lover and his murderer.

  It was almost impossible to walk the halls without thinking about his past with Midas, though he did his best. He had Lena now, Tamlen and, sort of, Bastian. He had enough in his current life to keep him occupied, but he was starting to spiral now they were not allowed to see her.

  They’d all felt the terror sweeping through Lena the day before, though they could do nothing to stop it and they didn’t know why. And when Lena had willed them to stay away from her and out of Cailan’s sight, they’d wandered past the servant’s quarters, to a set of rooms that looked as though they hadn’t been touched since Midas’s reign. Practically an inch of dust covered everything, and the windows on the wall would not open, the metal latches rusted and unused for the longest time.

  Being cooped up in this room was not so far a stretch from being stuck inside the farmhouse, or the inn’s room before that. Certainly, Valerius and the others hadn’t exactly lived a full life since Lena had risen them. Alas, it was what they had to do, sneezing or not.

  Valerius moved to sit on the edge of one of the unused beds, and as he did so, a cloud of dust seeped into the air. He waved his hand through it, trying to move it away from him. Would they ever have a normal life? Not while they were in this castle, surely. Lena wanted to help others by being queen, but it was nothing if it put her life in constant danger.

  Oh, yes. Valerius knew the masses would not want a mage queen. Even Rivaini’s worst idiot would’ve been able to declare such a thing, so how Lena had thought everything would be fine was beyond him.

  Bastian stood near the door, the paranoia plain on his tan face. The man did not like being here perhaps even more than Valerius didn’t. Though Valerius didn’t know the whole story, he knew enough. Bastian had met a terrible fate here in his first life, much like he had. They were more alike than he wanted to admit. Both hated the castle, loved Lena. Both had runes carved into their flesh, although Bastian’s were smaller and hidden, more precise than the expansive ones instilled onto Valerius.

  Other than their looks, there was one thing that was different, and it was the fact Valerius enjoyed a good cock as much as he enjoyed wrapping Lena’s legs around him. Which was more than fine—Bastian did not need to love Valerius and Tamlen, only Lena.

  They each still wore their armor, having no other clothes to change into. It would have to be rectified soon. Valerius glanced from Bastian to Tamlen, who stood near the windows, frowning. It was his usual expression, darkening his scarred face. He had his arms crossed, a difficult gesture while wearing plate mail, and his lungs heaved a sigh. The stress permeating from Tamlen was almost palpable. Out of the three of them, Tamlen hated being stuck in one place the most.

  Valerius was slow to get to his feet, moving beside Tamlen. Through the dirty, thick glass, he could see the wall separating the castle’s grounds from the rest of Rivaini. Just beyond it lay the city streets, a few peaks of the College’s towers visible.

  “She does not belong with Cailan,” Tamlen muttered.

  Valerius could only nod, for it was true; Lena belonged with them, not the King who was madder than Midas. He did not trust Cailan, not one bit, and especially not with Lena. Zys, on the other hand, he’d trust him with her. The old god was not what he’d anticipated, an utterly different being to what he’d braced himself for.

  “She will make the biggest mistake of her life if she weds him,” Tamlen added, uncharacteristically quiet. Normally he was a loud and boisterous man, his tongue sharp and witty. Today he was oddly somber, serious.

  “I don’t think she will,” Valerius spoke, shooting a glance at the man beside him. “There are other ways to incite change, if it’s truly what she wants.”

  A single dark brow rose on Tamlen’s face. “Such as inciting a revolt?” The words were heavy, insinuating, and immediately he felt like socking the man on the side of his head. The man should not bring up the Grey Revolt, for it was a failed revolt, with its leader dying on the battlefield and its so-called cause orchestrating thousands of deaths.

  No, a revolt was not what Lena needed.

  Valerius found himself shaking his head, biting back his smile, “You were not as great a revolt leader as you believe yourself to be, I think.” Now was not the time to tease him, but there was scant else to do while they waited.

  That got him to turn to face him. Tamlen cocked his head, the gesture sending a lock of his jaggedly-cut hair falling over his forehead. They’d all taken off their helmets; it was easier to breathe without the metal surrounding their heads. Plus, wearing armor on the field was one thing, but wearing it constantly, each and every day was another. It grew tiring.

  “Are you mocking me, Vale?”

  It didn’t seem so long ago when Valerius had hated Tamlen for the shortened name, but now the name was what everyone called him, and it did not bother him. And besides, it sounded much nicer coming from Lena’s mouth than it did his.

  “And if I am?” Valerius baited him. He watched as Tamlen’s dark eyes narrowed, a hundred ideas probably popping into his head before his gaze moved to Bastian.

  “I might have to ask the third party to temporarily leave the room,” Tamlen finished.

  Valerius felt his skin grow hotter, along with some…slight movement in other, lower places. It had f
elt like forever since he’d been with Tamlen, and if there was anything this second life had taught him, it was now or never. Not to wait, for if one waited, one never knew when the end was going to come.

  And it would come. It always did.

  All Valerius said was, “Perhaps you should.”

  Tamlen never once tore his gaze from him as he shouted, “Bastian, give us the room.”

  Bastian mumbled something, tossing them both an exaggerated and annoyed expression, but he left without further complaint or questions. As if it was a secret what the two of them would do once they were alone. It wasn’t a secret; everyone knew. If Lena hadn’t told them it was alright, if she hadn’t encouraged them, Valerius knew he and Tamlen wouldn’t have gotten to this point.

  But the fact remained: she had told them it was alright, and she had encouraged them. The little vixen even grew all hot and bothered when she watched them together. Lena wanted them to be together too, so why bother fighting it? Fortunately, such bridges were long since passed.

  The very second Bastian was gone, Tamlen took on his dominant side as he commanded, “Take off that armor. Take it all off. Don’t stop until you’re standing there wearing nothing.”

  Valerius would be a liar if he said he did not enjoy taking orders. Midas had always dominated him, ordered him around whether it was on the battlefield or in bed, and he was more than willing to do anything asked of him. So he took off his armor, letting the metal plates clank as they fell on the dusty floor. Within a few minutes, he stood there naked, his dick already hard and erect.

  “Help me out of my greaves,” Tamlen said, pointing to his hips, or more likely, his crotch.

  His skin grew cold, and as Valerius focused on unclasping the metal and pulling down the greaves, he did his best not to think about the dust he knelt on. Now was not the time to focus on the dirt surrounding them. It was time, however, to gaze wide-eyed and hungry at the large, thick cock springing forward the moment Tamlen’s underclothes were around his feet.

  A burning fire erupted in his lower gut, a yearning desire—no, a need to put that monster of a cock in his mouth. Valerius reached between his leg, grasping his own length, starting to stroke himself out of habit, but Tamlen’s fingers wove through his hair, clenching tightly.