Enemy's Queen: The Aermian Feuds Book Three

by Frost Kay

  Phoenix strode forward and lifted her chin. “Lying about children is despicable. They’re rare in Scythia and precious. How dare you use them as a way to sway us!”

  “It’s true. Their names are Jade and Ethan and they’re three years old.”

  His lips thinned. “We know you lie. The healer certified your purity after your examination.”

  She jerked her chin out of his hand and glared at him. “They are mine, but they’re not from my womb. Your people attacked my village, killing my brother and his wife, leaving the twins alone in the world except for me. They became mine from that point on.”

  Phoenix dipped his chin. “Apologies.”

  She didn’t want to acknowledge it, but rarely did they apologize for anything. “Accepted.”

  “So, you have children?” Mekhl asked.

  “I do, and I miss them so much. I worry about them constantly.”

  “Why are you just telling us of them now?” Orion demanded.

  She looked from one man to the next. “Because you need to know what your kingdom’s crimes have wrought, and what sort of place and people you expect me to embrace as home.”

  “You will never go back there,” Phoenix said, softly. “Even if it was possible to grant you escape, you wouldn’t survive the trek through the jungle. You barely survived the first time. The best thing you can do is put those children out of your mind. I’m sure your village is taking fine care of them.” Something warmed in his eyes. “I’m sorry for what you suffered, but we can’t change what’s happened. If children are something you want, I’ll give them to you. There would be no greater joy in the world than for me to have my own young.”

  Jasmine choked on her retort as he finished. Phoenix was offering her something that he thought she wanted. He was trying to help, even though it did the opposite. “Could you forget children you’d left alone and helpless?”

  Phoenix glanced to the side, his jaw ticking.

  “With the way you speak of children, I know the answer is no. Please don’t expect me to forget them. They’re everything to me. And, as for your offer, I appreciate it, but the answer is no. I don’t want to bring more children into this world. It’s too dangerous.”

  “If that’s what you wish,” Mekhl murmured.

  All Jasmine’s energy seemed to abandon her, leaving her with a headache and a desire for a nap. “I need to lie down,” she muttered and left the group behind her.

  She climbed onto the bed and stared at the wall. She had too many problems to solve. Maybe life would look a little simpler after a nap.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Sage

  She’d spend the rest of her life chained to the bloody wall.

  She hung against the chains, not caring about her wrists. They were scarred already. What was a little more?

  The warlord had left her strung up for five days. Five days. By day three, she’d pleaded with him to let her down, her arms numb and her legs feeble. The memory of his response still nauseated her.

  He’d kissed her on the temple and cupped her face gently, gazing at her with affection. “This hurts me as much as it hurts you,” he had said. “It kills me to have you tied up like this, but it will be better for us in the end. Soon, you’ll long for my company.” His nose nuzzled at her ear. “To crave my affection.” His hand drifted from her cheek to her pulse beating wildly at the base of her throat. “To beg for my touch.” Another soft kiss against her temple. “To come to grips with what it means to be mine.”

  To her everlasting shame, she’d told him exactly what he wanted to hear.

  But he’d stared right through her with a sad smile. “They don’t sound like how I imagined. One day, though, you’ll mean those words. Until then, we both must suffer.”

  And suffer she did.

  Each day, she submitted to him wiping her down with a cloth, feeding her from his hand, and conversing with her like they had before. Upon waking today, she was filled with a hopelessness she’d never before experienced. Sage wanted to close her eyes and just sleep forever.

  The bathing pool was just in sight, and she had a sudden revelation. She now understood why Ezra had tried to kill her. Somehow, he had seen this coming. In the only way he could, he had tried to save her. Even now, staring at the pool, she wished he had succeeded. That peace Ezra promised? She longed for it and didn’t even have the energy to be ashamed of her thoughts.

  The door banged open, admitting the savior-turned-tormentor.

  His wide, handsome smile should’ve put her on guard, but at this point, she didn’t care what happened.

  “I have news I’m sure you’ll love.”

  She hung her head, tuning him out.

  A finger slipped under her chin and lifted it up. Black eyes met hers. His smile slowly faded as he studied her. Minutes or hours might have passed as he gazed at her face. “It’s done,” he whispered in awe.

  It took her a moment to realize he was smiling at her—not his normal smile, but the smile that made her heart flip and her chest warm. Despite everything that had happened, when he smiled at her like that, it made everything a little better. Shame filled her. Stars above, she was pathetic.

  “It’s time for you to come down, wild one.”

  A slow blink. She couldn’t even rouse herself enough to get excited. What if he was just playing with her, only to snatch away her hope?

  “Send for Maeve,” he commanded.

  The warrior who stood just inside his door spun on his heel and disappeared through the door.

  “Okay, my lovely. It’s time.”

  Zane moved in close and wrapped an arm around her waist. He lifted her, taking all her weight off her wrists and feet.

  Tears sprang to her eyes at the instant relief, and pain swamped her. Her forehead landed on his shoulder as she breathed heavily. A small cry escaped her when he moved her arm from the one manacle and placed it around his neck. Hell, it hurt so bad.

  “I know it hurts, but it will get better. I promise.”

  Her body trembled against his as he removed the chain from the wall and laid her down on the bed. His hands circled her arms and rubbed at them. More tears blurred her vision.

  “It hurts.”

  “Patience. This will help.”

  Sage bit her lip to keep her cries of pain locked away as he worked feeling back into her arms.

  “You sent for me, my lord?”

  The familiar feminine voice had Sage searching for its owner. Maeve was as beautiful as she remembered—and just as disapproving. The woman’s gaze scoured her and rested on the warlord’s back. Something flickered across Maeve’s face, and quick as lightning, disappeared. But Sage had seen it. It was an emotion with which she’d become very well acquainted over the years.

  Hate.

  Sage dropped her eyes to the warlord before the other woman saw the surprise on her face. Maeve had sung the warlord’s praises the last time she’d been here, so what had changed these last few weeks?

  “I need you to have a bath drawn for Sage.”

  Maeve started for the bathing room.

  “Not in there. Bring one for the room.”

  Maeve paused and muttered, “It will be done, my lord.”

  “That’s not necessary, my lord,” Sage whispered, knowing even then Maeve heard the words. “The pool in the bathing room is adequate.”

  When he lifted his head and pushed his hair from his face, she forced herself not to cower. A coldness emanated from him, giving his face cruel lines.

  “You’ll never bathe in that pool again.”

  “Why?” she whispered.

  He reached out a hand and brushed her cheek so softly that his touch could have been a butterfly’s wing. “He almost took you from me. I’ll never forget, and I don’t want reminders. You’ll not bathe in there again.”

  She swallowed and nodded her head in understanding. Some tension in his broad shoulders fell away, and he went back to rubbing her arms. Sage glanced over his head to
the woman staring at her with an unreadable expression.

  “Maeve?”

  “Right away, my lord.”

  Sage stared at the covered window, listening as a tub was brought in and then the hot water, one pail at a time. The window was so close. If she could walk the fifteen paces, it would be within her grasp. But as close as it was, it was plenty far away. She’d never escape through there. Plus, part of her was afraid of opening that curtain. She had no idea what she’d find on the other side.

  A finger traced her brow. She turned to Zane and stared up at him, silently accepting the touch.

  “Are you ready for your bath?”

  “Yes.”

  Even though he’d cleaned her as she hung there, she only felt dirtier. Maybe if she scrubbed hard enough, she could scrub away the last five days.

  He took her hand and helped her slowly sit up the rest of the way.

  “If you’ll give us privacy, I’ll make sure she’s well taken care of,” Maeve said.

  “I’ll stay.” The warlord’s tone left no room for argument.

  Maeve gaped for a second, and then her expression hardened. Even her feet widened like she was getting ready to physically fight an opponent. “It’s not proper, my lord. I assure you, I’ll take the utmost—”

  “No.” His icy tone doused the room. “Do not tell me what’s proper, sister. I’ll not take any chances with her. Now, please do as I command. Help her undress and care for her, but I’ll not leave.”

  Sage swallowed and stared at Maeve over the warlord’s shoulder. She was Zane’s sister? The woman looked ready to retort, but she inhaled deeply and seemed to forgo any further argument.

  “It will be done.”

  “Thank you, Maeve.” He stood and moved toward the pool room. “I’ll give you privacy to change,” he called over his shoulder.

  If she could muster a grain of humor, Sage would’ve snorted at that. The man hadn’t given her privacy in days. He’d been the one to bring her a chamber pot in which to relieve herself, for God’s sake. Sage turned to the Scythian woman, scrutinizing her. She didn’t care for the haughty look Maeve was giving her. It wasn’t her fault she was in this situation.

  “Quit scowling at me and help me up, please.”

  Maeve shook her head and strode to her side. Her nose wrinkled as she got a good look at Sage’s robe. “You stink.”

  She shrugged, not offended in the least. She did stink.

  “Can you walk?”

  “I cannot,” Sage replied without shame.

  Maeve mumbled something under her breath and slipped an arm behind Sage’s back. “I’m not carrying you.”

  Sage nodded and painfully shuffled toward the bath.

  “Place your hands on the tub’s edge, and I’ll help you out of your robe.”

  Sage did as she was told and shivered as the Scythian woman stripped her of the soiled cloth. Maeve sucked in a sharp breath. Sage peeked over her shoulder to catch Maeve looking like she’d bitten into a lemon. Sage ignored her and managed to slip into the tub. A sigh slipped out as warmth caressed her aches. Fingers lifted her hair over the tub’s edge.

  “This will need a good brushing before I can wash it. It’s a mess.”

  Sage’s eyes slowly closed, and she hummed deep in her throat as Maeve began to brush her hair. There was something so soothing about it. In that moment, homesickness slapped her so hard she lost her breath. She wanted her mum, wanted to be hugged and held by someone who loved her.

  She opened her eyes and stiffened. The warlord knelt by the bath, watching her with an intensity that made her gut clench. How long had he been watching her? She crossed an arm across her chest and one to the juncture of her thighs. “Wh-what are you doing?”

  “Watching my consort bathe, as is my right.”

  She shrank deep into the tub, wishing to disappear from his heated gaze.

  “My lord, you’re making my job difficult. No doubt you wanted her to relax during her bath?”

  “Indeed,” he murmured. He smiled, all seduction, and skated his fingertip across the top of one of her breasts. “So beautiful.”

  Everything cried out at the violation. There was nothing she wanted more than to slap his hand away, but she didn’t. She let him touch her. She had to.

  He sighed, and his midnight-black gaze flickered above her head. “I know what you’re alluding to. I’ll leave you, but just know that if anything happens to her, there will be consequences. I’m leaving the door cracked so the guards can listen.” He glanced back at her face. “I’ll see you soon, wild one.” Zane pushed from the floor and glided on silent feet out the door.

  Sage stared at the closed door, wondering if it was a trick. Was he just waiting on the other side for her to get comfortable, so he could lunge back in?

  “You can breathe now,” Maeve murmured, her accent lilting.

  The breath she was holding rushed out in a torrent of air. Her pounding heart didn’t slow, though. How often did he sneak up on her without her knowing?

  “He’s gone now.”

  “What?” Sage asked.

  “The warlord. I can no longer hear him.”

  It unnerved her that she was surrounded by people so much more powerful than she was. Here in Scythia, she was the prey. A shudder worked down her spine at the thought.

  Maeve poured water over Sage’s hair and began to wash it. Minute by minute, Sage’s unease abated. A calm quiet settled over the room, giving her a small sense of safety and comfort.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, while staring blankly at the wall ahead. “I know this isn’t something you’d wish to do, but I appreciate it nonetheless.” After spending days chained, she was sure she couldn’t have washed her own hair even if she’d been given the option, and the idea of the warlord doing it made her sick.

  The fingers in her hair paused. “You’re welcome,” Maeve said gruffly. She finished up with Sage’s hair and moved gracefully around the tub. Holding a rag, she sank to her knees in one fluid movement. “Your wrist, please,” she asked, holding her hand out.

  Sage pulled her hand from the scented water and held her abused flesh out for the Scythian. Maeve’s lips tightened, but other than that, she said nothing. The Scythian woman took painstaking care of her arms, washing the wounds until they were clean. Sage startled when Maeve’s hand clenched against her wrist. Her yip of pain made the Scythian woman loosen her grip, but the glint in her eyes and thin lips spoke of anger. Sage followed her gaze. Ah, her scars.

  “They’re not as bad as they seem,” she murmured.

  “How did you come by them?” Maeve whispered, her tone uncharacteristically soft.

  “A Scythian thought he’d have fun with me.” Her words were slow and lifeless, even to her own ears. “I’m sure you know him.” Sage arched a brow. “You were there when the warlord executed him.”

  Maeve paled, her normally olive skin turning a sickly color. She dropped Sage’s wrist into the water and clutched the side of the tub. “No,” she breathed, anguish on her face.

  Sage’s brow furrowed at the intense reaction. “I’m sorry if he was your friend.” Her brows furrowed when one tear dripped down Maeve’s face. Was he more than a friend? A husband or lover? She searched her mind for something to say to soothe the woman, but she came up with nothing. Rhys was a monster.

  “All of them, were they from—” Maeve stuttered.

  She pitied the woman, but she wouldn’t lie to her. “He personally etched each and every scar into my body himself.”

  Maeve placed a hand on her own stomach and panted. “I had no idea. I—” She shook her head. “How can a little boy grow into such a man?”

  She blinked and tried to make sense of Maeve’s words. A little boy? She hadn’t noticed it before, but Maeve looked familiar. She studied her a moment.

  No, she thought. It couldn’t be possible. The Scythian woman looked hardly older than she and yet... when she thought of it, she couldn’t remember seeing anyone that look
ed older than 30 at the execution or the feast. Could it be possible? She was the warlord’s sister, but the mother of Rhys? That seemed too far-fetched. “Were you his mother?” she whispered.

  “I was,” Maeve whispered back, staring at her neither with malice nor friendliness.

  A thousand questions flashed through Sage’s mind, but only one came out. “How?” she breathed. “You’re too young.”

  Maeve gestured to her face. “I’m older than I look.”

  A product of Scythian tampering? Likely. “Like the Sirenidae?”

  A bitter smile twisted the woman’s lips. “Something like that.”

  Stars above, what kind of creatures did the Scythians create? Panic squeezed her chest. Had they been experimenting with her, too?

  “What has he been giving me?” she demanded, grabbing Maeve’s wrist.

  Maeve’s gaze shuttered. “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t lie to me,” Sage said desperately.

  “I’m not. You think he shares his plan with me just because the same blood runs through our veins?” The Scythian woman shook her head. “You’re still so young and naïve. You’ve no idea what you’re doing.”

  “I’m surviving,” she said simply.

  “No one survives him, child. No one.”

  That she could believe. “And you, how have you survived?” Sage asked. Maeve might be abrasive, but Sage was sure she wasn’t insane like her brother.

  A mirthless laugh burst out of the woman. “I didn’t. I gave up pieces of myself until all that remained was this perfected shell.”

  Sage stared hard at the woman, who stared back evenly. “If that were true, you’d have killed me already.”

  “How do you know I won’t?”

  “You fear him,” she said simply. Maeve’s expression didn’t change much, but the tightening around her eyes betrayed her. “You wouldn’t risk his wrath, not for yourself, but for the ones you love.” Sage leaned her chin against the tub, never taking her gaze from the Scythian woman. “You have shown me kindness.”

  Maeve scoffed.

  “You can pretend all you want, but I see the good you try to hide under your rough persona. You’re kind to me in spite of everything. I’m not Scythian, your brother wants me, and…” She paused and continued in a soft voice, “I’m the cause of your son’s death… I’m sorry for it.” It wasn’t his death she was sorry for, but that it caused this woman pain. No parent should ever have a child die before them, let alone witness it.