Enemy's Queen: The Aermian Feuds Book Three

by Frost Kay

  Listening intently, she kept her eyes closed and her breathing even. She forced herself to stay calm and to not move a muscle. A Scythian assassin would be stronger and faster, and she was virtually blind in the dark. She needed to keep still and lure the assassin toward her. It was a risk, but at least if the intruder was close, she could attack first and catch them by surprise; then maybe she’d have a chance.

  Blessedly, the pain in her head was gone, so she could really focus. One breath, two breaths, three breaths, and there it was. The scent of mint. She snapped her arms out, clutching a shirt, and jerked with all her strength, throwing the assassin over her head. With speed she didn’t know she still possessed, Sage rolled onto her knees and threw a knee over the intruder. She grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked back, holding her dagger’s tip to the assassin’s throat.

  “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now?”

  “Because I’m your brother, and I love you.”

  She stilled and let the dagger fall from her hand. “Sam?”

  “And I’m much too handsome to die so young.”

  Sage scrambled backward, across the bed, her eyes darting across the darkness, seeing nothing. “You can’t be here,” she whispered urgently. If the warlord found him here, he’d kill Jasmine without thought and perhaps slaughter the entire Aermian delegation. She jumped from the bed and skirted around the furniture by memory to get to the window, pulling it back so just a touch of moonlight entered the room.

  Sam sat on her bed, watching her.

  “I’ve missed you.”

  Those were the last words she expected to hear. She both cherished and loathed them. He stood and held his arms out. Sage was ready to step into them but, thinking better of it, halted after only a pace.

  His brows furrowed, and he snuck a glance toward the door. “You’re right. We don’t have time for a reunion right now.” He stalked on silent feet to a trapdoor beneath the rug in front of the fire. “Let’s go.”

  She swallowed hard and clenched her fists. Every part of her wanted to go with him, to just leave this place and the horrid memories, but she couldn’t leave Jasmine. And even if that was not an issue, the warlord was too cautious. If Sam was here, it had to be by design.

  “No,” she whispered.

  Sam froze and flew back to her side. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

  “No,” she said, watching emotions ripple across his face. Sam rarely let his emotions show. Sam clasped her cheeks in his palms and his eyes darted between hers. He dropped his hands and wrapped his arms around her in a fierce hug. “I don’t know what he’s done, or what you’ve had to do to survive, but none of that matters. All that matters is going home to your family and friends who love you. Don’t you want that?”

  More than he knew, but he hadn’t had to live like she did. “I won’t go with you.”

  His embrace loosened and slowly, he released her and stepped back; this time, his spymaster’s mask was in place. He reached a hand out and fingered her gauzy robe. “What is he holding over you?”

  She slapped his hand away, stared him in the eye, and lied. “Nothing that concerns you, my lord. Now, please leave.”

  “I’m not leaving until you explain yourself.” He gestured to her state of dress.

  She slid a glance to the closed doors and back to Sam, shame coloring her cheeks. “I owe you nothing.”

  Sam cursed, his jaw clenching. “You owe the kingdom everything, and the warlord nothing.”

  “I owe him much. He saved my life and has taken care of me.” The words tasted like ash on her tongue, partly because part of her believed that.

  “He’s using you.”

  “No more than the rebellion or the Crown did. Now, leave.” Before the warlord stormed inside.

  His face was a stone mask. “We can’t protect you from him if you don’t leave with me, right now.”

  A sad smile touched her lips. “No one can protect themselves from him.” Her words lingered in the air as Sam stared at her in silence. After a moment, he turned on his heel and snuck back to the trapdoor.

  He glanced over his shoulder, the moonlight turning his hair silver. “You’re playing a dangerous game. One that could destroy you.” He smiled carelessly, pulling the trapdoor down. “Be seeing you soon, sis.”

  Her heart dropped to her feet as he disappeared down the dark hole, the trapdoor closing soundlessly. She fell to her knees, the pain so acute she couldn’t breathe.

  She’d let her chance to escape slip away. Sage allowed herself a moment to mourn and then pulled herself to her feet. Wallowing served no purpose, and she needed to calm herself before the warlord arrived. She needed to have a clear head when he arrived. Muddled thoughts led to poor choices in words, and bad decisions.

  Sage stoked the fireplace and slid the rug over the trapdoor Sam escaped through. Not that it would make a difference. Zane was almost impossible to hide things from. She wilted into a chair and picked at her robe, pondering if she should change or not. The warlord would smell Sam on her like a bloody animal. There was no hiding his visit. She might as well just wait.

  Two hours passed before the warlord sauntered into the room, closing the door behind him. Sage ignored his entrance, staring into the flames as he moved to stand across from her.

  “How are you feeling, Sage?”

  “Better,” she said, still not looking in his direction.

  The crackle of the fire filled the silence that descended between them. Not companionable or comfortable silence, but the kind that is brewing with tension and unsaid words.

  “I’m proud of you, consort. You’ve done well.”

  She glanced at him, her face schooled. “Why are you proud?”

  He glided toward her, all Scythian grace, and cupped her upturned face. “You didn’t betray me.”

  Her suspicions were confirmed. “You knew he’d break in.”

  “I did.”

  She scanned his unearthly face and reached up to pull his hand from her face. “Why?”

  “I needed to know where your loyalties lay.” A breathtaking smile burst across his face. “I needed to know who you belonged to.”

  “I belong to myself.”

  “No,” he breathed, leaning closer. She could smell the wine on his breath. “I own you.”

  She shot to her feet and rounded the chair, putting it between them. “You made me lie to my family.”

  The warlord chuckled. “Your family? That boy isn’t your family.”

  “Do you even know the meaning of family?” she spat.

  His face soured. “Family means nothing.”

  “I understand that after what you did to Rhys.” Sage snapped her mouth shut, not able to take the words back.

  “There are consequences for betrayal. Family is no exclusion.”

  “What made you like this?” she whispered.

  “A sick old man and a twisted woman.”

  He sprang and grabbed her around the throat. Her hands pried at his as he lifted her and pushed her against a low dresser, the wooden top biting into the back of her thighs. He forced himself into the cradle of her thighs and met her gaze.

  “You’re a reminder of what’s wrong in the world.”

  Sage gasped when the warlord squeezed the collar, the thorns digging into her skin. He released his grip slightly, so she could pull in a breath.

  His gaze scanned her face, softening slightly. “And yet, you’re all that’s good.”

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered.

  The warlord’s chuckle chilled her. “You wouldn’t. No one could understand the deranged old man’s obsession with perfection or his covetousness of things that didn’t belong to him.”

  “Who was he?” Sage ventured, trying to keep him talking.

  His dark eyes emptied of all emotion. “My father.”

  She swallowed hard at the way he stared right through her.

  “Everything was flawed in his mind, except for a Nagalian be
auty he managed to steal and take as his wife. She was his prize, his goddess. She became pregnant. He anticipated the birth of his son—surely, he’d be as flawless as his mother! But the son was born resembling himself, and looked nothing like his goddess. So, the experimenting began.” His empty black gaze focused on her. “Now, his mother had always hated the boy. He was a symbol of all that she had lost, all that was taken. But as the boy aged, he changed and grew into a striking figure, one who had no equal, except for his mother. And she took notice.”

  Her stomach sank. She hoped he wasn’t saying what she thought he was saying.

  The warlord smirked. “She couldn’t help herself. It was only reasonable she’d be attracted to him. He wasn’t really her son anymore, or so she told herself and the boy.”

  She thought she might throw up.

  “He didn’t know it was unnatural until his sister told him. Shame battered him every time she touched him, and he reacted, but his mother consoled him with logic. They were family. Naturally, they would love each other.”

  “Oh, Zane,” she breathed, nausea threatening to overwhelm her. “I’m so sorry.”

  He jerked, his hand tightening around her neck briefly. “For what?”

  “For your pain.”

  Anger darkened his face. “I don’t need your pity.”

  “It’s not pity. It’s sympathy.”

  He leaned closer, his eyes darting between her eyes. “I can see that.”

  “What happened to your family?” She needed to know.

  “They died, all but his beloved sister who protected him when no one else would.”

  “Maeve?”

  “So smart,” he murmured and trailed a hand down her bleeding neck. “Remember this, wild one, science doesn’t lie or manipulate. It is truth.” His hand skimmed down to her belly and caressed it. “But it does have consequences. Even I couldn’t anticipate how it would affect our women and their birth rate.”

  Oh God. The room swirled around her in a kaleidoscope of color. All the pregnant women at the execution flashed through her mind. When are you due? Bile burned her throat.

  “You look so much like her,” he whispered, still staring at her flat belly. “This time, it will be different.”

  His mother. Sage swallowed, trying not to gag. “I’m sorry,” she choked out.

  “It was long before your birth.”

  “How long?” she ventured to ask, terrified of the answer.

  “Since the purge.”

  The room spun. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible, but as Sage stared at the warlord, his dark, knowing gaze searched her face. The beautiful monster in front of her was far more dangerous than she ever realized. How was it possible for a man to live that long?

  “Why?” she croaked. “Why would you do such a thing? All those people.”

  “They wouldn’t let me cleanse them.” His gaze traveled to her neck. “You’re bleeding,” he said, as if he’d just noticed the damage he’d caused.

  She wanted to scream when he plucked her from the dresser and carried her to the bed. Her skin crawled at his touch. Sage panted hard as she tried to sort through her emotions. She’d been sleeping with the most notorious war criminal her land had ever seen. She’d let him touch her skin. Every part of her felt defiled.

  The warlord uncorked a vial, poured it into a cup, and held it out to her. She stared at the cup and weighed her options. Did she drink it to appease the creature of death and darkness before her? Or did she fight an ancient monster who had once been human? Her gaze lifted to the warlord’s, and what she saw there killed her. Not only could she see the monster, but she could also see the abused little boy.

  “No.”

  His hand clenched on the cup, cracking it.

  Sage shoved all the emotions down and reached out, touching the warlord’s trembling hand. “I’m not something to be fixed, Zane.” He stilled at her use of his name. She lifted her other hand to her throat. “You did this. It’s not fair for you to erase it like it never happened.”

  “Life’s never been fair, consort.”

  “True, you and I both know that.” As much as she loathed to admit it, they had something in common. They were survivors. She pushed his hand down and dug deep for her bravery. Slowly, she rolled up onto her knees, so they were at the same eye-level, and cupped both his cheeks. “I’m sorry for what you’ve suffered,” she whispered. “Truly, I am, but that doesn’t condone what you’ve done.” He began pulling away from her, but she tightened her hold and lied. “But I will help you change.”

  “Change is impossible for me.”

  She agreed. But she said, “Change is never impossible. And I will help you.”

  He pulled her hands from his face and rubbed his thumb along her cheekbone. “Wild one, you may look like her, but you are nothing like her. She was sick and selfish. You are honorable and kind.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’ll call for Maeve and have her see to your wounds.”

  Sage nodded, trying not to puke. As soon as he closed the door, she ran for the railing and released all the contents of her belly. Tears streamed down her face. How could everything go so wrong? A knock had her swiping at her tears and turning to the door.

  Maeve opened the door and paused when she caught sight of her. She carefully closed the door and strode to the balcony, carrying a basket. Her cinnamon gaze swept across Sage’s face and neck, and her lips pulled down. “Come with me, child.”

  Sage followed Maeve back into the room, all her emotions raw.

  Maeve pulled her to a chair and knelt before her.

  She swallowed hard and turned to stare at the fire as the Scythian woman cleaned her wounds.

  “Where else does it hurt?”

  She pointed to her hips. “He grabbed me.”

  Maeve brushed aside the robe and hissed.

  Sage glanced down at the angry purple bruises already forming.

  “What did you do?” Maeve muttered.

  “What did I do?” she hissed. “This is clearly your brother’s doing.”

  “Well, you must have set him off.”

  “Because I look like your mother?”

  Maeve jerked. “What?”

  “You heard me,” Sage whispered. “How can you want your daughter to return to this? How?”

  “I can protect her here.”

  “Can you?” She stared straight into Maeve’s eyes. “Can you protect Blaise from him?”

  Silence.

  “He’s more dangerous to her than anything else she could possibly encounter.”

  “What do you expect me to do? Leave her as a prisoner in Aermia?”

  “No.” Sage clasped the woman’s hands. “I will protect her. I could keep her away from here, keep her safe.”

  Maeve scoffed. “You can’t even protect yourself.”

  “If you help Jasmine, Blaise, and I escape, I can.”

  Time seemed to stand still as the Scythian woman stared at her, thinking. After a moment, she glanced at the door and then back to Sage. “You want me to betray him, then?”

  “I’ve seen the emotions you keep hidden from him. Don’t lie to yourself or to me. He may be your blood, but we both know he’s more a monster than a man, a murderer.”

  Maeve pulled in a breath and squeezed Sage’s hand, something shifting in her eyes. Sage didn’t know how she hadn’t before noted the ancient wisdom in the woman’s eyes. “Can you promise me you will do everything in your power to keep my daughter from here? And to keep her safe with you, wherever you go?”

  “I will,” Sage vowed.

  “Then I will retrieve your friend and Blaise…and I will help you escape. I can’t promise you will live, but you won’t die by his hand, and you’ll be free.”

  Hope fluttered in her chest for the first time in a long time. Sage leaned forward and kissed both of Maeve’s cheeks.

  The Scythian woman stood and smiled down at Sage. “Thank you.”

  She grabbed Maeve’s hand before she left.
“Will you be okay?”

  Maeve’s smile turned dark. “Zane’s not the only one who’s been around a long time. Don’t worry about me, child. All will be well. Prepare yourself, for the journey will be both difficult and dangerous.”

  She stood and strode to the balcony, filled with nervous energy as she anticipated what was to come. Gazing at the fires of the army burning in the distance, she took a calming breath. Soon.

  Soon, she’d escape this hell.

  Soon, she’d be home.

  And soon, she’d be hunted by an ancient master hunter.

  Soon couldn’t come fast enough.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Tehl

  Tehl swirled the pungent amber liquid in his cup, mulling over the day’s events. It had gone smoother than expected. Part of him wondered if the warlord really did want peace, though. The talks seemed legitimate, but then again, it could have been well-orchestrated play-acting to cover the warlord’s true agenda.

  He threw back the contents of his drink, his eyes watering as the spirits burned the back of his throat and warmed his belly. Dinner had been another horrid affair, both groups merely staring at each other, occasional whispers echoing in the giant room. More upsetting than their people’s inability to communicate was the empty seat beside him.

  In the past, it had been difficult to control his emotions, but manageable. But when Sage didn’t show up for dinner, he had to employ every trick he knew to keep his feelings locked away. Panic was the first one to grab hold of him, then helplessness. Luckily, Gavriel had asked after Sage, leaving Tehl time to compose himself and pulling the warlord’s attention elsewhere.

  He frowned into his empty glass. Even when the Scythian leader wasn’t watching him directly, the warlord seemed very aware of everything Tehl did. What almost tipped him over the edge wasn’t the fact that Sage didn’t come to dinner, but the way the enemy referred to his wife. It was intimate, and Tehl hated it, hated how he didn’t know if it was the truth or simply a means by which to manipulate him. His hand tightened on the cup. It was probably both.