The Fae Queen's Warriors

by Tara West

  Not liking his tone or the way he treated her like a child, she sniffed. She was eighteen, hardly a child. “She’s not important to me.”

  Theron pushed off from the tree. “Your mother says she’s the head priestess of the most affluent temple in Delfi.”

  Couldn’t they see she didn’t want to marry anyone else? Couldn’t they tell she loved them? “I don’t want to be a priestess.”

  Theron’s smile was smug. “Do you know how many young women would love to be in your position?”

  “Now you sound like my mother.” They clearly didn’t care if she married another.

  Theron said, “I don’t mean to, but you’re very lucky to have this opportunity.”

  “What opportunity is that?” She ventured out on a narrow limb, deliberately shaking leaves on their heads. “To be trained like a dog and then sold like cattle to the highest bidder? Would you consider yourself lucky if that was your fate?” How could they patronize her so? Act as if her feelings didn’t matter?

  Scratching the back of his head, Theron shared a quizzical look with Quin. “Well, no, but I’m a man.”

  “Exactly.” She stomped, and more leaves fell. “You’re a man, so you can do whatever you want. Tell me, are there any women defenders?”

  “No.” Quin chuckled. “Our king won’t let women fight in battle. You know that.”

  She wanted to hate him for laughing at her. Instead, she hated herself for ever loving him, for pining over men she couldn’t have. She jabbed a thumb in her chest. “I bet I could slay a dragon.”

  “I wouldn’t bet against you.”

  Quin was mocking her, knowing her fate hung in the balance and not giving a damn. She was about to tell him he was a major dragon’s ass when she heard a loud snap. The limb she was standing on gave way. She screamed and fell into Theron’s arms.

  She looked into his eyes, momentarily dazed. She should thank him for saving her, but she was distracted by sage and sweat and a hard chest. “I don’t want to be a priestess,” she whispered.

  “I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere.

  He set her on her feet, and she saw blood running down his arm. “You’re hurt!”

  He chuckled. “Just a small scratch.”

  He pulled a long piece of wood from the gash. Why wasn’t he making a bigger deal out of this? Was he that impervious to pain?

  Quin laughed. “We injure ourselves all the time. We’re used to it.”

  She ripped a piece of cloth off her lavender tunic, revealing the skin above her ankles.

  “Kyria,” Theron said. “Your mother will scold you for indecency.”

  She gave his bare knees a sharp look. “I’m showing less than you.” She was growing tired of the different standards for men and women. Her mother was always telling her what ladies shouldn’t do, even though she could do those things twice as well as human men, like climbing a tree or throwing a spear.

  “What are you doing?” Quin asked.

  “My uncle taught me this.” Ripping the swath in two, she handed one part to Quin and wrapped the other piece around Theron’s arm, cinching it tight to stop the flow of blood. “That should be enough,” she said to him, then turned to Quin. “I won’t need the rest.”

  He wrapped the fabric around his hand. Did he intend to keep it?

  Theron flashed a lopsided grin and bowed. “Thank you, sprite. How will I ever repay you?”

  She wasn’t so sure she liked the mirth in his tone. Was everything a joke to these brutes?

  She leered at Quin as he stared at her legs. “Get your fill, or should I lift my tunic higher?”

  His jaw dropped, and he looked away. “We should get back to the manor.”

  Tapping her chin, she pretended to be lost in contemplation. “Not yet. Theron owes me a favor for saving his arm.”

  Theron smirked. “I was joking.”

  “Were you?” She forced a sigh. “Too bad I’m taking you at your word.” Hitching up her tunic, she revealed her long, shapely legs. “I would show you more,” she said casually, “but you’ve already seen every inch of my body.” She couldn’t help but laugh at their surprise. “Don’t try to deny it. I saw you watching me bathe in the moonlight.” She’d snuck out for a swim in her favorite pond last night, and she felt their eyes on her while she lathered her breasts with soap. “You didn’t think I saw you behind the bushes, but you forget I have Fae-touched eyesight.”

  Both of their faces turned ashen and they looked at her as if she was a ghost.

  “We were coming from our swim.” Quin wrung the piece of her tunic around his hands. “We didn’t expect to see you. Forgive us.”

  “There is nothing to forgive.” She stepped closer to him, choosing not to tell them she’d snuck to the other end of the pond before her swim and seen their glorious bodies, too.

  “Please don’t tell Alexi,” Theron begged, his pale cheeks flushing red.

  “Or Titus,” Quin added.

  She understood why Alexi would be mad, but Titus? Perhaps he hadn’t told them about their encounter in the bathhouse.

  Moving toward Quin until they were nearly toe to toe, she looked up. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” She looked at them coyly. “Did you like what you saw?”

  Quin paled, stepping back. “You shouldn’t ask us that.”

  She followed him. “Did you?”

  He nearly stumbled over his feet as she backed him up against the concrete fountain in the garden. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known, but you’re off limits to us.” Grabbing her shoulders, he searched her gaze, his voice dropping to a stern whisper. “You know this.”

  “We can’t marry, but what if—”

  He pressed a finger to her lips. “Don’t say it.”

  “But if I lose my virginity, I’m ineligible to be a temple priestess.” She was tempted to bite his finger and wondered what was happening to her. She’d asked them to make love to her, and there was no turning back.

  “You’re talking crazy,” Theron said.

  Kyria sidled up to him. “Please save me from the miserable fate of being forced to wed some nasty old politician. You can both make love to me.”

  Theron gaped at her, then shook his head. “If your parents didn’t kill us, Alexi and Titus would.”

  “I won’t tell who I gave myself to.”

  “They’d know.”

  “We can’t take your virginity. Please don’t’ ask us,” Quin pleaded.

  Great goddess. She had reduced herself to begging for sex from men she could never marry. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m horrible.” Shame washed over her.

  “Please don’t be upset,” Quin begged.

  Prying her hands from her face, he gently kissed her fingertips. Moisture pooled between her thighs when his lips traced to her palms. With a sigh, she sank into his arms, letting him kiss her on the mouth.

  Wrapping her arms around his neck, she opened herself to him, letting his tongue part her lips. He tasted of mint and spice, and his soft lips felt exquisite.

  Theron pulled them apart. “Break it up, you two.”

  She looked forlornly at Quin. The longing in his eyes was enough to make her heart do backflips. She wanted to whisper she loved him.

  “That kiss was even better than the first,” she said. It hadn’t lasted long, but she felt his love pouring into her.

  “You are a savage seductress,” Theron said. “And now that I’ve got hold of you, I’m taking you to your mother.” He tossed her over his shoulder like she was no more than a sack of potatoes.

  “Theron, no! How can you do this, you brute?” She pounded his backside. “I thought you cared about me.”

  “We do,” Theron answered, “which is why we’re not letting you shame yourself.”

  Quin kicked pebbles and avoided her eyes. He refused to fight for her, not that she blamed him. Their love was taboo, and she was stupid for trying to seduce him.

  She slumped over Theron’s back, her l
ong, thick hair nearly dragging the ground. She could’ve fought, but she gave up. She didn’t think there was any shame in sleeping with them. It was unfair that men were not disgraced for visiting brothels. She’d never tell them she loved them, for it would only cause more pain. She wished they weren’t part of Alexi’s unit. Life was so unfair.

  KYRIA ROLLED OVER, blinking at the moonlight shining through the sheer drapes hanging over her bed. Her husband was obviously not going to come to her tonight. She was curled into a big pillow, clutching it as if it was Theron, but her dream had been nothing more than her mind replaying an old memory. She was wed to the king, though her heart still pined for her defenders.

  Chapter Seven

  “GOOD MORNING. DID YOU sleep well?”

  Her husband hovered over her, his smile not quite reaching eyes that had faded from black to charcoal gray. She’d thought only magic could change eye color, and only mages were allowed to practice magic. Perhaps her mind had been playing tricks on her, and they appeared darker at night.

  He eyed her expectantly, and she realized he was awaiting her answer. “I did,” she lied. She’d tossed and turned all night, thinking he’d try to claim his marital rights and fretting about the life water in his chamber. “Thank you. And you?” She couldn’t help the note of accusation in her voice. Even though she’d been relieved he hadn’t come to bed, she was angry he’d sleep with his mage on their wedding night.

  “Not a wink. There was an uprising overnight. My soldiers were able to stop it, but I’m afraid there will be more. I’m sorry I was unable to visit you on our wedding night.” He sat beside her. “You must think me a terrible husband.”

  Rising on her elbows, she observed him as a shaft of sunlight struck his face. She had no idea of his age, but for a moment, she thought she’d noticed new lines at the corners of his eyes. “No, not at all. I understand.”

  Perhaps he was telling the truth. Perhaps Demendia’s suggestion that they were lovers was meant to torment her. She wouldn’t put it past her.

  Stretching, he stifled a yawn. “I’m hoping the people will be more at ease after the coronation, especially when they see my beautiful, brave queen.” The shaft of sunlight faded, and his eyes turned black again.

  “H-hopefully,” she stammered. Heavy clouds blotted out the sun.

  He took her hands in his, and they were as cold as ice. “Could we consider tonight our wedding night? I promise to be a proper husband.”

  “Very well.” She felt as if someone else was speaking for her. She didn’t want to share a marriage bed with him tonight or any other.

  He stood, his movements jerky and stiff. “I will send servants to prepare you for the coronation.” His spine was rigid as he went to the door.

  “My king?” she said, hating the tremor in her voice.

  He stopped without turning around. “Yes.”

  “Was this chamber your father’s?”

  He turned then. “Why?”

  Wilting under the weight of his gaze, she looked away. “I-I just feel odd celebrating our wedding night here.” That was true, but she also had to know if he knew about the life water.

  “My father’s chamber was burned in the revolt. There are no ghosts on this side of the castle. Does that put your pretty little head at ease?”

  Pretty little head? Was that all she was to him? What about all that dragonshit about her bravery? She forced a smile, imagining her words dripping with an equal amount of venom. “I had a visit from Demendia yesterday.”

  His eyes widened, then narrowed, sharpening to fine points. “What did she want?”

  Ohh, she’d touched a nerve. “To see what I looked like and tell me I’ve fallen into a den of dragons,” she said coolly.

  His jaw hardened. “Don’t listen to her. She was my father’s mage. She thinks I’m callus for overthrowing him and refuses to accept that he’d gone mad.”

  Kyria wanted to believe him, but the mage’s words had rung true. “So I haven’t fallen into a dragon’s den?”

  “She’s the only dragon here.” His laughter sounded hollow. “I’m already searching for her replacement. So much harm has been done by him these past few years. So many decrees I have to reverse.” He animatedly waved his hands. “As his closest adviser, she fanned the flames of his madness with dark magic.”

  So many decrees he had to reverse? Did this mean he was going to reverse the ban on life water? Perhaps he’d discovered its magical properties and had no other reason for keeping it other than to research a method of saving the sick. Kyria scolded herself for her foolish hopes. Jade had warned her he was evil, just as she’d warned her he had life water hidden in his wardrobe. What if Jade had been right about everything? Jade had no reason to lie to her, did she?

  “She shouldn’t be allowed to roam the castle,” she said. She had fought a dragon, for goddess’s sake, and she was tired of being afraid of this man. If he was as mad as his father, she would not tolerate being his bride for long.

  “I wanted to throw her in the dungeon, but her magic is too powerful.” His eyes shifted; he was lying. “My goal is to banish her to a temple near Periculi. Let her practice her magic there.”

  “Periculi?” He couldn’t be serious. The mage wouldn’t voluntarily live in such a hostile environment. “She may see it as a punishment and lash out.”

  “You’re probably right.” He rubbed his smooth chin. “Perhaps I should employ you as my advisor.”

  Annoyance heated her veins. He was playing with her. “Perhaps you should.”

  “I have business to attend to.” He crossed to her and kissed her forehead, his lips as cold as the rest of him. “You must allow the servants to ready you for the coronation. I will send for you soon.”

  She bowed her head. “Yes, My King.”

  She would play the subservient queen and do as he commanded... for now. But she would not stop fighting for those who could not fight for themselves. The suffering of Delfi’s downtrodden was at an end. She wasn’t sure yet how she was going to enact such sweeping changes, but she’d be damned if she let her husband get in her way. If he revealed himself to be crazy, she’d slit his throat in his sleep.

  THE CARRIAGE RIDE TO the coronation was awkward. She hadn’t been told Demendia would accompany them, dressed in deep crimson silks, her black eyes focused on Kyria like twin daggers.

  The mage sat beside the king, one hand hanging out the carriage window, the other in her pocket, her knee firmly pressed to his. She batted her eyes at him like a love-struck child, whispering in his ear and laughing.

  Remember the downtrodden, she told herself. You’re putting up with this for Lea and all slaves mistreated under current law.

  Kyria let out a shuddering breath when they passed Kyan’s temple. She peered out the window, craning her neck at the sea of colorful gowns on the balcony. The priestesses frantically waved to her, calling her name. She waved back, her breath hitching when she saw Jade, the only one in a black gown, the only one not smiling or waving. She looked at Kyria with hollow eyes and tear-stained cheeks, goblet in her hand. Just before their carriage turned the corner, Jade poured the wine over the railing and onto the ground.

  Kyria’s heart hammered in her throat as she sat back, eyeing the mage and her husband with suspicion. What were they doing with that life water?

  Tossing back her head, Demendia let out a grating laugh and pointed a crooked finger at Kyria’s chest. “She looks like she’s seen a ghost.”

  The king had the nerve to laugh with her.

  You’re ghosts, Kyria thought. I won’t let your black souls taint me.

  They stopped, and she gazed at the massive concrete monolith, which was bigger than the king’s castle. The coliseum was four stories high, each level including massive arches that dragons could pass under. Those few dragons who’d survived the defender’s swords had gone through there, battling hapless slaves for sport, a barbaric practice she hoped to end forever. Since the king was feuding with the def
enders, he hadn’t received a live dragon in several years. A thought struck her. Maybe the winged dragon had flown in from the sea, which frightened her terribly. What if more winged dragons attacked the city?

  The king held out his arm. “Are you ready, my brave queen?”

  “As I’ll ever be,” she huffed, giving Demendia a coy smile as she prepared to disembark while holding onto the king.

  The mage’s smile thinned, twin storms brewing in her black eyes. Good. Let the bitch’s rage burn. She was Kyria Faustus, and she refused to burn with her. No, she’d be the one setting the fire.

  BUTTERFLIES SWARMED her stomach as they entered the coliseum and went up to the second floor. They walked onto a wide balcony overlooking what looked like all the citizens of Sawran and possibly even the nearby villages. Every space, from the dusty pit below to the upper-most balconies, was filled. The colors were brightest in the second row, where the rich merchants, noblemen, and politicians eyed the king expectantly. They seemed none too pleased about the change of command. Though the old king had been known for being unfair, change disrupted commerce and caused the wealthy to lose income. Besides, the king’s policies rarely affected the privileged.

  The pit was a sea of dull grays and browns—servants and slaves jostling for a spot up front, their skin bronzed or burned from working in the sun, their eyes and mouths drawn with worry. The upper rows were a mixture of middle-class citizens dressed in clean, though faded robes, their disappointment the deepest; the curfew had cost them a day’s wages.

  The king’s steward, a young, gangly man no older than twenty, with pale skin and flame-red hair, stood at the edge of the balcony, his bony knees knocking as he waited for the crowd to settle down. Kyria and the king stood behind him. The king’s personal guard, a broad-shouldered man who looked much like Theron, with dark hair and fair eyes, though his features were more hardened, stood on his other side, slowly scanning the crowd. The king’s mage was in the portico behind them, her crimson hood draped low over her eyes while she mumbled something unintelligible. Kyria prayed she wasn’t hexing her. If she woke with the pox or shriveled tits, she’d know who to blame.