by Tara West
The young steward waved his hands in an attempt to silence the crowd, but they were uneasy, giving the king looks that could melt iron. The steward turned to the king with a helpless look in his eyes.
The king’s personal guard stepped forward, pushed the steward out of the way with a grunt, his back so broad, Kyria felt as if a wall had been erected between her and the crowd. “Silence!” he boomed, his voice ricocheting across the coliseum.
An eerie hush fell about the crowd as they gaped at the giant. The king, smiling confidently, released her arm and stepped forward, standing beside the guard.
His frightened steward took his place beside her, sweat dripping down his wide forehead. She had no words of comfort to offer him, though she did pity the poor boy. Even a fool could see if he continued to act like a coward, he wouldn’t last long in his position.
The king raised both hands, arms open as if he intended to hug the crowd. “Citizens, I know you have been troubled since my father’s assassination, and I do not blame you for your mistrust. Many in my father’s inner circle will attest he was going mad.
The crowd began to murmur, looking at the king as if he was a venomous serpent preparing to strike.
“As much as it pained me to take the life of my father, it had to be done. He was planning to execute the Priestesses of Kyan.”
A wave of gasps rose, growing like a rogue tidal wave aiming for the shore. She felt their disbelief in the marrow of her bones and wondered if their mistrust was warranted. What if the old king hadn’t ordered the priestesses to be slaughtered? What if the new king had simply wanted the crown? When the king’s guard raised a hand, the crowd hushed.
“One of those priestesses had already captured my heart, and I couldn’t let her be killed by my crazy father.” He held out a hand to Kyria.
She went to him, a mixture of trepidation and relief flooding her veins when he pulled her close. Did his outward affection mean he had no feelings for Demendia?
“Let me present to you your queen, formerly Lady Kyria Faustus, twin sister to our nation’s hero, Captain Alexi Faustus, niece to the Dragon Defenders’ general, Anton Faustus, and the brave priestess who single-handedly took on the mighty leviathan who breached our city walls.”
She was awestruck when their murmurs turned to cheers so loud, the sound filled her skull like a thousand rainstorms crashing down on her head. These were her people now. She must do right by them.
“Wave,” he whispered, his words clipped and rough, like the loud snapping of twigs.
He dug his fingers into her shoulder until her flesh ached. Their loud hollers and hoots multiplied.
It took a while for their cheers to die down, and only then did the king release her.
“Our fair and compassionate Queen Milas will oversee our country’s judicial system and temples, and together we will work to end this bitter feud with the defenders.”
Their cheers were so loud, they were almost deafening.
Kyria could hardly believe what she was hearing. When the servant hadn’t returned with the list of judges, she had assumed her husband wouldn’t keep his word. She smiled at him as relief flooded through her. Perhaps she’d been wrong to doubt him.
When the people chanted, “All hail the queen,” a renewed sense of purpose set fire to her veins. Clearing her throat, she prepared to address the crowd, though she had no idea what to say.
Suddenly the king turned to Kyria with a snarl. “Go back!”
She was jerked back into the shadows by the king’s guard. “Stay here, out of the way.”
“I don’t care how big you are,” she said, hands curling into fists. “Touch me again, and I’ll flatten you.”
He had the nerve to laugh as he returned to the king. Behind her, Demendia’s low, dark chuckle was like a thousand tiny splinters burrowing into her skin. Anger flushing her cheeks, she crossed her arms and glared at the king. His steward began the coronation. Clearly her husband didn’t want to share his glory.
It was then she realized what a sham her wedding was. She was a tool to be used by the king, nothing more. If that’s the kind of marriage he wanted, so be it. She’d use him, too. She’d force him to keep his word and give her the courts, and then she’d enact radical changes. If he didn’t like it, he could go to hell, along with his mistress.
Chapter Eight
KYRIA WAS MORE RELIEVED than disappointed when, once again, the king was not in his bedchamber. She prayed he’d gone to Demendia’s bed and would let her sleep in peace. Her stomach roiled at the thought of having to share a marriage bed with him. After sending for her things, she found her pearl-handled blade tucked away in a hidden pocket of one of her gowns. She slipped the blade beneath her pillow, wondering if she’d have the courage to use it should her husband prove to be a mad man.
Yawning, she sank into the cool, smooth sheets of his soft mattress. She wouldn’t mind sleeping in his comfortable bed every night, so long as he stayed away. She was afraid to close her eyes, for fear of what he’d do to her, or worse, what Demendia would do to her if she was caught unaware. Hopefully, if the king found her sleeping, he’d leave her alone. Despite her best efforts to stay awake, her eyelids were heavy, her heartbeat a dull thud. The events of the past few days had robbed her of a decent night’s sleep, and she finally surrendered to her fatigue.
She dreamt about that night Alexi’s unit had shown up at her parents’ doorstep with his shield. She’d known they were coming, for she’d heard Alexi’s terrified scream in her head a few days before. She and Alexi had never told her parents about their telepathic connection, so she couldn’t tell them he was dead. She’d fallen to her knees, hysterically crying, and they’d tried to soothe her.
Judging by his terrified screams, Alexi had suffered a violent death. When his brothers-in-arms, dressed in black and wearing black smudges on their cheeks, handed her father Alexi’s shield, it had been the most soul-crushing moment in her life. All they had to give her parents was that shield. There had been no body, not even a drop of blood. Fanfir, steam billowing from his wide nostrils and fanged jowls, had swallowed Alexi whole.
Surprisingly, it was Titus who’d held her the longest, soothed her the most. After the shock wore off, they’d found an alcove tucked away in her parents’ large manor. She’d folded herself on his lap, closing up like an oyster, her head resting on his broad chest, tears trailing down his ebony skin. He’d soaked her hair with his tears as they wordlessly clung to one another for what felt like hours.
He took her face in his large hands, the silver flecks around his irises resembling thunderbolts. “Wake up, sprite. The king is trying to kill you.”
His face morphed and distorted like dispersing clouds. “What?” There was no king. It was her and Titus, sharing a tender moment alone, a moment that she never wanted to end.
“Wake, my love, and fight.” He squeezed her head so hard it hurt. “Do not let him extinguish your flame.”
Jarred awake, her eyes flew open. Her husband’s hands were wrapped around her throat. The putrid stench of his hot, rancid breath made her stomach turn over as he panted in her face like a wounded dragon.
“Such large luminous eyes, so striking, so ethereal.” He tightened his hold. “I’m sure you can see a great distance with those eyes.”
Though her mind whirled with a thousand crazed thoughts, one stood out. He knew about her Fae blood.
“No more than anyone else,” she rasped, trying desperately to pry his fingers off her.
“Really?” His upper lip pulled back in a feral snarl. His hand slid down her breast to her stomach, stopping when he reached the top of her thigh. “Your legs are so long and lean. There are very few women built like you. Human women.”
Oh, yes, he knew. All moisture evaporated from her mouth. Her throat burned from his fingers digging into her flesh, crushing her windpipe.
“Tell me.” He arched a thin brow, his eyes blacker than an inkwell. “Why did witnesses say they saw you j
ump to the ground from a two-story wall to fight the dragon?” Releasing her, he sat back on his heels, examining her with a vacuous look in his eyes that made her think she was staring at a corpse.
She sat up and pushed away from him. Bracing herself against the headboard, she touched her sore neck, keeping a wary eye on him. He wore a hooked dagger on his belt big enough to gut a boar. “I-I didn’t. I climbed down the rope ladder.” It was hard to speak, and she wished for a drink of cool water. She slipped her hand beneath the pillow, dismayed when her brother’s blade was not there.
His eyes narrowed. “My guards said they saw your friend throw down the ladder while they were fighting the dragon.”
He’d already suspected she had Fae blood and yet he’d married her?
“They were mistaken,” she lied.
He jerked out his knife and fell on top of her with surprising force, pressing the blade to her throat. “Such a beautiful neck, like the stem of a flower. I wonder if it would snap as easily.”
Her survival instinct roared to life, and she practiced one of the many moves her uncle had taught her, slapping his wrist so hard with the side of her hand that the blade flew out of his grip and clanked on the floor. “Get your hands off me.” Jumping to her feet, she crouched low and snatched a lamp off the nightstand, waving it in his direction, the hot tallow nearly sloshing on the bed.
“Feisty.” He threw back his head with a laugh before casually slipping off the bed and picking up his blade. “I would expect no less from the sister of our nation’s hero. A shame how he died.” He tossed the knife from hand to hand, acting as if he hadn’t just tried to strangle his bride. “His prowess was matched by no human. He could jump over the heads of soldiers in battle. None of my warriors could best him.” He gave her a pointed look, his black eyes reflecting the soul within. “Strange how it took the world’s fiercest dragon to bring him down.”
“You wish you could be as brave as him,” she snarled. “He gave his life for this country.” Her heart felt as if it were splitting open all over again as memories of her fallen brother’s screams ricocheted in her head. “For you!” she cried, not bothering to mask her disgust. Raising the lamp, she prepared to defend herself.
He waved the blade in her face like a cobra preparing to strike. “It’s my right to take you, as your husband and your king,” he said, his lips twisted as if he’d just sucked on a sour lemon, “but I won’t spill my seed into a Fae whore. I won’t kill you, either, so you need not fear. I’d have a mutiny on my hands if I murdered our hero’s sister, Fae blood or not.”
She wanted to pretend his cruel words didn’t sting, but they did, deeply, as if he’d thrust the knife through her heart. “Then why’d you marry me?”
He licked his lips, eyeing her as if she was made of ambrosia. “Because I have plans for you.”
Her blood turned to ice. “W-what plans?” she asked, fearing his answer.
He turned up his chin, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. “You will help me take down the Dragon Defenders.”
And there it was, what she’d been too foolish to see all along and why Jade had begged her not to marry him. But he was the fool if he thought she’d harm the men she loved. “And if I refuse?”
“I will behead your precious slave child.”
She clutched her throat, her world spinning. “You’re a monster.”
He answered with a sinister chuckle. “And your parents and your lesbian lover.”
Her head swelled with rage. “I hate you!” With a primal roar, she threw the lamp at his head.
He ducked but not before the lamp clipped the side of his head, gashing his ear and spilling hot oil down his shirt. When he wiped the blood with a snarl, her world came to a slow, thudding halt. His blood was black, like his eyes. What in ten hells was he?
He removed a small glass vial from behind his breastplate, dabbed a drop on his finger, then smeared it across his ear. The cut instantly healed, leaving behind a smattering of crusty, black blood. “The feeling is reciprocated tenfold.”
“Leave me alone!” she screeched like a dragon who’d had a spear thrust through her heart, her chest feeling as if it would implode from anger and fright.
“Don’t worry, I don’t intend on sharing a bed with you tonight, but I’m not sending you to the defenders inexperienced. One of my guards will be in shortly. You are to do as he says.”
A low, menacing growl escaped her. “I will cut off his dick and shove it down his throat.”
“Jade. That is your lover’s name, isn’t it?” He loomed so close she could feel the frigid chill of his aura blotting out all warmth. “I’ve already sent my guards to pay you both a visit before. Perhaps I’ll send them back to her.” Lurching forward, he gripped her cheeks between his hands. “You won’t best me, my lovely queen. Tonight you may sleep in my chamber. We have to make our marriage look legitimate. Tomorrow I will have the staff burn your foul Fae stench off the sheets and then you will move back to your quarters until I’m ready to send you on your mission.” He released her with a shove. “Goodnight,” he said and strolled out of his bedchamber.
Numb from shock, she gaped at the door as it closed behind him. Icy dread crept up her spine when she heard muffled male voices arguing in the hall. She strained to hear what they were saying, but even with her Fae-touched senses, she couldn’t discern their words.
How had her world come to this? And why was her husband’s blood black? She tried to remember what she’d been told about Fae life water. Like piecing together memories from a fuzzy dream, her mother’s words replayed in her mind. One drop heals you, three drops will kill you, but two drops extend time.
That last part was the missing piece. Now she understood. Jade had warned her the prince had overthrown the king in the exact same way before, that the prince was just like his father. Flavia and Albina had said the prince looked exactly like the king. There had never been a prince. Just one mad king kept alive with life water, faking his overthrow and death every few decades to hide the fact that he never aged. Well, his charade would soon come to an end. She couldn’t get to the water he kept behind his breastplate, but she could drain the barrel in his wardrobe. He would pay for threatening her loved ones. Once he ran out of life water, he’d die.
THE VOICES OUTSIDE grew louder, and Kyria raced to the balcony, disheartened when she saw at least a dozen guards standing below. She ran back inside and frantically searched for a weapon. The supper dishes had been cleared, and there were no weapons other than the lamp. She needed something sharp, a way to slice flesh.
She heard their words now. They fought over who got to rape her. She distinctly recognized one voice as belonging to the one-eyed guard who’d threatened her and Jade. The other one sounded like her husband’s personal guard, the goliath who’d silenced the crowd at his coronation. They were formidable foes, but let them come. She’d make sure they regretted trying to rape her.
She smashed the lamp against the mirror over her husband’s dresser and picked up a large shard, then wrapped a hand towel around it and returned to the bed. The door opened.
She stood in the defensive pose her uncle had taught her, makeshift blade ready. Her heart hammered when her husband’s personal guard strode toward her, built like an ox and even bigger than she remembered. At any other time she would’ve considered him handsome, with eyes as blue as the summer sky and hair the color of a raven’s wing. But he was not handsome to her now, and he’d be even less so after she sliced open his face.
She raised her blade. “You touch me and I cut off your dick and shove it down your throat.”
“Relax, Your Highness.” He held out both hands in a defensive gesture as he walked up to her slowly. “I’m not going to rape you.” There was no mistaking the pity reflecting in his eyes. It had to be a ruse.
She backed up when he reached the foot of the bed. “Then leave.”
“I can’t.” He sighed and reached for a bedpost.
“Why not?” she s
aid, preparing to lunge.
“Because the king expects me to rape you.” He rattled the post and the bed shook.
What the hell was he doing? “I’m not giving myself to you either.”
“I know. I need you to scream, but not too loud.” He nodded toward one of the many fluffy pillows on the bed. “Cover your face with a pillow and yell into it.”
She gaped at him as if he’d grown a second head.
“Do it,” he commanded. “Before the king sends in someone else.”
Not needing to be told twice, she screamed into a pillow while he violently shook the bed. She continued to scream, and he shook the bed harder and harder. When he let out a loud groan and stopped shaking, she stopped yelling. The bellowing had been therapeutic. She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed to release negative energy.
“He told me to take you twice,” he whispered. “He wants you broken in before he sends you to the defenders.”
“He’s a monster.”
“Yes, but we must play his game for now.” He pulled a flask from under his breastplate and held it out to her. “Take this.”
She arched back. “What is it?”
“Pig’s blood.” He grimaced. “You have to put some on your thighs, then tear your dress, mess up your hair, and bite your lip until you draw blood.”
Still holding the mirror shard, she snatched the flask from him, then quickly drew back. “Why are you doing this?” She opened the flask and was hit with the strong scent of old blood. Shoving back the covers, she poured some on the sheet, unsure how much she should use. Then she followed the rest of his instruction, wincing when she bit her lip.
“He’s sending you to the defenders tomorrow. You must tell your uncle everything, even about the winged dragon.”
Her gaze snapped to him. Was this giant truly on her side? “He will kill my family and Lea if I fail to get them to call off their rebellion.”
