by K. A. Tucker
All three bend at the waist before the one in front announces, “The king has requested Princess Romeria’s presence before the court.”
“Again?” I blurt. I was there yesterday.
“When?” Elisaf asks cordially.
“Now. We were sent to fetch her urgently. Please, come with us.” With another bow and murmur of “Your Highness,” all three spin on their heels, the expectation to follow obvious.
I share a look with Elisaf as we trail them down the hall, my anxiety swelling. That Zander didn’t warn me about this when we spoke this morning sparks my annoyance and my worry. He said himself that he wants to keep me away from the court until I’m better prepared. What has changed? Thoughts of the night Korsakov insisted on seeing me at the warehouse come flooding back, as does the horrifying bloodbath I walked into.
Am I walking into a trap? Has he figured out who or what I am?
Not likely. I school my tone to keep the shake from it, reminding myself that I am playing a role. “What is happening in the throne room today, soldier?” I ask, addressing him as Elisaf did.
“Ybarisans were captured near Eldred Wood, Your Highness. They’ve been taken prisoner and brought before the king for questioning.”
Ybarisan soldiers. That means Princess Romeria’s men. But why does Zander want me there? It’s not like I’ll recognize any of them.
“And the king insisted Princess Romeria attend the session?” Elisaf must have the same thoughts.
“Yes, sir.”
I give Elisaf another questioning look.
My dutiful guard shrugs but then offers me an assured smile, as if to tell me it will be fine.
By the time we reach the long hall to the throne room, my cheeks are burning, my tongue is parched, and sweat builds around my collar and down the center of my back. The grand doors sit open, and a heady buzz of voices carries where before there was pregnant silence. Perhaps the court is normally like that, or perhaps it’s the excitement of their enemy capture.
“Remember who you are,” Elisaf whispers.
“The problem is I remember who they are.” Or rather, what they are. I’m walking into a room full of vampires. Courage from my “you are toxic” mantra isn’t kicking in. Right now, all I want to do is hide.
“They can’t hurt you.”
“They don’t know that.”
“Come on … You’ve already battled a daaknar and won. Where’s that reckless courage Annika boasted about?” Elisaf goads. “You’re the future queen.”
“I don’t want to be the queen,” I hiss, but I lift my chin and steady my breathing, as if I were strolling into a high-society event where I belong. A noticeable hush falls over the crowd as my escort leads me up the center aisle toward the dais without any preamble or announcement.
Zander sits on his throne. Atticus leans into him, whispering something in his ear. That mane of thick, golden-brown hair tumbles back in a wave to frame his riveting face. My pulse skips as it always seems to when I first lay eyes on Zander. It’s annoying that those nerves haven’t settled any. In fact, now that he’s no longer threatening to execute me, I’m quickly losing my fear of him, despite last night’s reveal.
Zander notices me approaching and waves a dismissive hand to his brother before standing. He takes the fifteen steps down with slow, casual ease to meet me at the bottom. Deathly silence falls over the room, as everyone waits for our exchange. I feel like we’re two savage beasts being introduced at a zoo exhibit before an eager audience. The question hangs in the air: Will they attack each other with claws and fangs, or will they mate?
Certainly not the latter.
“Romeria,” Zander murmurs, dipping his head in what I assume is the king’s version of a bow.
We’re doing first names now. “Zander,” I respond with a slight curtsy.
He displays that intoxicating smile that ensnared me the first time, and then holds out his hand, palm up.
You agreed to this. My heart races as I slip my sweaty fingers next to his cool, smooth ones. Would I have, had I known what he was?
Of course, I would have, the same way I agreed to be Korsakov’s chameleon, and how I followed Sofie out of that slaughterhouse and onto a plane. I would have, because it is a means to an end, and I am a survivor.
I remind myself of this as he leads me back up the steps and whispers, “Take your place.” I don’t ask questions. I settle into the smaller throne.
A flurry of murmurs erupts.
Zander sits next to me, and resting his elbow on his throne’s arm between us again holds out his hand, palm up.
I slip my fingers between his. It feels awkward and forced, and yet his touch isn’t unpleasant. I steal a glance his way to find his face smooth and unreadable as he watches me.
I smile, because that is what Princess Romeria would do. We’re acting. This is all an act, albeit a strange and complex one. But the most foreign part of it all may be that I am not on my own, as I have grown accustomed to being for so long. Now, I have a partner in crime.
While the buzz continues in the court, Zander leans over to whisper in my ear, “How was your history lesson this morning?” It’s a decidedly intimate move, his breath grazing my skin.
I know it’s for the sake of a show in front of these people, and yet my pulse stirs at the low timbre of his voice and his proximity. The danger of having him so close to me. I’m safe, though. I am a drink box full of cyanide to him. To everyone here. “Educational, though I have many more questions.”
“Why am I not surprised?” he says dryly, seemingly unaware of my inner turmoil. Then again, I’ve always been good at hiding it.
“How was your morning? Any more guests?”
His lips twitch. “I told you there wouldn’t be for some time.”
I silently chastise myself. I didn’t mean to bring that up again, but my thoughts are scattered, and it was the first one I grasped onto. “What am I doing here? I’m not the queen.”
“No, you are not.” His shrewd gaze rolls over the court’s attendants, still whispering as they watch and wait. “But having you seated on the throne while the Ybarisans are presented to me for questioning and punishment may help our cause.”
“Will they be executed when you’re done?”
“Eventually. Yes.”
An image of pyres flashes in my mind, and my stomach clenches.
He smirks. “I forgot. A queen who doesn’t believe in punishing criminals.”
“Punishing is one thing. Executing is … I don’t know how you can do it.”
“I don’t. I have henchmen for that.”
“Still, you give the command.” Even with Sofie as my own henchwoman, her blade against Tony’s neck, I couldn’t give the order. I’d make a terrible queen in this world.
“We will see what information we can pry out of them first. Find out what they’ve been doing in my lands. Who knows, they might not even survive questioning to make it to an execution.”
“That brings me great comfort,” I say with sarcasm. “I don’t need to do or say anything, right?”
His breath skates across my cheek as he leans in close and whispers, “Besides look especially hateful and not let on that you have no idea who they are? No. It’s best you remain silent.”
“I can handle that.”
“Your mood hasn’t improved much since this morning.”
I sigh, hoping it releases some of this building tension.
“That is quite the choice of attire.” His eyes flicker downward at my dress. “Were you planning on traveling to the mountains of Skatrana today?” There’s a teasing lilt to his tone that is a reprieve to talk of execution.
“Is it cold there?”
“Bitterly so, I’ve heard.”
“Then, yes. Please. Take me there. Actually, I was on my way to my room to set fire to this thing when the guards called for me, so thank you for ruining my plans.”
His chuckle is dark. “I will gladly burn it for you.”
<
br /> “With me still in it?” I throw back. How does his affinity to Malachi’s element work? Could he do that? Set fire to someone’s clothes with a thought?
“Don’t be silly. You’d remove it for me first.” His eyes flash to mine, his words painting an intimate image that makes me blush. “They’re watching our every move,” he whispers in my ear, his thumb stroking across knuckle in a slow drag, followed by another. “You need to relax.”
“I’m trying. It’s just … a lot.” And this is all part of the performance. He’s intentionally flirting with me, saying things to make my cheeks redden and stir my blood, because that’s how people who are enamored with each other might act. That’s how Princess Romeria and Zander acted, by all accounts—foolishly in love. I shouldn’t be shocked by it, and yet my pulse is racing.
Zander is dangerously good at this game.
I take a calming breath as I glance around. I focus on Atticus, exchanging words with Boaz. “Your brother looks so much like Annika.”
“Not surprised. He was born a few minutes before her.”
My eyebrows jump with surprise. “They’re twins?”
“Yes, though Annika tries to forget. The first of their kind to be blessed by the nymphaeum.”
“Do they not get along?”
“Some days more than others.”
Atticus’s gaze flips to us where it lingers a moment. “And what does your brother think of this plan of yours?” Obviously, Atticus is in Zander’s trusted inner circle. He has as much reason to hate Princess Romeria as his siblings do, and if that display in the war room is any indication, he does hate me.
“Careful.” Zander leans in close to my ear again. “Some in the court are proficient at reading lips, after so many years of scheming for power and wealth. I wouldn’t want them to read yours.” His mouth accidentally grazes my skin, and gooseflesh skitters along the nape of my neck in response. Thankfully, he shifts away a touch. “He does not agree with it.”
I stall, suddenly wary of my words. “Why not?”
“He thinks it a waste of time, and that we should deal with our problems with our army. But he is young and still thinks every battle can be won by the stronger force.”
“Ybaris didn’t need an army to do what they did.”
“Exactly. Just a few well-placed and especially convincing enemies, though we were fortunate that he had the sense to camp a battalion outside the gate. It made seizing the Ybarisans and Lord Muirn’s men easier.” He pauses. “Atticus believes I should marry Saoirse, Lord Adley’s daughter. That solidifying a union of Cirilea and Kettling would be enough to quell any uprisings.”
Kettling. “On the southeast side.” I remember seeing that name on the map.
“Yes. A large port city, and an important one. They are second only to Cirilea. They do significant trade with Kier, and they have a substantial population. Before our fathers arranged our union, it was expected I would marry Saoirse. Even I assumed I would, though I wasn’t in any rush. Lord Adley, of course, believes his daughter is the most suitable choice to be the next queen of Islor and is not pleased that a Ybarisan sits up here, especially when we will not be getting any humans or casters out of this arrangement as King Barris promised.”
“Maybe he’s right.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be in such a hurry to become inconsequential to me.” Again, his lips skate across my ear, and I no longer think it is accidental. He’s trying to get a reaction from me. That, or he’s testing me. He pulls away to meet my eyes before shifting his focus to his subjects.
That he casually threatened me again makes my anger flare.
Zander can play this game, but so can I.
Steeling my nerve, I lean in close, pressing myself against his arm and taking a second to inhale the sweet woodsy scent of him. “And yet it seems like I’m becoming more important to you by the minute,” I whisper. “Ferreting out traitors, keeping Neilina’s army away, and avoiding an unsavory marriage?” The truth is, the more I learn about the politics and tension of Islor, the more I sense I am a multipurpose tool.
His chest rises with a deep inhale. “It is true that the situation with Kettling is another reason why this current arrangement between us is beneficial.”
I smile with satisfaction as I pull away and scan the unfamiliar faces below us. There are so many. Is the person who Zander is so certain conspired with Princess Romeria in this room right now? Are they watching me, wondering how I convinced Zander that I was innocent?
Hawkish black eyes grab my attention. It’s the tall, thin woman with the black hair. She’s standing next to a man with matching dark hair and pale skin. Her lips move with quick—likely unfriendly—words. I wish I could read them. When she realizes she has my interest, she lifts her chin and offers a haughty look that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but a challenge.
“Saoirse wouldn’t happen to be in the front row, would she?”
Zander’s mouth curls at the corners. “However did you guess?”
“She is definitely unhappy to see me alive.” And is no happier to see me up here, by the sour look on her face. That explains the weak effort of curtsying that day along the path. This Saoirse has already placed herself above both Annika and Princess Romeria.
“I imagine not. A Ybarisan has stolen her throne, one who, according to many whispers, doesn’t have the sense to rule in Islor.”
“I’ve heard. I was too busy pretending to fall over myself for the future king.”
His lips twist as if he’s bitten into something curdled. I’ve struck a nerve. Zander was falling over himself for Princess Romeria, too, and it wasn’t an act. “Saoirse will be looking for any reason to find you unfit to be Islor’s queen, so she and her father can turn the court in favor of a union with Kettling.”
“I take it they don’t support your views on mortal freedom?”
He falters, his eyes flittering to Elisaf. “No, they do not.”
“And can they do that? Dictate who you marry?” It’s odd to be whispering of conspiracy and treason with an audience, and yet Zander doesn’t seem the least bit wary of doing so. He is the king, though. He does what he wants.
“No. And they will certainly earn my ire for trying, but given the pressure from Neilina in the north and growing strife within Islor, they might see it worthy of the gamble. I need Kettling’s force behind me, not against me. They know that, and they will use it to their advantage. There is no mistaking that Lord Adley wishes to rule Islor. It would be easier to do so with his daughter as queen, but I wouldn’t put it past them to attempt to remove me altogether.”
“Could they be working with the Ybarisans in hiding?”
Zander shakes his head. “He despises your kind. He would never form an alliance with them, but we do believe he is behind this call to arms against me. Covertly, of course. Within the court, he’ll try to sway other lords and ladies to his concerns without being obvious about it, so he may steer their support his way.”
“So, you have more than one enemy to contend with at the moment—is that what you’re saying?”
He smirks. “I’m a king. For every enemy I face, there are ten I cannot name, but they are always there, waiting for an opening.”
“Which one do you focus on?”
“The one that is most dangerous at that given moment.”
I steal another glance Saoirse’s way. Does she know we’re talking about her? She may want me dead, but I’ll bet she knows how to behave as a queen. I could stand to take a few lessons from her. That’s how I’ve always survived—by watching, learning, adapting to my surroundings, blending in. Korsakov was not wrong when he gave me my pet name. “You still can, you know. Marry her. Once you’ve found your traitor and this little charade is over.” I waggle my finger between us, sounding more confident than I feel.
“First you reprimand me for who I bring to my chamber, and now you are choosing a wife for me? This grows more amusing by the moment.”
“Just tryi
ng to help out. At least she’s beautiful.” Like a jagged, snow-topped mountain range primed for an avalanche is beautiful. But more important, she’ll be here long after I’ve found my way out of Islor.
“Saoirse is spiteful, manipulative, and narcissistic. And beauty …” His eyes drift over my features. “Look where that nearly got me before.”
My heart stutters at the compliment, even though I doubt he meant it as such.
Surprise flickers in his expression before he smooths it over. “I wouldn’t be shocked if she’s making plans to have you vacate this throne before your place becomes permanent. I would avoid her at all costs.” His eyes drop to my mouth, and it seems as if he’s going to kiss me, right here in front of everyone.
I inhale sharply.
With the tiniest of smirks, he turns back to the crowd.
It’s all a game to him, and I feel like I’m losing. I lean in again, this time letting my bottom lip graze the skin below Zander’s earlobe. “Who else do I need to know?”
Zander clears his throat. It’s a moment before he ducks his head and responds. “I will go through the entire court with you, but we do not have time for that now. I can point out a few. That man in all black, to your far left? That is Lord Telor.”
I follow his direction and spot a tall, regal man in a ranked soldier’s uniform, his lengthy white hair pulled into a ponytail. He’s talking with a man next to him. “From Lyndel.” I recall that name.
“Correct. You have never met him. He continues to be loyal to my family, and to our cause. He leads the ongoing rift border control.”
“If he’s here, who’s leading his men?”
“His son, Braylon. It would be wise to ensure your smiles to him are as genuine as you can fake. The couple in matching green, standing near him, are Lord and Lady Quill. I awarded them with Innswick after stripping the lands and title from Muirn’s surviving family.”
I eye the youthful-looking pair who beam at me. “I take it they approve of us too?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. But they will never voice a word otherwise, not with the windfall I granted them. Beside them are Lords Sallow and Edevane of Bythesea and Wingsby, respectively. Also considered loyal to me and to my vision of Islor. The man next to Saoirse is her father, Lord Adley. I’ve told you of his motives, so you should not be surprised by anything but the charm he wields. He could talk the robes off a priestess with his slippery tongue, but always assume he has a purpose that suits him. Of them all, he is the most likely to speak out of turn, but he does it with such elegance, it is difficult to chastise him without earning the disapproval of the court.”
