by Bec McMaster
I blink.
“What?”
“The Prince of Evernight agreed to a truce over the territories of Mistmere after that unfortunate clash near the border, but it has come at a price.”
I feel the edges of the world sucking at me. “What price?”
“There are to be hostages, to prove our good faith. His cousin is to be exchanged tonight, for you.”
The jaws of the trap spring shut. I shouldn’t have trusted her sweet smile, her gentle touch.
“You bartered me away? Like a fucking trinket?”
The queen’s eyes narrow. “Watch your tone, daughter.”
Rage fills me, but it’s tempered with the quicksilver flash of fear. All these years I’ve been wary of her temper, but this is…. How do I…?
“It’s only for three months,” she continues, as if I’ve accepted it.
The prince could do anything to me in the space of three months. If he thinks my mother killed his wife, then I daresay I’m to be a proxy for his vengeance.
“Is this punishment?” The words erupt from my mouth. “For failing to kill that bane? It was just a hesitation, Mother. Andraste stole the kill. It won’t happen again.”
“What hesitation?”
Andraste didn’t tell her?
The queen’s face tightens imperceptibly, and her hands come to rest upon my shoulders. The tip of each of her fingers is covered in a silver claw, the points pressing into my collarbone. Thin chains connect them to the gauntlets around her wrist. It’s nothing more than a focus for her powers—not that many know that—but the effect is also eerily threatening.
She doesn’t say a word.
She doesn’t have to.
“Andraste was faster than I,” I say swiftly, to cover my misstep. “I thought she’d told you.”
“The bane is of little consequence.”
I square my shoulders. “Why worry about a ferocious beast when you’re throwing me to the wolves?”
“You are not to be harmed.”
“Of course not. Am I to be his whore instead?”
She arches a brow at my tone. “You are to be his political hostage, Iskvien. Make whatever bargains you need to, to keep yourself safe. But remember…, his cousin will be in my hands.”
And any harm that befalls me will be returned in kind.
“Forgive me, Mother, if such a concept brings me little peace. They say the prince betrayed his queen and murdered her sons. I daresay he’ll not hesitate to consider his cousin to be an acceptable loss if he can strike a blow upon you.”
“You disappoint me, daughter. I offer you an opportunity, and you throw it in my face.”
This is another one of her challenges. Prove yourself, she’s telling me. Show me you have the strength and wit to survive.
“What opportunity?”
“There is a way you could serve your queen while you are there.” My mother unsheathes the dagger at her belt and places it on the vanity in front of me.
Star-forged steel. No trueborn fae can wield the iron that lies on this world, but this knife was forged from the heart of a fallen comet, and its iron came from beyond the stars.
As long as I don’t touch the blade itself, I can use it.
For a second, I see his blood splashed across the marble tiles of his palace, the knife planted between his shoulder blades. An end to the monstrous lord of the Evernight court, and freedom for those Asturians who’ve been imprisoned in the war camps. No more fighting. No more endless wars. No more scheming and politicking.
But murder, just the same.
“No,” I say abruptly. “I’m no assassin.”
Adaia leans down, her face resting on my shoulder and her gaze meeting mine in the mirror. “Perhaps not. But he’d never expect it. Not from you, with your soft heart and those pretty eyes. And perhaps you should consider your people. The Kingdom of Asturia has been at war with Evernight for centuries. Whilst this treaty sparks a fragile truce, it doesn’t mean anything. We could end this war with a single strike. We would own Mistmere, perhaps more….”
I push away from her, the hem of my silk wrap brushing against my calves. “Murder, Mother. I’m the first person they’ll point the finger at. Who do you think they’ll blame? If I kill the prince, then his people will execute me immediately, and their armies will rise against you.”
“Not if it’s self-defense,” she points out.
So now I’m to frame an assassination as an assault by the prince.
“Thiago has no heir,” she continues. “Without him, his generals will fight for control of his armies. It will be chaos, and I will crush them.”
I notice she doesn’t address the part where I lose my head.
“Take the dagger.”
It’s not a suggestion.
I pick it up, feeling the weight of it. Accepting it doesn’t mean I have to go through with anything.
“I’ll consider it.” I catch a glimpse of my mother’s dangerous smile in the reflection as the queen backs away. It wouldn’t surprise me if she made this bargain with this end in mind.
“You have an hour. Get dressed and meet us in the courtyard. We ride for the Hallow. Wear the red.”
Then she’s gone.
Leaving me trembling.
I can’t believe she gave me no warning. Or maybe that was deliberate: With a hint of what was to come, I might have been able to flee or outmaneuver this treaty. Now, I don’t have a choice. The stamp of the guard’s feet as they settle outside my door is jarringly loud, and my mother expects me in the courtyard within an hour.
This isn’t merely hesitating to strike a killing blow against a monster.
This is politics, and she will brook no refusal.
But who would I rather face? My mother or a volatile, dangerous prince who might think me a plaything?
My resolve firms. If he thinks he’s getting a trinket to toy with, then he had best think again.
The prince of the Kingdom of Evernight is Unseelie to his bones, despite the fact he claims to be Seelie. I can’t afford to show him even a hint of my weak underbelly.
And curse my mother, but I’ll be damned to the Underworld if I’ll let her think me her puppet.
I fling the wardrobe open, both the red and the white gowns tumbling in a frothy mess to the floor. Inside the wardrobe, right at the back, is the dress.
It’s like a piece of pure midnight was carved from the sky, diamond stars glittering down its silken length. I don’t know what urged me to have it made. Mother’s right: vibrant colors suit me best. And yet, I’d been unable to think of anything else the moment I saw the material.
Red would be a sign of groveling.
The white is probably what she intended me to wear all along.
But this…. Time to show her I refuse to bow to her whims. This princess has claws. And she’s not afraid to use them.
* * *
CONTINUE READING
Also by Bec McMaster
DARK COURT RISING
Promise of Darkness
Crown of Darkness (coming 2020)
Curse of Darkness (coming 2021)
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LEGENDS OF THE STORM SERIES
Heart Of Fire
Storm of Desire
Clash of Storms
Storm of Fury (coming 2019)
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COURT OF DREAMS SAGA
Thief of Dreams
Thief of Shadows (coming)
Thief of Souls (coming)
* * *
LONDON STEAMPUNK SERIES
Kiss Of Steel
Heart Of Iron
My Lady Quicksilver
Forged By Desire
Of Silk And Steam
Novellas in same series:
Tarnished Knight
The Clockwork Menace
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LONDON STEAMPUNK: THE BLUE BLOOD CONSPIRACY
Mission: Improper
The Mech Who Loved Me
You Only Love Twice
Dukes Are Forever
* * *
DARK ARTS SERIES
Shadowbound
Hexbound
Soulbound
* * *
BURNED LANDS SERIES
Nobody's Hero
The Last True Hero
The Hero Within
* * *
SHORT STORIES
The Many Lives Of Hadley Monroe
Burn Bright
About the Author
BEC MCMASTER is a writer, a dreamer, and a travel addict. If she’s not sitting in front of the computer, she’s probably plotting her next overseas trip, and hopes to see the whole world, whether it’s by paper, plane, or imagination.
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Bec grew up on a steady diet of ’80s fantasy movies like Ladyhawke, Labyrinth, and The Princess Bride, and loves creating epic, fantasy-based romances with heroes and heroines who must defeat all the odds to have their HEA. She lives in Australia with her very own hero, where she can be found creating fantasy-fueled worlds, where even the darkest hero can find love.
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Read more at www.becmcmaster.com