Throne Shaker (The Clash and the Heat Book 3)

by Val Saintcrowe

  I squared my shoulders, taking a deep breath. My instinct was to refuse. This wasn’t my war, and I didn’t need to rule the world. I even thought that Remy’s aggressive invasions were likely unwise. He was the one who was always talking about how everyone slept, how everyone could be killed. He’d made enemies all over the land, and for what?

  To feed his ego, that was all.

  I recognized that naked, pointless ambition in him because it had once fueled me. But I’d changed and grown, and he was still the same. He was narrowly focused on his goal. He’d said it himself. It was everything he’d ever wanted.

  The question was whether or not I capitulated to his juvenile, power-hungry desires. If doing so saved my people, then I had to, didn’t I?

  I eyed him. “Rzymn? You could make that happen if I came with you?”

  Remy’s jaw twitched. “That’s still the place where the Order is organized, where all the carales—”

  “I thought you were going to tear down the Order,” I said. “Do you remember telling me that?”

  “Well, the Order has reformed,” he said. “A lot of wretchedness has been scrubbed from it. Tearing everything down… sometimes one has to pick one’s battles. Are you going to refuse me if I say Rzymn is too complicated?”

  “If I say yes?” I said. “How far are you willing to go to win your war?”

  Remy glared at me.

  I lifted my chin.

  “We’re getting nowhere here,” said Guillame quietly. “I don’t know if the two of you are capable of negotiating. I wonder if this might be better facilitated by proxy. I could work with a representative from the court of Islaigne to take messages back and forth between you.”

  “But that back and forth would take forever,” said Remy.

  “Yes,” said Guillame. “The pressure of wanting the negotiations over would make you both more likely to agree with each other.” He cleared his throat. “Furthermore, Your Majesty, if you and I could speak in private before you made any declarations?”

  “Oh, blazes, Dubois, am I king or not?” said Remy. “What do you want to say to me?”

  Guillame looked at me. “Rzymn is out of the question. Name something else, Fleur, and I’ll see if—”

  “You will address me with respect,” I interrupted, giving him a look.

  “My apologies,” said Guillame, and he really did look sorry. “Listen, obviously, this is all very complicated. I am not at my best, and I must insist that we call a recess at least for the time being. Let’s all think about what we’ve discussed and reconvene in the afternoon.”

  “I am under a certain amount of pressure,” I said. “I’ve left my people in a dangerous place, and my cousin Jalal is running my government while I’m gone. He is in a precarious position. Half of our newly built castle was destroyed by an explosion not six months ago. I can’t leave him there indefinitely while we negotiate forever.”

  “Certainly, you can until this afternoon,” said Guillame.

  “Indeed,” said Remy.

  I sighed.

  Remy sighed.

  We both glared at each other.

  GUILLAME

  Guillame strode through the hallways of the castle, annoyed that Fleur had not confided in him about this before dropping it on Remy, because it was going to be so much harder to guide Remy in the proper directions when Remy had already determined he was the king and could do anything he liked.

  Which wasn’t strictly true.

  There was no handing Rzymn over to Islaigne. That simply couldn’t be done. A city of thousands, all displaced from their homes? No, it couldn’t happen.

  He needed to get to Fleur and get her to see reason.

  She was the desperate one, and she would change her mind. Otherwise, Remy was going to get so set on his idea of having her there to put out the fires that he would capitulate to anything and then Guillame was going to be trying to figure out some way to implement the entire idea.

  But when he tried to get into Fleur’s room, he was blocked from entering by Bisset, who told him that she didn’t want to see anyone currently.

  “Well, that defeats the entire purpose of trying to have go-betweens,” said Guillame. “How am I supposed to discuss this with her if she won’t see me?”

  Bisset spread his hands. “I’m just following orders.”

  Guillame knew that no one had agreed to his plan yet, for him to try to facilitate the negotiations, but he wanted to nip all this in the bud, fix it, because he could imagine in blowing out of proportion really easily. He sighed. “I’m sorry to take it out on you, Bisset.” He eyed the other man. “Hey, how are you? And where is Marguerite? Didn’t she come along?”

  “She’s with her nurse, I imagine,” said Bisset.

  “I meant… your Marguerite,” said Guillame.

  Bisset’s lips parted. He didn’t respond.

  Guillame interpreted this as concern. “Is it really that bad in Islaigne? Are the fires so bad that you fear for her safety? I suppose she stayed behind.” He cocked his head. “But there’s a story behind Fleur naming her daughter after Marguerite, I assume. What is that all about?”

  Bisset pressed his lips together. His nostrils flared.

  “I’ve said something wrong.” Guillame furrowed his brow. “Has something happened to Marguerite? Your Marguerite?”

  Bisset gave a short nod.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Guillame looked down at the floor.

  “She was killed,” Bisset said in a low voice.

  Guillame looked up at him. “Killed? By the fires?”

  “No,” said Bisset. “Well, sort of, in a roundabout way, I suppose.”

  Guillame’s lips parted. He didn’t understand, but he didn’t see how he could politely inquire about something so painful. He was quiet instead.

  “Ophelie Lyon,” said Bisset.

  “Fleur’s bodyguard,” said Guillame softly, thinking of the way the woman had ruthlessly killed to take a ship on the docks when they were escaping Dumonte.

  “She was mutated by the living flame,” said Bisset. “And she was insane.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Guillame. He started to reach out and touch Bisset, and then thought better of it and awkwardly lowered his hand. “I… that is, I can’t think of anything more horrible. Someone like Ophelie should not have magic.”

  “Well, she doesn’t anymore,” said Bisset. “And she’s rotting in a dungeon.”

  Guillame furrowed his brow. “What do you mean she doesn’t have magic anymore?”

  “Queen Fleur took it,” said Bisset. “All of it. Snuffed it out in her entirely.”

  “She can do that?” said Guillame.

  “Her magic has grown very strong. It seems that her magic grows as the explosions in Islaigne grow. It rises to meet the challenge, but she never has quite enough. The blaze is always just a bit too strong. You remember there was that prophecy of the queen who would come back and save the country?”

  Guillame nodded.

  “I think she wanted to believe it for a while,” said Bisset. “But when half the castle went up, she started realizing that there was no way her power would ever be enough. She’s reactionary. She can put it out once it starts, but she can’t prevent it. And that’s why we’re here.”

  Guillame nodded again. His mind was churning. He gave Bisset a sympathetic look. “I’m so, so sorry about Marguerite. I… that’s horrible, and I… I don’t even know what to say.”

  Bisset looked away.

  “I…” Guillame shifted on his feet. “On that note, if I’m not getting in to see Fleur, perhaps I’d best take my leave.”

  “Of course,” said Bisset.

  “It’s…” Guillame took a breath. “Quite good to see you again, Bisset.”

  “You as well, Dubois.”

  Guillame said his goodbyes, and then made his way down the hallway, his mind still reeling from this new information. He hurried down the hallways of the castle.

  He must find Remy
immediately.

  When he did, he burst into the king’s chambers.

  “Guess what I’ve just discovered,” said Guillame.

  Remy was pacing in his sitting room, and he barely paid Guillame any mind.

  “She can douse the fire magic in someone permanently,” said Guillame. “She could probably do it to you.”

  Remy stopped moving. He turned to look at Guillame. “What are you saying?”

  “I found out that she did it to someone who’d been mutated by the living flame like you. She cut that person off from the magic entirely. So, she could do it to you. You had best not make her too angry if you don’t want to lose everything.”

  Remy furrowed his brow. “You think she’d do that?”

  “I have no idea,” said Guillame. “But we have to be wary of this negotiation. She is more powerful than she’s disclosing. And you shouldn’t be near her, do you understand? I… we have to cancel the afternoon meeting and regroup. We have to try to figure out—”

  “If she could do that, she could take Cyrille’s magic,” said Remy. “Not just put out his fires, but entirely take him off the board. If she did that, maybe we could get a surrender from the king of Fonte.”

  “She was hesitant to commit to going to put out fires,” said Guillame.

  “She was hesitant to go to war,” said Remy. “This isn’t war. This could be a kidnapping and then a meeting with the king, giving him back his useless firestarter and demanding that he surrender to us.”

  “Don’t do anything,” said Guillame. “Definitely do not agree to give her Rzymn. Don’t talk to her. I need to process this new information. I will come to you before we go forward.”

  Remy didn’t respond.

  “Remy?”

  “What?”

  “Do you agree not to see her?”

  “Are you giving me orders, Dubois?”

  Guillame folded his arms over his chest. “Oh, forget it, then. Do whatever you want. Blazes know, that’s what you always do, and then leave me to pick up the pieces.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “You really want Rzymn?”

  I let out a little cry as I entered my bedchamber.

  Remy was lounging on my bed. He wasn’t wearing a jacket and his shirt was undone at the top, showing a hint of his dusky chest. In the ensuing years since I’d seen him, he seemed to have only grown more attractive. The lines on his face suited him.

  I, on the other hand, didn’t have the same body as I’d had before having a child and breastfeeding. I didn’t care about that, though, of course. I didn’t care what Remy thought of me. I didn’t care if he was attracted to me.

  I was only thinking about it because he was lying on my bed.

  “Blazes, do you really even need to leave Islaigne?”

  “You can’t just sneak into my room,” I told him. “Besides, I thought you were unable to have the afternoon negotiation meeting. Are you suddenly feeling better?”

  “Why are you really here?” He cocked his head at me.

  “You’ll have to leave the room,” I said.

  “I know that before, when you left me the first time, you tried to take all my power. Is that how you want me, Fleur? Stripped of magic?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He studied his fingernails. “I hear that you can take magic from firestarters, take it from them permanently.”

  I furrowed my brow. “I don’t…” Then I remembered Ophelie. “Well, yes, I suppose so. I did do it once, but I was very, very angry and she wasn’t worthy of the living flame. She was dangerous. I had to stop her.”

  “Oh?” He winked at me. “I’m dangerous, too, right?”

  “No,” I said, going over to sit on the bed next to him.

  “Ouch,” he said, but he was grinning.

  “I mean… sure, you’re dangerous,” I said. “You’ve taken over the known world. You’re very powerful. But I didn’t come here to take your magic, or to interfere with you at all. I really do simply need help for my people.”

  He reached out and took my hand. “You can just tell me if that’s what you’re here to do. You don’t have to lie.”

  “I’m not lying. I don’t want your magic anymore. I don’t need it. I was young and stupid before.” I sighed. “The truth is that I wanted to be important. I think… as ridiculous as it sounds, I thought maybe it would make me feel accepted or loved or something, the way I used to feel when I was a little girl, before my life was destroyed. But… that wasn’t what I needed at all. I didn’t need other people to love me, I needed to love other people.”

  He furrowed his brow.

  I clasped my fingers around his hand. “When I put the people of Islaigne first, something in me healed. I watch you, Remy, raging over this last little piece of land and—”

  “Fleur.” He tugged on my hand, pulling me closer to him. “When I think about you taking my magic, I… it doesn’t scare me.”

  “I’m not going to take your magic.”

  “Do you really want Rzymn?” he said.

  “It doesn’t have to be Rzymn,” I said.

  “What about the land where your uncle’s mansion used to be, along the river?” he said. “You wouldn’t be so far from me there.”

  My lips parted.

  He reached up with the fingers that weren’t entwined with mine and touched my cheek. “What if that’s part of the negotiation? What if I say I want you close to me?”

  “Remy…” I swallowed. “You’re married to Coralie.”

  “I never even talk to Coralie,” he said.

  “I didn’t come back for you.”

  His hand slid around the back of my neck, and he urged my face close.

  I shut my eyes.

  Our lips met, and it was dark and crimson and sweet, like a rose garden. Our kiss deepened, and I somehow found myself horizontal on the bed with him, pressed into him, on top of him. I pulled back.

  “Yesterday, you ran away from me,” I murmured.

  “That’s always the smart thing to do when it comes to you,” he agreed. “But when it comes to you, I’m never smart.”

  “I don’t… I don’t know how this works,” I said.

  “Listen, if you can take the magic from someone,” he said, “would you consider taking it from Fonte’s firestarter? It wouldn’t be war. I’d get him to you, and you’d take his magic. And then the war would end.”

  I bit down on my lower lip. “Remy, I don’t know. You’re still dead set on conquering Fonte.”

  “You don’t want me to?” He kissed me. “Why not? What do you care?”

  I tangled my fingers into his hair. “I guess I don’t. It’s your business.”

  He turned us over. Now he was pressed into me, and there was something about the way it felt to be close to him, something sweet and intense. I felt like I was unraveling. “I don’t know if I care,” he said.

  “About what?”

  “About conquering the world.” His lips trailed over my jaw and my neck, leaving shivers in their wake. “I thought it would mean more than it does, you know? I find myself feeling… bored. Hollow. And then you show up, and it’s… whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t leave me again. And if you want me without magic, that sounds like a trade I’d make.”

  I looked into his eyes. “Are you…?”

  He laughed a little. “Don’t tell Dubois I told you any of this. He won’t like it if I’ve completely ruined any leverage we have in negotiations.”

  I kissed him again, and for some time, we were caught up in that kiss, which led to another, as each moment strung into the next, and everything was flushed goodness that worked its way through both of us.

  And then our magic flared, and I wasn’t used to it, and we actually burst into flame.

  I giggled, dousing it.

  We both sat up. He was laughing too.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I forgot that happened.”

  He examined the bed. “You seem
to have put it out before it did damage.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “If it happens again, I’ll be ready. I was very good at putting it out. You remember.”

  “I do,” he said. “It’s funny, though, I hadn’t felt that feeling in such a long time. It’s like, the doors get opened, and I push all the fire into you, all of it’s unleashed. And you can just take it. You can handle anything, everything that I throw at you.” He was kissing me again, more fiercely.

  I put my fingers under the collar of his shirt, feeling the smooth, warm skin of his chest.

  He gasped.

  I started fumbling at his buttons. My heart was beating too fast, and I didn’t know what I was doing. I only knew that being this close to him made me feel things that I hadn’t felt in a long time. I wanted him. I’d always wanted him. But I’d never let myself want him.

  I’d always held something back, because I thought I needed to be hard or strong. I thought I needed to have power over him. I thought my ambition was the most important thing. It wasn’t. I knew that now.

  He reached back and tugged on the back of his shirt, pulling it off with one hand and baring his rippling chest to me.

  I sucked in a noisy breath and I put both of my hands on him, exploring all the places he was knit together. How could his chest be even broader than it used to be? How could he seem even more sculpted? It wasn’t fair that he was more attractive and I was less.

  He was kissing me again, sighing against my lips.

  I was running my fingers over his broad, firm back and thinking that he’d always been open when it came to me, willing to risk everything. Before we’d consummated our marriage, he’d told me that he wanted to try to fall in love with me, and I’d…

  I’d never let him love me.

  If it was true, that what I’d needed to heal was not for someone to love me, but for me to love, then maybe what Remy had needed was to be allowed to love me, to have his love accepted. I’d pushed him away, and he—

  But my thoughts were interrupted, because he was undoing the laces at the front of my gown.