Enemy's Queen

by Frost Kay

  Heat suffused her cheeks. He was always affectionate, but this was something more, something she couldn’t give.

  She broke the moment and looked away, trying to ignore the way his stare seemed to burn into the top of her head. Sage startled when his fingers wound through her hair. “What are you doing?” she asked, watching him in the mirror.

  One side of his mouth quirked up. “Fixing your hair?”

  “You?” She arched a brow.

  “I had sisters.”

  “I didn’t know.” She didn’t know much about his family. He kept that to himself, mostly.

  “They died a long time ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She sensed the conversation was over, so she closed her eyes as his hands worked through her hair. There was nothing better than having someone play with her hair. She stayed quiet and prepared herself for what lay ahead.

  Death, that’s what lay ahead.

  “Open your eyes.”

  She peeked at the mirror and was pleasantly surprised by what he’d created. Her hair was braided back from each temple, forming ropes, and twined behind her head like a crown. She turned her neck and smiled at how the rest of her hair tumbled down her back. It was simple but beautiful. “Thank you.”

  His grin reached his almond-shaped eyes when he held a finger up. “That’s not all.” He turned and opened the parcel and pulled out a crown.

  Her eyes widened. Its base was black metal, shaped into roses and thorns. Rubies and obsidians sparkled, catching the light. He settled the heavy crown on her head, and placed his hands on her shoulders.

  “Do you like it?”

  “It’s beautiful, and deadly,” she remarked in awe. “But it’s too much.”

  “It’s not enough, wild one. I had it made just for you. It shows your two sides.”

  She swallowed back her emotions and twisted around to peer up into his inky gaze. “It’s stunning.”

  “It’s not the crown, it’s the wearer.”

  Warmth infused her at his compliment, but it quickly cooled. She wasn’t going to a ball, she was attending an execution. How she looked was inconsequential. Sage dipped her chin. “I’ll wear it proudly.”

  He offered her an arm and she took it, her dress rustling gently as she moved. At Zane’s sharp breath, she looked at him with raised brows.

  He blatantly eyed her figure, his eyes roving first up and then back down. “Beauty, where you lead, I shall follow.”

  She tried to figure out what to say to that. “Thank you for the dress and crown,” she said lamely. Her breath stuttered when his burning gaze met hers.

  His eyelashes lowered, shuttering his eyes. “My pleasure.”

  Zane swept her from the room and she blinked hard, her eyes watering at the brightness of the hallway. Warriors snapped to attention and bowed deeply as they passed by. Sage tried not to shrink away from their lingering stares.

  “They’re just curious,” Zane said, under his breath. “You’re unusual.”

  She snorted, finding that somewhat amusing, and she felt some of the tension drain from her body. She continued with Zane down what seemed like an endless stone hallway until they finally veered into a luxurious room. She froze when she caught sight of the creatures which came to greet them. Two black felines slunk from their pillows and rubbed against the warlord and herself.

  “Breathe,” Zane soothed. “They’ll not hurt you.”

  She released her breath, never taking her eyes from the golden-eyed beasts brushing against her. Her hand clenched in her skirt as one pushed its nose up to her fist.

  “She only wants a good scratch.”

  Her fist clenched tighter. Zane moved behind her and smoothed a hand along her arm and down to her fist, prying her hand from her skirt. He entwined their fingers and placed both their hands on the feline’s head. A loud rumbling erupted from the beast, making Sage jump.

  “She’s just happy. She’s purring.”

  Sage pressed her back into his chest and marveled at how soft the feline’s coat was. “What are their names?”

  “Nege and Nali.”

  “Beautiful.”

  Zane pulled his hand from hers, and moved to stand before her. He jerked his chin at the door behind him. “Through that door is my throne.” He let that sink in. “Once we leave this room, I’m no longer Zane to you, but ‘my lord.’ Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  He scanned her face. “This is just a formality. Nothing can make me look weak in front of my people. We can’t be familiar.”

  “I understand.” It was an execution. It was to be solemn.

  “I will prompt you through everything you need to do.”

  Panic clawed at her throat. “What will I need to do?”

  “Nothing much. You’ll basically sit next to me the entire time.”

  “You’ll warn me when it’s time?”

  He stepped closer and ran his fingers along her face. “You won’t have to watch. Are you prepared to see him again?”

  She swallowed. “Yes.”

  “You’ll be a spectacle to my people. Prepare yourself for the gawking.”

  She nodded. “I’m ready.”

  He scrutinized her, and she watched as he slipped into the role of leader. He was a warlord once again. It disturbed her. He looked the same, and yet everything about him was colder. She took his offered elbow, and clenched her dress in her right hand as both felines flanked them. The immense door caused her to shiver.

  Beyond it lay a people who hated her and a traitor.

  Beyond it lay death.

  Seventeen

  Sage

  The door opened, and she barely managed to keep a tranquil expression in place. The door led to the warlord’s dais, but that wasn’t the most disconcerting thing. It was the thousands of eyes upon them. She’d never felt so naked in her entire life.

  He led her around his throne to a small, but equally ornate, wooden chair. He guided her to sit, and gasps reverberated through the crowd. Did she do something uncouth? Sage glanced at Zane for assurance. With his back to the crowd, he allowed a ghost of a smile to cross his face, but it quickly disappeared. Her momentary panic faded until he moved over to stand in front his own throne. Then it came surging back.

  Suddenly, she was staring at the vast crowd. Every eye was on her, and not in a friendly way. She forced a sense of calmness she didn’t feel. She was Sage Blackwell and she had been through much in her lifetime. She could do this.

  The warlord stood in front of his throne with Nege and Nali sitting regally on either side of him, looking for all the world like a warrior god who’d come to prey on humanity. “Let it commence.”

  A door opened, and a group of warriors dragged out Ezra. The crowd booed and threw food. Sage barely kept her mask in place at the sight of him. His pale white skin was covered with dried blood and bruises, his face so swollen he could only crack one of his magenta eyes. It was as though he felt her stare, for his eye found hers and stayed upon her. She was shocked to see neither anger nor sorrow, but pity in his face. Did he pity her? Why?

  Her breath hissed out of her, and she opened her mouth to object to Ezra’s treatment when she felt Zane’s large hand settle over hers. Ezra, too, took note of the action, and his gaze slid to the warlord, his expression so filled with hate that it felt like a punch to her gut. Why did he hate his friend? He was the one who committed a crime.

  Something was wrong. What was she missing? She shifted uncomfortably beside the warlord when he pressed closer, and Nali pushed against her skirts, rubbing against her knee. She glanced to the feline and back to Ezra, her heart pounding. None of this felt right.

  “How do you plead for the crimes of which you have been accused, Ezra of the Sirenidae?”

  Ezra stared straight at the warlord. “Guilty.”

  She swallowed hard.

  “Do you have any last words?”

  “No one lives forever. Your time will come.” He turned to S
age. “But until then, don’t be blind, be smart.”

  Her brows slanted together. It was a warning, but what was he talking about? And why? “Ezra…” she began.

  “Enough,” the warlord cut her off. “It’s time.”

  Her throat tightened when Ezra’s sad eyes met hers, and he mouthed a single word: Sorry.

  “Proceed.” Zane motioned with a bored gesture to a warrior with a large sword.

  The man stepped forward and forced Ezra to his knees.

  “This isn’t right,” Sage whispered.

  “She should be the one to end his life,” a man piped up from the crowd. “It is our law!”

  Others cried out their agreement.

  Sage stiffened. What?

  The warlord stilled, and the room seemed to cool. “You wish to challenge me?”

  A behemoth of a man stepped to the front of the crowd and dropped to his knees. “I’ve no desire to challenge you. The woman is not from here and does not know our laws. If she is to understand what it is to be Scythian, it does not make sense to coddle her, my lord.”

  “And that is for you to decide?”

  The warlord’s tone made her want to hide underneath her seat, and, wisely, the man stayed silent and shook his head.

  Zane’s boot entered her vision, and he lifted her chin with gentle fingers. “I’m inclined to agree with him. It is our custom.”

  “You would like me to do what, my lord?” she asked calmly.

  “In our land, the victim exacts justice for the crime.” He released her chin and gestured for her to stand.

  Sage stood on wooden legs and placed one hand on Nali’s head. Zane held a hand out toward the warrior, who strode to them and knelt, holding the sword up. The warlord plucked it from the warrior’s hands and held it out to Sage.

  “My lady…”

  She stared at it like one would a poisonous snake. Did he expect her to pick up the sword and cut Ezra down? He knew her better than that. But when she looked into his black gaze, it held no friendship, no emotion, and it eerily reminded her of the look she often saw in Rhys’ eyes. But it had to be her imagination; they weren’t at all alike…were they? She shuddered at the idea, but her thoughts were interrupted when Zane prompted her, “Take it, my lady.”

  With trembling fingers, she carefully pulled the large sword from his hands, but much to her surprise, it took everything she had to keep the sword steady in her hands. She gritted her teeth. How had she lost so much strength in such a little time? A babe was no doubt stronger than she!

  Zane swept his arm out, pulling her attention back to him. “After you.”

  Her legs weak, she barely managed not to stumble as she approached Ezra, halting before him with the large sword swaying slightly, as her arms strained. The Sirenidae was a shadow of what he used to be. As he looked up, his eyes seemed to plead with her, but she hadn’t a clue what for.

  Zane raised his voice above the din of the crowd. “As our laws command, it will be done.”

  Sage’s jaw clenched. She couldn’t do this. It was wrong.

  “I can’t do this.”

  “You have to,” the warlord whispered in her ear, his warm breath tickling her neck.

  Her stomach rolled. “You misunderstand me. When I say I can’t, I mean I won’t.”

  “You must, Sage. You have no other choice. This is the first step to securing peace, to prevent more death. This is why the crown prince wants you here, for us to work together. To do that, my people need to accept you and see that you understand them. We need them to see that we are not so different as they think.”

  But they were different, she and Zane. She’d never executed a man, nor forced someone to watch their friend die. It was unthinkable to her, yet here Zane was, calmly demanding she do so. Was one man’s life worth the countless deaths of others if she refused? Was her taking of Ezra’s life worth a chance at peace?

  She stared at Ezra kneeling before her. Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them fall. Now was not the time for tears. She hefted the sword and held it to Ezra’s neck, wavering slightly. None of this was right. She didn’t know why Ezra had done what he’d done, but she was sure he was not so terrible he deserved the death to which he’d been sentenced. Yet could she really let this chance to end hundreds of years of hate and prejudice pass by, merely because of her personal feelings?

  “Do it quickly. Right at the base of the throat. He won’t experience any pain that way,” the warlord coaxed her. “The worst is almost over.”

  A tear fell from her eye and rolled down her cheek. The worst is almost over? What a ridiculous statement. She’d be tormented with the memory and guilt of this long after this single moment, and she would deserve that torment. This was wrong. Was there a way to escape this choice without inciting a riot—or worse, a war?

  “It’s okay, Sage,” Ezra whispered. He leaned closer to the blade, the sword kissing his neck, his eyes understanding, his voice forgiving. “It’s okay.”

  It was his forgiveness which undid her.

  She simply would not do something which violated her moral code, and it was wrong of him to try to force her. She would do her utmost to secure peace, but not at the price the warlord was asking. The cost was too great. Peace gained by murder was no peace and she would not give up another part of herself to appease someone else.

  Throwing her shoulders back, she stood taller and smiled at Ezra. “I’ll not do it,” she said loud enough only for Zane and Ezra to hear.

  Her brows furrowed as her words wrought a range of emotions skittering across Ezra’s face, which she found difficult to interpret, but very quickly, they disappeared. His eyes met hers and she was surprised to see a determined look in them. She had just begun to pull away the sword when the Sirenidae did something that would haunt her until she died; he smiled sadly and brought himself down onto her blade.

  A cry stuck in her throat. She was paralyzed as he fell to the ground, crimson staining the white floor. Numbly, she let go the sword, allowing it to fall from her fingers and clatter to the stone floor.

  “No,” she breathed. She tried to drop to her knees to help him somehow, but a large hand kept her from doing so. “No!”

  “Calm yourself before you ruin everything,” Zane commanded, steel in his voice.

  The Sirenidae writhed for a moment, then stilled. He was there one moment and gone the next. A dull roar filled her ears, and her knees threatened to buckle.

  “Look away.”

  For the life of her, she wanted to, but she couldn’t. The world took on a dream-like quality, and everything blurred around the edges.

  He’d killed himself. Her chest heaved. Ezra had taken his own life.

  “Why?” she whispered. Why would he do such a thing? She lifted her hands and stared at her shaking palms. What had she done?

  Vaguely, she was aware of Zane leading her from Ezra’s body and toward the dais. She craned her neck and watched as the warriors collected the Sirenidae’s limp form. It wasn’t right. He should have still been there.

  “You’ve done well, love. You’ve secured peace.”

  She slowly spun to the warlord, his praise turning her heart cold. “If it was done, it was by no action of mine,” she replied woodenly.

  “But the people believe it was, and that’s all that matters.” He smiled.

  Sage looked past him to the Scythian crowd and realized that the thundering in her ears was actually cheering. Bile burned the back of her throat. How could they be applauding death? It was disgusting. Somehow, she ended up on her chair next to the warlord’s throne. She blinked at how Zane’s olive hand held her creamy one. Both different, but both stained by death. Chills erupted over her arms, but she didn’t bother to rub at them. The sea of celebrating people warped into swirling colors, Ezra’s beautiful magenta eye blank at the forefront of her mind.

  A tug on her hand turned her attention to the man at her side. Zane gave her a searching look. “I’m sorry.”<
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  A seed of bitterness took root at the empty words. Sorry? Well, so was she. He stood and guided her from her seat and down a few steps to a table piled high with all types of food. She simply stared. The aromas, normally enticing, upset her stomach even more.

  “We’re to eat?” she asked, incredulous.

  The warlord glanced at her. “It is our custom,” he said sharply.

  They expected her to eat after…

  She pulled a breath through her nose and pressed her lips into a firm line, hoping it would prevent her from vomiting all over the table. Zane placed her in a seat and took the one beside her. What she assumed was the warlord’s inner circle surrounded them and took their places at the table. People in power always surrounded themselves with other powerful people.

  The warlord gave some sort of speech, but Sage tuned it out, thwarting each of his subsequent attempts to pull her into his conversation. She couldn’t focus her own scattered thoughts, let alone carry on a conversation, most especially during this barbaric and morbid celebration.

  Relief filled her when the feasting finally seemed to consume most everyone’s attention. The questions and blatant stares decreased as they focused on the bounty of food. She scanned the table and paused when she met a familiar gaze. Blair. He looked much the same as when she’d last seen him except that tiny wrinkles appeared between his brows when his dark eyes met hers.

  She stared back, blankly, before noticing the woman in the seat next to him. The shock of red, curly hair pulled Sage out of her dream-like state. Hazel eyes peeked out from a freckled face as the woman arched a brow at her. Sage blinked, but continued staring. The woman wasn’t Scythian. Her round cheeks and soft pink lips lent her an air of youth, but the fine lines bracketing her eyes betrayed her age. The woman pushed back from the table and placed a hand on her belly. Sage glanced down to the redhead’s belly. A very pregnant belly. Sage’s stomach soured even further. A pregnant woman came to an execution. Did the redhead have a choice? Or had she been conned into attending as well?

  The woman’s other brow accompanied the first as she placed her fork down. Some of Sage’s disgust must have been apparent. She wiped all expression off her face and ignored the woman’s questioning gaze.