by Frost Kay
“Why have you not said something before?” he asked carefully, his tone neutral.
“I did not feel like it was my place,” she replied. “But I swore an oath as a Hound to protect you and yours with everything that I am. I cannot stay silent if a decision could put you or your family in danger, even if it earns me disfavor.”
Tempest bowed her head like she was worried he’d cast her out.
Take the bait.
A finger slipped beneath her chin and lifted her head up. She willed herself to hold his mercurial gaze as he studied her face. Her heart thumped when the tip of his forefinger grazed her bottom lip.
“What would you have me do, then?” he asked, his piercing gaze never wavering from hers. “I’ve already announced the execution.”
Seize the opportunity. You can’t stop now.
“You could give them to me as a betrothal gift,” she suggested. “It is an Heimseryan custom, after all, and I have no father for a bride price to be given to. It will paint you in a favorable light with the people and will give me peace of mind.”
She held her breath as he leaned closer. His golden eyes locked on Tempest’s, but he didn't verbally respond. Her heart began to throb in earnest, and a prickle of sweat dampened her forehead.
Only see what I want you to.
The moment was broken by the opening of the gates of the Forsaken Grounds. A roaring crowd entered for the execution. Heimseryans from all quadrants of the city of Dotae had caught wind of the impending deaths of the rebels, and they had shown up in droves to witness it themselves. She swallowed hard, trying to keep the bile down. Were all people such beasts?
They know not the truth.
Destin straightened and kept her hand in his. She composed herself and adopted an air of aloofness as the square filled with people. Her head throbbed, and her stomach churned. These days, she always seemed to feel sick. Probably a side effect of living amongst a den of vipers. Even living as the Dark Court’s prisoner had been easier than this. The thought almost made her laugh.
Almost.
She leaned forward as a line of guards marched into the Forgotten Grounds, followed closely by the prisoners. Sound ceased to exist. Brine led the ragtag group, his head held high despite how filthy and underfed he looked. His pointed ears twitched, and he growled at the crowd when they surged too close.
Please, please escape.
Her gaze scoured the crowd for any familiar face. She spotted none in the mayhem. Where was Pyre?
Trust.
Whatever happened now, she could no longer do anything about it without jeopardizing everything. Brine lifted his head and stared up at the throne with a snarl. Tempest met his gaze and didn’t look away. All she could do was witness whatever happened next out of sheer respect for the rebels and out of friendship for Brine. She’d hold his gaze to the very end, so he wouldn’t feel so alone.
“That shifter seems to want to eat you up,” the prince drawled.
“He could try, but he’d be sadly disappointed.” Temp curled her lip but didn’t take her gaze from the rebels. “I’m not as sweet as perhaps he thinks.”
“On the contrary, darling. You’re a delight.” The king lifted her hand and planted a kiss on the back of it. “Let’s get on with this. I’ve had enough of that animal eyeing what is mine.”
Seventeen
Pyre
His favorite cloak of forest green swirled around his feet as he moved slowly through the screaming crowd. It seemed as if the people of Dotae were as bloodthirsty as ever, but if one looked close enough, they could see the fear written on their faces. No one wanted to incur the king’s wrath. It was easier to stand and scream in the crowd than garner attention. At one time, it would have disgusted him, but now, he understood what it meant just to survive. He dipped his head low, the cowl of his hood shadowing his face as the prisoners were led into the square. Brine led the procession, his head held high.
Pyre followed his commander’s gaze and paused on the king—his father. Though he had tried to convince himself many times before that sharing the same bloodline did not make someone family, he still couldn’t help but feel like he was tainted somehow because of his sire. He pushed down the urge to chuckle. What would Destin say if he knew his greatest enemy and eldest bastard son still lived?
He’d probably laugh before slitting your throat.
The king took a long pull from his wine goblet, completely at ease that innocent men were about to die while speaking to Maven. The monarch turned from the prince and smiled at the female holding his left hand. All sound ceased to exist as Pyre stared at the fierce beauty sitting on the throne, dressed in black and silver. Destin lifted her hand and kissed the back of her fingers, and she smiled. A low snarl rumbled in his chest, and he startled the child to the left of him. He took one step forward when the king used his other hand to stroke the apple of her cheek.
Mine.
Tempest put on a good show, but Pyre could see right through her mask. She wanted out. What had the bastard done to his mate?
She’s not yours. Calm down.
A hand gripped his left shoulder tightly, holding him in place.
“Pyre,” Briggs muttered. “Not the time. Calm yourself.”
“I’m trying,” he grunted, fighting every instinct in his body to attack the king and retrieve Tempest. With Destin right in front of his eyes, it was supremely difficult for Pyre to resist the urge to weave through the crowd, leap upon the plinth with his dual daggers in tow, and—
“Pyre!” Briggs warned again, jerking him.
Pyre turned his neck and flashed his canines at his friend. “He’s touching her, and she’s uncomfortable, which is rousing my beast. But I have it under control.”
“Clearly,” the healer retorted. “We have other priorities. You know she can handle herself. How many times does she have to prove herself to you for you to get that through your thick skull? If the king goes too far, I know for a fact she’ll stab him. You’re requiring her to trust you; you must reciprocate.”
He nodded sharply and shrugged Briggs’s hand off his shoulder. The bloody man was right. That’s why Pyre trusted him so intently. The healer’s wisdom had saved more lives than he could count. Still, that didn’t make him feel any better. He wanted to protect Tempest. Wanted her to need him—craved it, even.
She’s not yours.
Sweet poison, he wished she was. If she was, she wouldn’t be on that throne, sacrificing her life to King Destin for the sake of every single person. Tempest wouldn’t be alone. She would be loved.
She is loved.
Pyre shut that thought down. It was one thing to accept the inevitability of a compatible mate—it was another to choose to love.
Tempest’s shrewd gaze moved over the crowd before focusing on Brine, who Pyre could see hadn’t looked away. Long moments appeared to be passing between the two of them. It was as if Pyre could hear a silent conversation between the two: Tempest didn’t want Brine to feel alone. It made his heart squeeze at her compassion, but he also wanted to throttle her. Anyone with eyes could see the connection between the two of them.
“Look away,” he huffed.
Destin laughed, and his eyes narrowed on Brine.
Not good.
The king’s attention turned to Tempest, whose expression was one of cool disinterest once again. Brine’s attention on them hadn’t done her any good. She’d roused the devil in Destin, and she’d likely be answering questions after the execution today.
Well…after the thwarted execution. As long as Tempest didn’t do anything rash, the rebels would get out safely.
As long as everything goes to plan…
The crowd around him pitched back and forth like waves, and their cries reached a new level as Destin stood from his throne. He pulled Tempest to her feet, and she stood regally next to him. The king took two steps forward and grasped the banister. When he raised his hands slowly and spread his arms wide, the crowd grew even louder. Pyre s
ilently observed, thankful he’d taken his full human shape. The roar from the people was almost deafening without any enhancement.
This was the moment they were waiting for.
He turned his head and nodded. Briggs edged away, his hulking figure disappearing into the mass. Soon, all of Pyre’s men would be on the move. Everyone was in place, positioned ideally for maximum chaos. They planned on low casualties, but if things turned to the worst, they’d fight their way out if necessary. Bloodshed was par for the course. He did not relish the thought, but death was a necessary evil at times.
Pulling in a slow breath, he tried to calm his pounding heart. Once they acted out today, there would be no turning back. Such a rescue was an obvious strike against the crown of Heimserya. Destin would no doubt retaliate against the Talagans, and the kingdom would fall into full-out war. The Dark Court had been preparing for this day for a long time, and while Pyre felt like they could use some more time, no one could be truly prepared for such a thing.
He scanned the plinth once again, noting each highborn lord and lady in attendance. The Crown prince was present but not Ansette. Was the princess in hiding, or did she hate her father’s display? His spies had not yet been able to make out where the girl’s loyalties lay. A grim smile crossed his face at the notion. Apparently, it was a family trait to keep one’s goals hidden from the world. Tempest seemed to think the girl was smart and had a good heart, but only time would tell. Ansette had lived her whole life in the poisonous company of her father and brothers. Regardless, Pyre had no plan to hurt the girl. Whoever had attacked her and tried to pin it on the Dark Court would regret their actions.
His focus moved back to the prince. While Pyre liked the idea of having another sister, he hated the fact he shared blood with Destin’s legitimate second-born spawn. Maven was clearly cut from a similar cloth as his father—Pyre could see, even now, the way the prince’s eyes roved across Tempest, though she was unaware of his attentions. While he shared blood with Maven, he did have dreams of hurting the bastard in the same ways the prince hurt his victims. Too many young maids had been maimed and hurt because of his proclivities.
Deal with him later.
“People of Heimserya!” King Destin called out.
Pyre gave the king his full attention while he prepared himself for what would come next. The hilts of his daggers found their way into his palms.
“My people. How pleased I am to see so many of you here to support your king. I know news spreads like wildfire in Dotae, which means many—if not all—of you must know of the attempt on my precious daughter’s life in the small hours of the morning. Your beautiful princess Ansette. Just a wee girl.” He pointed at Brine. “These rebel scum think it’s fair game to harm a child! Do they deserve leniency?”
“No!” someone screamed.
“Send them to the grave!” called another.
“Justice for the princess!” cried a young woman, who seemed genuinely upset by the idea someone would harm Ansette.
For a moment, Pyre experienced pity for the people around him. They’d been fed lies based on reality in order to emotionally manipulate them for so many years that they couldn’t tell the difference between fiction and truth.
Guards approached the prisoners and kicked them to their knees. The prisoners held their heads up as the crowd cursed, threw rotten fruit and rocks, and spat at them.
It was time.
Pyre carefully wove through the crowd, knowing his men were doing the same. Brine held up his head, defiance clear as he stared down anyone who got too close. His expression faltered for the smallest of moments before a steely gleam entered his silver eyes. The wolf would never show any fear, even to death.
“And yet, to kill them now would only demonstrate that we are as savage as the rebels,” King Destin announced.
Pyre froze as the crowd around him quieted in confusion. What was the king up to? Destin had never been known for his mercy. During his entire rule, every one of his enemies were executed, either publicly or privately.
Destin turned toward Tempest and held his hand out. Pyre’s stomach bottomed out as she took the king’s hand and glided to his side.
What. Have. You. Done? Tempest, what have you—
“Your good and gracious queen-to-be, in all her wisdom and mercy, reminded me that we are a civilized nation. The men you see before you did not commit the attempted assassination of my daughter, yet they are part of the group responsible for it. I have therefore decided that their lives will be spared and gifted to my betrothed for her to punish as she sees fit. I hope you all trust our righteous Lady Hound to seek appropriate justice.”
Pyre couldn’t believe his ears. How would the people react? It was as if the crowd inhaled at the same time. The pause stretched on and then…it broke.
The people screamed their approval, rapturous applause undulating through the masses. Pyre blinked slowly at the king who smiled smugly. Had this been his plan the whole time or did Tempest really have something to do with it? He’d bet his boots she’d arranged this, but what she obviously hadn’t foreseen was that it would only make Destin stronger. Pyre’s goal was to undermine him. This act of benevolence was nothing more than a ploy to get the common people on the king’s side. They adored the female Hound. She’d become a symbol. One that the king was wielding for himself.
“Damn her bloody bleeding heart,” he bit out, signaling for his men to stand down and recede. This was not how things were supposed to go.
The guards jerked Brine and the rest to their feet and led them away. Pyre watched as the wolf shifter cast a look of utter disbelief at Tempest and then resignation. She bowed her head to avoid catching his eye, a flicker of guilt moving across her face.
Pyre cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at her. This was her doing. His fingers curled into fists, and his jaw clenched. The stubborn wench was never going to stand back and let him deal with things his way. From the surface, her way seemed better. The rebellion did not have to ignite war immediately to save a handful of men. No innocent lives would be sacrificed. Tempest would be gifted the prisoners, and she would release them in the dark of night.
Only the prisoners would never reach her.
As he gazed up at the king, Pyre knew it in his soul. Destin made promises of all sorts but didn’t follow through unless they benefited him. Pyre’s men would befall some terrible ‘accident’ away from prying eyes—poison, overexposure to the elements, a mysterious illness. The fact of the matter was that the king would exact his revenge in private while the people believed him to be magnanimous.
Bowing his head and squeezing his eyes shut, he began to devise another plan. Brine had the tools to get out, and the Hounds were their allies, but getting a message to the wolf in time posed a problem.
He lifted his head and cast one more look up at the plinth. The tension in Tempest’s body had disappeared. She’d made things more difficult and she clearly had no bloody idea.
You damn fool.
Pyre turned his back and stalked through the crowd. There wasn’t much time to undo everything she’d done.
Eighteen
Tempest
He actually gave them to you.
Tempest could not believe it. Her pulse hammered in her ears, and she could barely hear anything around her. Not for one second had she expected Destin to go along with her desperate, last-minute plan. Relief washed over her. She’d done it. No one had been killed on either side, and the rebels would go free.
She caught sight of Brine’s expression as he was led away from the execution grounds. His utter disbelief of what had just transpired was apparent, and Temp had to drop her head so she didn’t catch his eye. If she did, there was no way she would have been able to keep the smile from her face. Euphoria bubbled in her chest, but she tamped it down. Looking gleeful wouldn’t bode well for herself or the rebels, but she savored the win. For Pyre. For the rebellion.
Destin’s attention turned to the advisers pressing aroun
d the prince, giving Tempest a moment to take her first full breath in many days. She casually observed the teeming mass below for any sign of the kitsune. She hadn’t dared look for Pyre during the last few minutes. Thanks to her, Brine had already caught the king’s interest, and she didn’t want to add anyone else to the list. Her gaze skimmed over a hulking man in a gray cloak, and Tempest paused when she spotted a glimpse of his face.
Briggs.
Temp forced herself to move on even as she grew angry. Why had Pyre brought the healer with him? Briggs’s midnight skin was remarkable and rare this far south in the kingdom. He was sure to be noticed because of his beauty and stature. Unless that was the point? Draw attention to the healer while the Jester moved about unnoticed. The kitsune’s hair was a shock of deep red and white. It was too recognizable, so he’d be wearing a cloak. She searched for anyone in forest green. It was a long shot, but worth a try.
Unconsciously, she drifted to the banister. Almost as if her thoughts conjured him, she spotted a figure in the middle of the crowd in a green cloak. Temp stared hard as the man lifted his head and met her gaze. Unbridled rage simmered in his molten eyes. Her muscles locked, and her fingers itched for her blade. Why was he looking at her with so much hostility? What had she done to deserve such ire? His upper lip curled back, revealing his canines before he spun on his heel and disappeared among the throng of citizens.
Her fingers clenched around the frigid marble banister and squeezed. Was his anger for her? Or for the men she was surrounded by? By all accounts, he should be relieved that they didn’t have to fight their way out. Her gaze flicked toward the king. Was it really that easy? Her gut said no. Destin wasn’t nice. He did things with purpose. Her euphoria wore off, and she began to assess the situation critically. The king’s compliance with her wishes was unsettling. His generosity and forgiveness never extended to those he deemed to have wronged him, or to those he planned to use. The rebels were the perfect scapegoats for the Crown prince’s death and the attempt on Ansette’s life. So why did he give them to her? It wasn’t because he liked her. Sure, the king wanted to bed her, but their union was just another political move.