Perhaps this was her fate for her past transgressions.
“I cannot wait until a crown rests upon that beautiful head of yours,” Cailan mused, taking a leisurely slow sip of his wine. He never wore a crown himself, not unless he was meeting with someone other than Lena or the Seneschal. It was an uncomfortable piece of metal, he’d said, one that wasn’t even rightfully his yet. Until his coronation, it belonged to the deceased King Philip.
She gave him a small smile she hoped was shy and sweet. There was a fine line between coyness and disgust, where Cailan was concerned. “I’m sure. Have you decided on a date yet for your father’s funeral procession?” Lena was trying to suss out information. If Cailan wanted her at the procession, it’d be her best chance to make her escape and try to make it to the farmhouse where she’d left Bastian, Vale, and Tamlen.
“Yes, the arrangements have been made. I’ve sent word to the other nations, but I will not wait for any of their emissaries. My father’s procession will be the day after next, and my coronation will be the following day. After I am crowned, I plan on announcing our engagement. Invites have already been sent out. We will be wed one month from today.”
It was a wonder he could make all of these plans without consulting her in the slightest. Then again, he was the prince so there was hardly anything she could do about it. She could deny him nothing.
At the news of wedding him so soon, Lena felt her skin grow cold. “Wonderful,” she said, even though it was the least wonderful thing she’d had the displeasure of hearing. “I cannot wait.” A lie, for she could wait an eternity and it wouldn’t be long enough.
“The thing I cannot wait for is our wedding night.” He winked.
The man, the blasted prince who’d murdered his father, actually winked. As if he were some playful, witty and handsome man who had her panties in a wet bunch. He was handsome, and he did his best to be witty and playful, but her underthings most certainly did not become loose and wet when she was near him.
Lena could only ignore the remark, instead trying to regain control of the conversation. “Have your scouts found the bodies yet?” Since day one in the castle, the King had sent guards to scour the farmholds around Rivaini, searching for the abandoned ones. Cailan had assured her time and time again that as soon as they found Gregain’s body—and Kyler’s, the poor, unsuspecting College guard who’d fallen prey to Gregain’s blood magic—he could close the investigation and reopen the College’s gates.
Would he? She wondered. Would he be a man of his word? Lena probably couldn’t trust him as far as she could throw him, which wasn’t far at all. She had no muscles on her body. And she had nothing to use to lord over him, to get him to keep his word. If he chose to keep the College’s gates down, to slaughter every mage inside, including her best friend, she had nothing to stop him with. Only her hands, and those were small and useless.
Cailan shook his head, stuffing a piece of bread into his mouth after buttering it. “No, but there’s only so many abandoned farmhouses out there. We’ll find them, don’t worry.” His voice was strong, deep and reassuring.
She knew better than to believe it. “I just worry about Ingrid—”
“Yes,” he said. “Your friend in the College. I can’t wait to meet her. If she’s anything like you, I’m certain I’ll love her.”
Lena bit her tongue, knowing it would be a bad thing for him to love her friend. “Can you at least send a message and have the guards check on her? This has been the longest I’ve been away from her since…” She paused, realizing it. “…ever.” She gave him her best pleading and most sincere expression.
He let out a short sigh, as if it pained him to give in. “All right. I’ll see what I can do, but no promises.”
She ate silently after that, ignored the numerous pointed remarks Cailan made about their future wedding night. Her mind went elsewhere. To Ingrid, to her men. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to become so attached to anyone. She was a mage; she was destined to lose when it all came down to it.
Given power she didn’t understand when she was but a child, her memory altered so she had a chance to…to live the life she should’ve. The things Zyssept had shown her when she was across the Veil, the things he’d brought to the forefront of her mind—Lena hated thinking about them, for even though the memories of her father hurting and abusing her were foreign and strange, she knew they were true.
And all the while, her mother stood back and didn’t protect her. Didn’t even lift a finger to help her. She’d turned a blind eye to her husband’s actions. It wasn’t so bad to be glad she’d killed them, was it?
Did it make her just like Cailan? He’d killed his father, just as she’d killed her parents. Maybe this was her fate. They were a match made for history, both murderous in their own ways.
It was such a strange thing, to feel so violated after all these years. The memories were new to her, but they were old. It was hard to reconcile them.
Cailan tore into her thoughts as he said, “You never told me how you wound up in the College. From the reports my father had gathered on you, they said you came from a farm, where your brother started a fire that killed both of your parents. You were the only survivor.”
She hated how anyone could look up her past, hated that Bastian had lied just to protect her. She hated it, even though she was also thankful—for if he hadn’t lied, there was no possible way she would’ve been accepted into the College. She would’ve been executed, eight years old or not.
When she didn’t answer, he continued, “I also read what Gregain had scribbled about you in his personal belongings. I suspect the man never thought he’d be caught and killed by you, but his journal was very revealing.”
Was he baiting her? Did he want her to confess her sins and plead for absolution only he could give? She would not give him the satisfaction.
“What did he say about me?” Lena asked, taking on an air of hesitation, as if she were truly nervous to know what her old idol wrote of her. After hearing his plans, after Gregain had told her that he wanted her…the way he’d touched her face and her knee, she knew all there was to know about the old and dead ex-High Enchanter.
She was glad Gregain was dead. It was a thought she never believed she would have, for until the day when he first mentioned the Noresh text, she’d respected him above all others. He’d become like a father to her—and to have him yearn for her in the same twisted way that her blood father had…it hurt doubly so.
“You had no brother.” Cailan’s words were sharp and strong, accusatory like daggers. When she said nothing, he went on, “It was only you and your parents. There were interviews of your neighbors to back it up. Whoever convinced Gregain you had a sibling was nothing more than a liar.”
Though it was true Bastian had lied for her, Lena did not appreciate the sneer behind Cailan’s expression when he spoke of him. She owed everything to Bastian, whether he was still alive or not. She would never let his name be slandered, especially by someone as maniacal and insane as the Sovereign Prince.
“And a foreigner no less,” Cailan muttered. “A chevalier of Sumer.” A smile spread across his face, a smile that instantly set Lena off.
“Are you suggesting the chevalier should have brought me to your father and had me executed?”
“Of course not,” he was quick to say. “I only mean to say foreigners should not interfere with Rivainian matters.” Cailan grabbed his win goblet, raising it towards her. “I, for one, am thankful for the chevalier’s lies, for they brought us together.” He waited for her to do the same, to mimic his gesture.
Lena bit back her frown and lifted her glass as well. There was nothing she could say to defend Bastian without revealing either the fact that he was alive or her feelings for him. She did not want Cailan to know he was alive, for it was his father who’d put him in the ground, told lies that he had the plague when in reality, Bastian was buried alive.
And telling her soon-to-be husband that her hea
rt already belonged to other men was not something she’d live through, she had an inkling. Not with Cailan’s penchant for cold-blooded murder.
When she brought the wine glass to her lips, she only pretended to drink. Cailan didn’t notice; he was far too engrossed in blabbering on about how well they fit together, how they’d rule this kingdom in a better way than his father. The Prince truly believed what he was saying, which made Lena wonder, made her a bit confused.
Sometimes, when Cailan wasn’t putting on airs or trying to slip his hand up her dress, he wasn’t that awful of a man. He had an innocent quality to the timbre of his laughter, though she knew his innocence was long gone, if he’d ever truly had it to begin with.
But, just like that, the tiny, diminutive, miniscule part of Cailan that wasn’t batshit crazy faded the moment he said, “I think I’ll escort you to your room tonight.”
Her stomach fell. Would this day be the day when he forced himself upon her? With the cuffs on her wrists, she would be unable to sling any spells to stop him. The only thing she would be able to do was scream, kick and struggle. Even that wouldn’t be enough, for if a servant or a guard happened to walk by, they’d only turn their eyes and pretend to not see it. They owed their allegiance to the heir apparent, not her.
They owed nothing to her, except their hatred and their loathing.
She ate in silence, dreading the moment when Cailan would stand, go for her hand, and lead her to her bedchambers. The excuse of saving her virtue for the wedding night was growing stale.
Not that she had much virtue left. Her men had done a remarkable job taking it; but it was completely different, for she’d freely given it to them. She’d do anything for them…so why couldn’t she just sit back and let Zyssept have her? If it meant she could keep her men, perhaps she should’ve just swallowed her anxieties and her fear and allowed it.
No. She refused to be that kind of woman. The Lena of old was gone, and a new Lena took her place. One who would not let any man, prince, or god dictate what she would do with her life and her heart and her bed.
She would find a way to best Cailan, somehow.
All too soon, dinner was finished, and Cailan kept his promise of walking her to her room. He immediately dismissed Anne the moment he saw her waiting patiently in the hall, telling her he would handle her duties for the night. Anne simply bowed her head before rushing off, not even bothering to glance at Lena to make sure she was alright. And why wouldn’t she be? She was a nobody the prince showered with affection, jewels and dresses.
A lie.
She was a murderous mage with anger and confusion in her heart, that the crazy prince was obsessed with beyond all measure.
Somehow, someway, Lena would escape the shackles holding her back, and Cailan would pay for everything he’d said and done. Then she’d find Zyssept and…kill an old god? Even thinking it sounded impossible.
First thing was first. Lena had to get out of this blasted castle, get the cuffs off her wrists.
Cailan’s hand was warm in hers as he led them to her bedchamber. He hummed to himself a happy tune, one that grated on Lena’s nerves. The man practically begged her to unleash all the spells she was able to on him—and that was saying something, for vengeance was never something Lena’d paid much heed to before.
Now, it was all that dominated her mind.
They stopped before her door. There were no guards in the hall nearby, so Lena spoke in a hushed whisper, “Do you want to know a secret, my Prince?” She turned to him, noting the eager glint in his dark, nearly black eyes. “It’s something I just remembered myself, with everything that’s been going on.”
Cailan stepped closer to her, his hand gripping hers just a bit harder than it should. His blonde head was tilted down, stare heavy on her. “I want to know all of your secrets, my love.” The words were easy on his tongue, effortless in their suave delivery. They would glamor any other woman but her.
She stared at him unabashedly, her heart hardening in her chest. “It was not an accident,” she whispered, watching as the realization dawned on Cailan’s face. “I killed them on purpose, because they hurt me too many times.” Lena meant it as a threat to Cailan, but the man took it another way.
He released her hand, cupping her cheeks, running his thumbs over her lips. “No one will ever hurt you again,” he swore before bringing his mouth down on hers. His kiss was fervent, strong, unyielding. He would not be satisfied with the kiss until she returned the passion, even if said passion was faked.
So she did the one thing she had to.
She kissed him back.
Cailan couldn’t believe it. This woman, this mage—a girl out for his own heart, as twisted as it may be. When he’d brought up that blasted chevalier’s lie, he didn’t know what to expect from her. But this? This was beyond thrilling. Truly, they were a perfect match.
She’d killed her own parents on purpose, just as he’d killed Philip.
Hunger lingered in his head, pushing him to take her here and now. Right in the hall, rid themselves of all clothing and claim her for all eternity. They would be immortalized in portraits, sculptures and history books.
How badly Cailan wanted to do it, to make her his, but something caused him to pull back. His lips parted hers, and he simply said, “Goodnight, my love.” He watched her slip into her room, a large and lonely space. At least, that’s how he always felt in his bedchambers.
As an only child, Cailan was never one to have much company. In his lessons, he was alone as he learned how to handle the populace and rule the people. His mind was always elsewhere when his father had thrown galas and balls in his honor, trying to find him a bride. Cailan was always so terribly alone, even when there were hundreds of other people nearby. Even with Hunger inside of him, he felt lonely.
But with her, with Lena, he felt full. Complete. As if he’d been waiting for her his entire life. If his father hadn’t been so adamant she would be put to the block, executed for a crime she did not commit, it was very likely that Cailan wouldn’t have killed him. Truly, Lena was the building block for all of his future plans—plans he’d never before thought of, prior to her appearance in his life.
Maybe it was her fiery hair and her blood-red eyes. Maybe it was her calm but stormy personality. There were a lot of things it could’ve been due to, but either way, it mattered not. Cailan was a changed man, and he had no plans to return to the weak boy he was before. Letting his father hit him, bowing down to the demands of others. It was all over.
Now it was time for everyone to bow to Cailan. Soon enough the entire kingdom would be celebrating his coronation, and soon after that, his wedding to the one mage who completed him in every way.
Lena would never know hardship again. She would never have to worry about someone hurting her. She would give herself to Cailan, and Cailan would give his all to her. As a mage, as a child of farmers, she couldn’t even imagine the things he could do for her, the riches he could spoil her with and the wars he would win in her name.
Cailan could not wait until the crown rested upon his head, for the day when everyone bent their knees and called him king.
It would be glorious.
Chapter Two
Cailan’s goodnight embrace was actually quite tame, compared to some other instances. Lena would not argue with him about it, would not question it, so she simply moved inside her room and closed the door, leaning her back on it as she sighed. Each day that passed when Cailan did not force his way into her room she considered a win.
She wandered to the small cushioned seat before the large, tri-fold mirror that Anne always sat her in before she did her makeup and her hair. Large, diamond-encrusted earrings hung from each lobe, and she worked to get them out. Anne always fought her on this, saying it was her job to get Lena ready for the day’s end, but she wasn’t a highborn woman; she was more than capable of bathing herself, of brushing her own hair and taking off the jewelry she had to wear, day in and day out.
Le
na met her own reflection, staring into her red eyes. She looked constantly irate with the colored eyes and hair. It was difficult to smile these days, harder to feel happy about anything. She supposed she should be glad she was even alive, after everything. But being alive without her men was no life at all. And Ingrid…
She wouldn’t think of it, lest she not get any sleep this night.
After shedding her body of the blue gown, she slipped on a thin nightgown and crawled into bed. She spent a lot of time in the bed, more hours under the sheets in the castle than she ever had in the College. In the College, she had classes to go to—even if they were classes she’d had time and time again. Here, she had nothing but her meals with Cailan, and she couldn’t quite look forward to those, could she? It was all a farce until she figured out what to do.
Tomorrow she would ask him if he would allow her to accompany him for his father’s funeral procession through the city. There would be guards and thousands of witnesses, so she knew it was not the best time to make a run for it, but any escape attempt Lena thought of was ten times more impossible while she was stuck in the castle. At least she’d be over the first hurdle.
At least she’d be out of the damned castle itself, out of its walls.
She hugged her pillow as she closed her eyes, trying to slow her wandering mind. She was not a good planner; Ingrid was always the better for it. She would have to take a page from her friend’s book.
Sleep took a long time to welcome her into its embrace. Lena did not dream as the night’s hours dwindled away, which was more than fine with her. Lately, her dreams had been nothing short of awful. They mostly involved the farmhouse, her parents, and Zyssept. But it had been a few days since Cailan forced her to go across the Veil, days since she got her blood back from the old god and negated the pack she’d made with him when she was but a child. She hadn’t dreamed of Zyssept since.
Gods and Trickery: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (Unfortunate Magic Book 3) Page 2