The anger and annoyance on Henrik’s face were palpable. “You should not have returned so soon.” He started moving towards Anne, who instantly dropped the tray of tea. The cups shattered as they hit the floor, the teapot breaking and spewing tea everywhere, coating her shoes and the bottom of her dress.
Lena stood. “You will not harm a hair on her head, Henrik.” She may have nothing left to live for, but she would not see Anne pay for her mistakes or Cailan’s actions.
The man chuckled. It was an ugly sound. “As if you have any control over what I—” There was a knock on the door, and a guard’s voice on the other side. Henrik practically hissed as he slid the letter opener back into his pocket and went to see what the commotion was for. “What is it? I am busy—”
“There’s someone here to meet with you.”
“Me?” Henrik instantly grew confused. “I am not expecting anyone.”
“He…he says you’re expecting him.”
The seneschal groaned. “Very well. But stand guard here—these women are not to leave the room!” Henrik stormed off, the doors swinging shut as he went.
Anne exchanged a worried look with Lena. Concern coated her every feature as she shakily asked, “Are you alright, my lady?”
Lena felt…oddly at ease. But then, strangely, she grew angry. Henrik had wanted her dead not because she was a mage, but because of what happened with the late King. Who was Henrik to think he could kill her, all for revenge on Cailan? She would not let him get away with this.
And just like that, her will to live was back, fury replacing the emptiness in her heart.
“Come, Anne,” she said, moving to the door. “Let us show Henrik we will not be taken down so easily.” She threw open the doors as her maidservant stuttered about the guard outside.
The guard was gone. He hadn’t listened to Henrik’s order. Peculiar in and of itself, but what made the situation even weirder was that no other guards were nearby in the hall, not even the guards who had been her shadow all day while Cailan was away.
“Where would someone meet with Henrik?”
Anne thought. “If he wasn’t expected, the guards would not let him past the first vestibule, I would think.” It was her turn to take the lead, bringing them both to the large room. It was the first place any guest would step foot in, where servants would take the coats and hats of visiting nobles.
Today, however, it was only inhabited by a few guards, Henrik, and a stranger.
“I assure you, I have no idea who you are, nor why you are here. You interrupted a very important meeting—why did the guards let you past the gates?” Henrik roared, pointing his fingers at the guards behind the stranger. “I will have your jobs for this—”
Lena was so angry, so focused on Henrik and what he’d planned to do to both her and Anne when her feet suddenly halted on the embroidered carpet below. Her eyes drew to the stranger and her heart nearly stopped.
The tallest man she’d ever seen with posture so flawless, even Henrik’s paled in comparison. Wearing a black suit with a red undershirt, he was thin yet elegant. His skin only a shade or two darker than white, without a single blemish marring it. Gaunt cheekbones, a perfectly chiseled nose and chin. Short, windswept hair so bright and white it nearly hurt to look directly at it. But what was most startling was the man’s eyes—a metallic silver, rimmed in a dark black.
Though Henrik was busy shouting at him, practically spitting in his face, the man was calm and collected, utterly unfazed and unruffled. He slowly, sluggishly turned his head to stare directly at Lena, and she nearly fell back at the intensity of his gaze. How was he here? Why was he here?
He was no stranger.
He was Zyssept.
Zys did not come to the castle to listen to the pathetic man before him shout. He came, of course, for her. They’d all come for her. And, judging by the startled expression on her face, she hadn’t expected to see him again. He was not sure whether or not it was a good thing. Had she lost faith so fast?
The man before him was red from anger. “Who are you?” he asked, his words like knives. Much like the knife in his pocket.
Oh, yes. Zys knew much more than any man would.
Zys was unhurried in drawing his gaze away from Lena, landing it on Henrik. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice steady.
“I am the seneschal of this castle—”
Zys felt himself cracking a smile. It was an expression humans seemed to like, in certain situations. It was something he was still trying to perfect. “No,” he said, his voice commanding, “I am the seneschal.”
Henrik stared at him for a few moments, his eyes widening. The compulsion had already taken root in the minds of the guards near them, but for what he had tried to do to Lena, this man would be aware of his punishment. “What? No, I—guards, seize him and toss him in the dungeon to rot until Prince Cailan returns!”
“Guards,” Zys said, stepping away from the man. “Seize him.” The guards immediately went for Henrik, holding his arms behind his back, the man uselessly trying to struggle. “Toss him in the dungeon to rot until Prince Cailan returns.”
“What are you doing?” Henrik cried, trying to break free of the iron grips on his arms. “I am the seneschal, not him! He’s a—he’s a mage! He has to be! You’re under a spell! I—” His words became quieter and quieter the further away the guards dragged him.
Zys glanced at Lena’s maidservant. “Leave us.”
Anne gave him a bow. “Of course, Seneschal.”
Once they were alone, Zys could do nothing but stare at her. Her hair and eyes did not match her gown, he was certain, but she was breathtaking all the same. Though he was not human, not mortal, he still felt the thing in his chest beating faster. His heart, as bizarre as the feeling was.
“Why are you here?” she asked, quieter and less boisterous than he knew she could be. Did she fear him? Had he startled her too much by his sudden appearance? Perhaps his entrance should’ve been different… “How did you do that?”
“I am a god,” Zys said, taking a single step towards her. He heard her breathing hitch. Though she would deny it, he knew she liked this form, this body. It was not his godly body—that had claws and more scales—but for her, he would gladly appear like this. “I can do anything.” His eyes leveled with hers. “And I am here for you.”
“But…”
“Come,” he said. “Let us go somewhere more private.” He held out his arm.
Lena stared at it, unsure. She bit her lip, a mortal gesture of uncertainty. Soon enough, he would wipe all hesitance from her mind and her heart. She would be his. She would choose to be his. His goddess, his blackblood, his wife. She was slow in taking it, but at least she took it.
He led them to the very same sitting room where Henrik was going to kill her. Or, more precisely, try to kill her. Of course Zys would never let such a thing happen. He closed the door after seating her, moving to sit beside her.
She stiffened at his closeness, but she did not move away. Some might’ve called it progress, but to Zys, it wasn’t enough.
“Why are you here for me, if you gave me back my blood?” she asked. She could not gaze into his eyes for long—hardly any mortal could. They weren’t the eyes of man; they were the eyes of a god, all-seeing and all-knowing.
“I would never let a despicable man like that harm you,” Zys spoke. “If you believe me so cruel, you know nothing of me.”
“You are death. I think I know all I need to.” She watched as her words sunk in—he tried to look sorrowful, attempted to garner some bit of pity from her. It was a difficult thing to do, given he was not akin to feeling such things. “Thank you though, for your timely interruption.”
Zys saw an opening, and he took it. His fingers reached for hers, grabbing her hand. Such smooth, soft skin, warmer than his. “Death is not always cruel. Sometimes it is kind, the sweetest release of all.” When she went to pull her hand from his, he allowed it.
“If you’ve come to
try to claim me again, you will not. I won’t be—” There was a knock on the door, and her voice instantly halted.
Zys was the one to get to his feet and answer it as he said, “You’ll find I can be quite agreeable, Lena. I realize I have not always acted…kind to you, but know I am trying. I want you to be happy, and whether or not that happiness involves me…I can hope. Surely you would not begrudge a god of that?” He swung open the doors, allowing three guards to enter before closing them back up.
They wore matching suits of armor, all shined and polished. Their faces were masked by helmets, and it took her far too long to realize it.
“Allow me to introduce your personal guards,” Zys said, stepping between them. “I think you will find they are very accommodating.” Behind him, each of the three men reached for their helmets. He would admit, he took great satisfaction in the stunned expression that swallowed Lena’s face. He also rather liked the way her mouth fell ajar somewhat. An innocent expression which made him desire her more.
Bastian, Vale, and Tamlen stood, each wearing similar grins as they chuckled at her reaction.
“How? Why? But…” Lena could not seem to form sentences longer than a word as she looked from man to man, finally staring at Zys once more. There was a softness in her eyes just then, something that was not there before. She’d probably believed they were lost to her, and the revelation of their appearance had been just what she needed to forge on.
Zys knew, because they were still connected.
“I told you, Lena,” Zys said, moving to exit the room. “I want you to be happy.” His silver stare lingered on her as he pulled the doors shut behind him. He would give them time alone; they all needed it.
He would never give up on Lena. The future was theirs—it was only a matter of how they reached it.
Lena told herself to be strong in the face of Zyssept, but the very instant the guards revealed themselves to be her lost men, her lovers, her walls crumbled. She could feel no hatred towards the old god when her entire body was full of love for the three before her. She barely even saw Zyssept leave the room.
Vale looked at ease in the armor, which made sense, given the fact he was a soldier in his first life. He was used to battling and parading around in armor, on the battlefield or not. His wide, strong body looked even wider and more muscular with the added steel.
The tallest man, Tamlen, was equally as impressive. He stood straight, tapping his fingers on his helmet, his scarred face smiling down at her. The expression sent her stomach on a frenzy; she’d missed that smirk, the cockiness that seeped from his every pore. Everything about him screamed home.
And Bastian—gods, when she turned her eyes on Bastian, what was left of her resolve vanished. Her eyes grew teary, not because she was happy—she was beyond joyful at their reunion, at finally knowing they were not dead—but because the armor he wore was not his. It was not gold nor gilded with lions. His helmet was not a lion’s jaw, no cape on his shimmering shoulders. This was not his chevalier armor, but he didn’t seem to care. He only had eyes for her.
They all did.
She supposed she should’ve run to them, hugged them all, but all Lena could do was say, in a trembling voice, “You’re not dead.” She blinked, fighting the tears. “I thought…I thought you were all dead.”
Bastian was the first to stride to her, dropping his helmet as he wrapped his arms around her. He had to be gentle, given the armor he wore, but he was a gentle sort of man to begin with. “We would never leave you,” he whispered, his Sumerian accent welcome to her ears as he wiped her cheeks with gloved hands before pressing his lips on hers.
A strong hand yanked her away from Bastian, and Tamlen swept her up in his arms, lifting her before kissing her hungrily. She immediately felt warm all over, whether it was due to his fire magic or the fact she was so joyous, she couldn’t say. “Not even an old god could stop us,” he whispered against her lips, playfully kissing her nose once before setting her down on her feet.
She moved to Vale, throwing her arms around his neck. They embraced, and the familiar tingles his runic magic gave her caused the hair on her arms to stand up. Lena was so unbelievably happy. She couldn’t believe this was where the day went to. Truly, it was a good thing she hadn’t argued to go with Cailan for his father’s procession.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” she said. “I’d given up.”
“Have faith in us,” Tamlen spoke with a half grin. “And, as much as I hate saying it, have a little in Zys.”
She rose her eyebrows at that. “Zys?” Was it what these fools were calling him? As if they were friends or something? Lena’s mind couldn’t process it—it was too weird.
Vale nodded. “It was his idea, all this.” He gestured to the armor they wore.
“Gods do know how to make impressive entrances,” Tamlen mused. “I’ll give him that.”
“He knew you’d want us close, if you intend to stay here,” Vale added, though his eyes fell to the jeweled necklace—the anti-magical collar—around her neck. “Is that—”
Lena did not feel like explaining it, not now. She wanted this to be a happy occasion, and talking about how she was no more than a prisoner here was not a topic she wanted to broach. Later, perhaps. But not now. Now, she wanted to focus on her men.
Still, though, Vale’s words echoed in her head. If she wanted to stay here. Did she? Would she remain in the castle, if given a choice? Would she…would she like to be queen? Ruling over everyone seemed like a difficult job, but perhaps she could make the lives of mages better. Maybe this was where she was meant to be.
“A present from Cailan,” she said. “My, uh, betrothed.”
The guys took it just as she expected: they got angry. Questions about whether or not Cailan had hurt her surfaced, if he’d done anything to her, made any moves on her. Why she hadn’t called out to them prior to this. And she told them the truth—she thought they were dead, that she was alone. She thought Zyssept, Zys, as the guys called him, had abandoned her.
How was she supposed to know Zyssept still had an interest in her?
“It should go without saying,” Tamlen said, “but I’m still going to say it aloud anyway, since you don’t make the best choices—you cannot marry him.”
“It isn’t like I want to,” Lena said. “But imagine the good I could do as queen. A mage queen, Tamlen. Isn’t that what you were fighting for?”
“Not specifically,” he said.
Vale spoke, “Has the Prince done anything to you? Has he hurt you or threatened you or—”
“Not me, no. I seem to have earned a strange devotion from him,” Lena said. “I don’t think he really loves me, but I think he cares for me in his own way.” Her eyes traveled to Bastian, who had moved to a wall, resting on it. He was oddly silent, his eyes squeezed shut, his breathing rapid. She pushed past Vale and Tamlen, moving to his side. “What’s wrong?”
Sweat pooled on his brow. He looked sick. Bastian was pained in saying, “I…I’m just…I need a moment.” He exited the room without going for his helmet.
Lena should’ve known. Bastian’s death was horrific; it wasn’t too far-fetched that being in this castle again would make him remember and relive it. Whatever his final moments were, when the King had said he was no longer needed as a spy, she could imagine they were terrifying. He was buried alive on orders from the King—something like that wouldn’t be an easy thing to overcome.
She went for the door, poking her head out. Bastian stood beside Zyssept. The old god had a hand on his shoulder, and the friendly gesture startled her. How were they that close? What had they been up to while she was gone? She’d have to ask. But…Bastian didn’t move away from Zyssept’s gesture. Maybe the old god could handle it…
As if answering her thoughts, Zyssept turned his head slightly, his silver gaze meeting hers. His head moved, gesturing back to the room. He was telling her to return to Vale and Tamlen.
Honestly, Lena wasn’t certain what
to do. If Zyssept had brought them back to her, even though she’d denied him again and again, perhaps the old god wasn’t too bad. Maybe Bastian was in good hands.
Such a thought would never have crossed her mind before, and she knew this could all be some twisted way to get her to lower her guard, to accept Zyssept and agree to be his bride. It could all be a play on her emotions, a plot to get her on his side.
And, damn it all, it was working. Slowly—but working nonetheless.
With a soft sigh, Lena returned to the room, finding Vale and Tamlen had sat on one of the longer lounges. She moved between them, wondering. “How did you find him?” She eyed Tamlen, who was working to get his cuirass off, as if the man thought something was going to happen. Something involving their naked limbs tangling together. And while Lena wanted nothing more than to have her way with the men she’d thought she’d lost, there were other things on her mind.
Mainly that bastard god Zyssept.
“We didn’t find him, he found us,” Vale told her. “A few days ago, almost right after you left. He…asked us countless of questions about you.”
She was both disturbed and curious. “What about me?”
“Everything. He wanted to know everything we knew about you. What kind of a person you are, what you like and dislike…” Vale trailed off, rubbing his chin—his face had grown quite stubbly since their last day together. “Zys wants to be on your good side, Lena. As much as you may not want to hear it, he’s trying to win you as any man would.”
Lena frowned. “He’s trying to win me over by bringing my lovers to me?”
On her other side, Tamlen chuckles. “The perfect and swiftest way to a woman’s heart, if you ask me.” The man was down to his underclothes, the layer of fabric that sat between his flesh and the steel armor, unlike Vale, who still wore every piece of his armor other than his helmet.
“He wants you to be happy,” Vale said.
“He wants me to choose him,” Lena clarified. Being happy and trying to force her hand into choosing him was not the same. She might’ve felt pure, unadulterated bliss when she’d gazed on the three of them, but she would not let it completely sway her opinion of Zyssept. “I still can’t believe you call him Zys.”
Gods and Trickery: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (Unfortunate Magic Book 3) Page 5