Gods and Trickery: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (Unfortunate Magic Book 3)

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Gods and Trickery: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (Unfortunate Magic Book 3) Page 8

by Candace Wondrak


  The guys were gone, off on a tour of the castle—or something. Honestly, when Zyssept spoke, Lena did her best to tune him out. She wasn’t past the point of hatred on sight yet, and she might not be for a while. She couldn’t help it; she didn’t trust him.

  Cailan wore his most regal finery, his coat lined with feathers and fur, his head wearing no more than his princely crown. He’d get the big one tomorrow, at his coronation. It was, perhaps, why he was so jubilant when he saw Lena. Though she was seated before a desk, he glided in the room, sweeping her into his arms. She didn’t even have time to turn away before he kissed her.

  After being with her men, kissing Cailan was like kissing a wet noodle. Nobody wanted that, and it made her stomach drop.

  She pulled away from him, asking, “How was the procession?”

  “Wonderful, wonderful. We can finally put that old coot to rest.” He clapped his hands. “Forgive me, my love, but I simply cannot wait for tomorrow. While only the neighboring nobles will be present, and the coronation a relatively simple affair—” Lena stopped herself from rolling her eyes, for nothing in the castle was ever a simple affair. “—but we can finally announce our engagement. The world will rock because of us, love.”

  Lena decided to ignore the comments about their impending nuptials, instead bringing up Henrik, “Did you hear about the man in the dungeon? He swept past the guards, a raving lunatic, saying he was the seneschal, and not Henrik. I would very much like to see your reaction to his ravings.”

  Cailan smiled, and though it was a dimpled and handsome smile, it did nothing for Lena. “Anything for my wife-to-be.” He waved a hand. “Anne, fetch me Henrik.”

  With a bow, Anne scurried along, fetching Henrik. Or, rather, Zyssept. They appeared in the study but a few minutes later, Zyssept standing tall and imposing. His silver stare zeroed in on her, bypassing Cailan entirely. They did not, she noticed, overlook the fact Cailan had his hand in hers. Zyssept’s eyebrows quirked but did not raise. He barely reacted at all.

  Pity. Lena had been shooting for at least a hint of jealousy.

  Zyssept gave a short bow, hardly bending his neck or his body as he did so, as if it were painful to bend to such a man. She couldn’t blame him there. “My Prince,” he said, his voice low, steady. Almost instantly, Lena felt something tugging at her. “I trust the procession went well.”

  Damn. Did he put honey on his voice? She bit her lip as she wondered. Why didn’t she hear it before? She’d been too rapt in the arrival of her men to notice, perhaps.

  Cailan stared at him, harder than he should’ve, as if he could see through the magic—which was preposterous. He was just a prince, not a mage. He was as susceptible to magic as anyone. “Who…right, right. It went without a hitch, glad to say it. Also glad it’s over. Now, let’s go see this prisoner. Lena here says he claimed to be the seneschal. I do love myself a lunatic every now and then. They make the best final speeches.”

  The best final speeches…as in, before they’re executed? What an odd, crazy thing to say.

  Still holding her hand, Cailan and Lena followed Zyssept through the castle, heading down a spiral stone staircase to the dungeon wing. It was mostly empty, the cells full of straw and cobwebs, spiders skittering about.

  The jailor, Lena noticed, had been replaced with Vale. She could tell from the blueness of the eyes that peeked out from the helmet, from his height and his size. Plus the smile forming on his lips helped, too.

  Zyssept stopped before a cell, and at the very same instant, a loud, raucous rattling of chains erupted inside. He merely lifted a hand and gestured to the door, and Cailan was sluggish in releasing her hand as he stepped toward the bars to see in. Lena stood behind him so she could see Henrik’s fate.

  Henrik was strung up. Unlike Lena’s old cell, he was not attached to the wall. His chains were locked to the stone ceiling, brackets holding each wrist up and out, utterly taught. Same went for his feet; his ankles were drawn apart, held there by two more chains. He was doused in sweat, his skin red and his eyes bulging.

  He deserved this and worse.

  “Prince Cailan,” Henrik spoke, shoulders slumping as much as they could, given his position, in what Lena knew was relief. It would be short-lived. “Apprehend the fools behind you! They are magic-users, trying to take over the castle. This cannot stand, regardless of how you feel for the girl—”

  All Cailan did was shake his head. “Where the gods have pulled you from, I haven’t a clue,” he whispered. “But don’t worry. You’ll be out of your misery soon enough.” A death threat. Coming from the prince, it was more a promise than an empty threat, and it made Henrik freeze in fear.

  “Are you serious?” Henrik was aghast.

  “Very much so,” Cailan answered with a shrug, laughing heartily before turning to Lena. “I admit, he is very amusing. I will have to deal with the guards that let him past the gates, though.”

  Zyssept spoke up, “Already done.”

  With a nod, Cailan said, “Good.”

  “And as an added precaution, I would like to have two guards shadow Lady Celena, in case someone else seeps through the cracks,” the old god spoke slowly, enunciating each syllable perfectly, putting more emphasis on her name. It made hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

  Lena met eyes with Vale. The man was doing his best not to look smug or try to laugh.

  “Good idea. I agree. She must be protected at all cost.” Cailan began to stroll away, his stride and his posture haughty. “Come, now. I am quite ravenous after such a long march.”

  Lena took a step to follow, but she lingered for a moment, turning her head back to Henrik. He struggled with the chains, but he was nowhere near strong enough to break himself free. Henrik paused, feeling his eyes on her. They locked gazes, and Lena felt her lips curling into a smile.

  She wasn’t proud of it, of course, and she did nothing to hide it or stop it. Lena was glad Henrik was chained up like an animal, worse than she had been during her stay in the dungeon. His cell was darker, farther away from the candelabra’s light.

  Henrik uttered two words that were meant to harm her: “You bitch.”

  Her smile only grew as she turned away, though her feet stumbled to a halt the moment she rose her stare to the silver-eyed man who lingered. Cailan was already twenty feet down the hall, talking incessantly about what he’d told the kitchen staff to make for dinner, oblivious to the two people who’d stayed behind.

  Zyssept watched her intently, noting her smile. “Is there anyone else in this castle you desire to see in chains?” His question was spoken innocently, as if he wasn’t talking about lives.

  Now it was time for the smile to fade, and fade fast it did. Lena stormed past him, nearly bumping into him as she caught up with Cailan. She didn’t think Zyssept would lock himself up. Maybe she should’ve asked, just to be certain.

  Chapter Five

  Being a royal was not something Lena would ever get used to, that much she knew. She’d been woken from sleep even earlier than usual, not to eat a morning meal but to start being fitted in the giant, ridiculous ball gown she was to wear to Cailan’s coronation. So many layers of underthings, metal wire holding up the bottom of the frilly, poufy dress. Stockings and garters and buckles, not to mention juggling it all with the metal collar around her throat.

  It was too much.

  Anne allowed her to snack, at least, as she worked to curl and pin up her hair, though she drew the line during makeup. She would not, could not let Lena eat while powder and eye pencil were involved. It would be a cardinal sin, apparently.

  Lena had slept soundly, mostly. Tamlen had snuck into her room while Bastian stood guard; they had a little fun before she pushed him from the sheets and told him she needed to be rested for this day. The blasted coronation. She’d clearly never been to one before, so she wasn’t sure how today would go, but she knew enough about the prince, about royal politics, that it probably wasn’t going to go well.

  Anne sp
oke, her voice quiet, “Prince Cailan told the tailor to keep the details to himself. I think it’s the only reason there’ve been no interruptions.” She shoved a few hairpins into the corners of her mouth as she worked to pin up a few loose curls.

  “He wants my dress to be a surprise?”

  “I think it’s more for the nobles who will be there. He wants them to know how serious he is about wedding you,” her words were mumbled through the pins. “It is a beautiful dress, my Lady.”

  “Please,” she said. “Call me Lena. At least when we’re alone. We both know I’m not a lady.” In the strictest sense of the word, she was, but not a lady deserving of the title. Lena was merely a mage who’d somehow stumbled into the castle accidentally. Well, she may have gotten into the castle purposefully, but winding up as Cailan’s fiancé was definitely not what her goal was when this began.

  Her goal was to save the mages. And while she knew the College hadn’t been annulled and its mages wiped out, she knew Ingrid was gone.

  Ingrid was gone, Harry was executed, and now Zyssept was here. None of her plans were working out; she should know by now that things never went according to plan when she was concerned.

  Anne hid her smile as she turned to grab a comb to continue separating and pinning up the curls. “Lena,” she corrected herself. “Apologies. I’ve never…the Queen was very formal, from what I hear, and until you came, I was tending to the royal hounds. I never expected to become a maidservant to the future queen.”

  “You’re doing a good job,” Lena said. “Really, I don’t deserve you. In the College, we were left to our own devices. My hair was either up or down, never curled, and I wore the same robe every day.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “The same robe?”

  Lena laughed at the horrified and disgusted expression the woman wore. “Not the same robe, but the same style. The same color. Every single day, an ugly yellow robe. I was an initiate, the lowest of the low.”

  “But you aren’t a child.”

  “I refused to cast spells. Magic scared me.”

  Anne’s brows came together in sympathy. “And then Prince Cailan made you go across the Veil.” The servants in the castle seemed to know more about what went on in the College than the city folk did. “I know I might not have shown it before, my La—Lena, but I am glad you returned to us unharmed and unpossessed.”

  She smiled in the mirror, meeting Anne’s gaze. Lena was glad they were finally getting along, their initial awkward encounters were behind them. Anne really wasn’t so bad—she was actually sort of nice, a bit shy. Lena liked her, a lot more than she liked anyone else in the castle.

  Well, except for her men.

  “Me too,” Lena agreed. She wished she were talking to Ingrid instead, no offense to Anne. Anne was nice, but she wasn’t her best friend. Her friend was off gods knew where doing gods knew what. She hoped Ingrid didn’t escape and try looking for her, considering Cailan had guards scouting the outskirts of the farmlands in search of Gregain’s body. If they found Ingrid while looking…she wasn’t sure if even her closeness to Cailan could convince him to not execute her.

  It was a moment before Anne said, “I think you will be good for this castle, Lena. It will be hard, but worth it. Cailan can be a good man…but he needs a woman to be good for.”

  Or a woman to be crazy for, but that was neither here nor there.

  Lena’s gaze fell to her lap. “I hope you’re right.” Gods, was it difficult to open and close her eyes, with all the makeup Anne had caked onto her. Lena was never one for excess, and with each glance in the mirror, she could recognize herself less and less.

  The smile Anne gave her was meant to be reassuring, she knew, but all it did was make her heart hurt. She didn’t want to marry Cailan, even if it meant Rivaini would have a mage queen. If she were to marry anyone, she wanted it to be Bastian, Vale, or Tamlen. Not Cailan. And definitely not Zyssept.

  Most definitely not him.

  Zys stood outside the door, listening to Lena and her maidservant, Anne, go back and forth. They seemed more at ease with each other, and both seemed happier. He felt a strange sense of pride, knowing Lena was with someone she might consider a friend. She wasn’t Ingrid, but a god could only do so much.

  He was dressed in a suit made specially for him, a suit that sprang forth from nothing. Zys didn’t need a tailor sewing his clothes or polishing his shoes. He could snap his fingers or even wave his hand, and his clothes would change and his boots become scuff and dirt free. He did stick with the color black, though, which—judging from Henrik’s personal closet—was the incarcerated seneschal’s least favorite color.

  Black was the color of his heart. Black was the color of night, of shadows and darkness. Black was both revealing and concealing. Black was sheer perfection.

  Did he have a soul? Zys often caught himself wondering. Did it matter if he didn’t? What if he did? Was he no more a god than any mortal king, empress, or faro could claim to be divine by birth? He could not remember if he’d ever been mortal. He could not recall his beginnings. Perhaps he’d never had a true beginning; it was probable he’d always simply been.

  Zys turned his head the same moment Cailan appeared at the end of the hall. The Prince was clad in white, the very opposite color from black, his suit lined with white fur. The only splash of color on his person was the jeweled cross hanging on his neck. It was gold and gaudy, resting in the center of his chest.

  Lena would never, could never be happy to be married to such a man. She might not yet realize it, but she would. She…

  He stopped, staring at Cailan as he approached him. There was…something off about the Prince. Something tugged at a primal part of Zys. It was something Zys could not yet name, something which made him wonder if the man standing before him was truly Cailan and not an imposter. Almost as if something were hiding in Cailan’s shadow…

  Zys studied Cailan as the Prince gave him a smile. Zys did not return the smile, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Good, I wanted to catch you before you fetched her.” He ran a hand down his chest, tapping the cross a few times absentmindedly. “Take her the long way around the castle. I want her to walk in just as I’m announcing our engagement.”

  “Then she will not get to see your coronation,” Zys spoke, narrowing his silver stare on the Prince. What hid behind the darkness of his gaze? Why did Cailan occasionally seem unaffected by his glamor? He needed to spend more time with the Prince, for he knew. He just couldn’t remember what he knew.

  “I’ll have to give her the recap,” Cailan chimed before skipping off.

  Zys watched him go before knocking on the dark wooden door before him. He had time to figure out Cailan; Lena called to his attention now. Odd, for she refused to give him the time of day—an expression he’d learned from Vale—yet he was still so fascinated with her. He wouldn’t let her go.

  The future he saw…he would have it.

  Anne was the one who answered the door. Once she saw him, she gave a quick curtsey.

  “Is she ready? I am to take her to the ceremony,” Zys said, holding his hands behind his back. The maidservant gave a nod before bringing back Lena, who promptly froze once she saw him. She probably thought it was one of her men, but they were already on guard in the throne room, where Cailan would receive the crown and sit on the throne he’d stolen from his murdered father.

  Whatever composure Zys had, he fumbled to keep as Lena appeared behind Anne. Unlike Cailan, she was made to wear such elegant fabrics, and such a beautiful royal blue gown hugged her waist and her chest, billowing out around her feet. Short, ruffled sleeves with long, white gloves on her arms, past her elbows. Her red hair was curled to the point of absurdity, each tendril pinned up to her head separately. The hue was a stark contrast to the color of the dress. Her eyes were fire incarnate, quite possibly due to the thing around her neck.

  She was not happy to see him, but he—he was more than happy to see her. Until recently, Zys had forgotten how fragile mort
als were, how easy it was to destroy their minds and hurt their bodies. He could not blame her for her reaction to him, for their first few meetings, he hadn’t been too particularly kind.

  Alas, he was endeavoring to be gentle now, kind and loving. All Lena had to do was realize it.

  It would, Zys knew, take a while.

  “You look…” Zys surprised even himself by fumbling with his words. He did not fumble. He was the god of death, the bringer of disease and the void, and yet this woman had rendered him speechless.

  Lena’s red eyes darted to the wall behind him. “I think the word you’re looking for is overdressed.” She took to joking when the situation was too serious—Bastian had told him when Zys had him across the Veil. Bastian knew her the best, and he was right. “You look awful,” she said without looking at him.

  Zys had been reassured by Vale that he was not an unattractive male, and it would take some time for Lena to come to terms with any feelings that might arise towards him.

  This was preposterous. Zys was a god. He should not trip on his tongue like a man living his first life. He spoke, his voice strong but low, “No, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” And he included a plague which wiped out nearly an entire kingdom’s worth of mortals, but he had the feeling she wouldn’t like to hear it.

  “Well,” Lena whispered, smoothing out the front of her gown even though it was already unwrinkled. Behind her, Anne stifled a smile, and Lena shot her an annoyed look. “That’s not saying much, considering you haven’t seen much.”

  “I’ve seen all I must to know it is true.” Zys offered her his arm. “Walk with me to Prince Cailan’s coronation.” He did not tell her they would arrive after the coronation was done and the crown already on Cailan’s blonde head; he didn’t want to spoil the mood any more than he had already.

  Lena huffed, striding right past him. She would not take his arm, and he merely laughed.

 

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