The man was never going to live long enough to see much of Cailan’s reign anyway. Cailan never particularly liked the fool, and whatever spell had been over him before had created the perfect excuse to finally rid himself of the old seneschal for good. He supposed he should thank Lena for it, although if he were to be quite honest, he didn’t need any spells on him to realize Henrik was never going to treat him like a king, as he had done to his late father.
It wasn’t the same, Cailan had to admit. Watching someone get the axe versus doing the deed oneself. After studying Henrik’s lifeless, headless, and motionless body for a minute, he decided he rather enjoyed making the move himself. There was something so calming about its release, something so soothing about feeling warm blood on one’s own hands. Did it make him a madman?
Cailan didn’t care.
“Bring the next,” he ordered, watching as the guard kicked Henrik’s body aside, making room at the block for its newest victim. The block, the noose, and any other form of execution Rivaini still had—Cailan would make sure they all saw equal usage. It was one thing his father hadn’t been good at; the only people he remembered Philip putting to death were rogue mages, maybe a frequent murderer here and there. That would change, starting today. The people needed to fear him, to respect him.
The threat of death worked wonders for such things.
As the guard went to retrieve the final prisoner, Cailan returned his eyes to his future wife. She would learn she was the powerless one here, not him. She would learn it even if he had to beat it into her skull himself.
Lena looked paler than usual, and she usually looked ghostly. Her eyes could barely meet his as she asked, “Who is the second unfortunate soul?”
He only stared. She probably was worried if it was her secret lover. She would find out soon enough, and he would wait with bated breath to see her reaction. Lena would pay for what she’d done, for making a fool out of him.
For making Cailan believe she could ever love him.
Oh, yes. By the time a crown rested on that head of hers, Lena would regret making such a terrible, treacherous choice.
Though Lena had no fuzzy feelings towards Henrik, it did not make it any easier to bear witness to his demise, his execution. She could not force herself to watch as the axe bore down, swinging through the air easily, effortlessly, as if the executioner cared not for the life he was about to snuff out. Maybe it was why the man wore a dark, shadowed hood; no one could see his face as he heaved the weapon down onto the neck of the seneschal.
After Cailan ordered the guard to fetch the second person that would be put to death, Lena had asked, “Who is the second unfortunate soul?” For that’s what this business was: unfortunate. Unfortunate and nasty and, despite the fact Henrik had tried to kill her, sad.
Beside her, Cailan only stared, his gaze intense and heavy beneath his golden, jeweled crown. His eyes seemed entirely too dark, given the fact it was a warm, sunny day. The sunlight should’ve brought out the amber in his brown eyes, not the shadows in them. His expression was as dark as his stare, utterly unreadable.
Lena knew it couldn’t be her men. Surely, if Cailan had snapped, Zyssept would’ve stepped in and saved them from him. He knew how much Vale, Bastian, and Tamlen meant to her; he’d never let the crazy King put any of them to death.
Then who…
The guard returned, dragging a small body behind him. Far too small to belong to a man. Shoeless, dirty skin peeking out from what flesh Lena could see. A dress, filthy and plain and far too familiar. Her hands tied behind her back, so tightly Lena could see wounds had formed beneath the rope. Though there was a sack resting on her head, in her heart she knew who the second unfortunate soul was.
The moment the guard yanked off the sack, Anne was forced to her knees on the opposite side of the block, staring up at Cailan and Lena. Clean streaks lined her face from her eyes, making it obvious she’d been crying.
She’d cried because she didn’t do anything to deserve this.
Lena’s instincts took over; she tried to dart away from Cailan with the hope of reaching Anne—though once she reached her, she had no idea what she’d do then, seeing as how she was utterly magic-less—but she only made it a step before strong, armored hands clamped down on her arms. The guards around her held her in place, too firm in their grip to release her. Her arms hurt beneath their hands, but whatever pain she felt, whatever bruises would form, mattered not. The only thing that mattered was Anne.
And she was going to die.
She glanced to Cailan, giving up the struggle against the guards holding her. “Why are you doing this? She has done nothing!” Lena’s voice was so loud, so upset, she knew the onlookers had heard her, though they stood on the opposite side of the courtyard. She didn’t care. Let the entire kingdom know what sort of a madman sat on the throne.
“She has betrayed her King,” Cailan said, stare narrowing at Lena. “You must learn your lesson, my love.” He spat out the last two words, like venom on his tongue. He got to his feet, reciting the same speech he’d given for Henrik. Crimes against the throne, against the King. Had she any last words?
Anne, unlike Henrik, had no gag in her mouth, for even though she cried, she barely made a peep. She did not rave, did not beg Cailan to change his mind. She knelt beside the bloodied block, her warm, kind eyes staring at Lena through her tears. Not a single word came from her, and it made Lena’s heart hurt even worse.
Tears stung Lena’s eyes, falling before she could stop them. She mouthed, I’m sorry. Though whether or not Anne understood, forgave her, she couldn’t say. This was happening because of her, because of something she’d done, but what?
Blinking once, Anne gave Lena the slightest, tiniest nod of acknowledgement before shaking her head in response to Cailan. She had no last words. The guard behind her kicked her to the block, resting his foot on her lower back. Her head hung over the block, and the last thing she’d see would be Henrik’s severed head below her.
Anne deserved to have a good, long life. She didn’t deserve to see such a morbid sight, to meet such a grisly and horrible end. She was a kind woman, someone who had believed in the best of Cailan, which he most certainly did not deserve.
There was nothing good, nothing redeemable inside that man. He was as rotten as anyone could be, and doubly as insane.
Cailan’s arm rose, sweeping down as he sentenced Anne to death.
This time, Lena could not look away. Anne deserved more.
As the axe made an arc through the air, she inhaled sharply. Would Anne feel the axe as it cut into her skin? How much pain would she feel before she felt nothing? Was she frightened, mad at Lena for bringing such a fate upon her? Her mind was full of questions, but she would never receive any answers, for as quickly as it had happened with Henrik, the axe cut through Anne’s neck. She did not scream, did not cry out as the metal bore down into her.
Lena shouted something, maybe she screamed no. She couldn’t say, for she couldn’t hear anything except a high-pitched ringing sound. Her breathing grew rapid and erratic, panic setting in. Who was she to think she could beat Cailan at his own game, even with the help of a god?
A god’s power was nothing compared to the cruelty mankind was capable of.
Once Anne’s head had fallen into the basket, after her body had been unceremoniously kicked to the side, the guards holding Lena upright released her, allowing her to fall to her knees and weep.
She did not care if the people thought she would be their future queen, if queens did not show such emotion publicly. Lena would never be queen; she’d been foolish to think otherwise, to believe maybe she could make things better for her fellow mages.
She was an idiot. The worst fool of all. One could never change the heart of a madman.
Cailan motioned to the wicker basket holding both severed heads. The guard who’d been so rough with Anne went to pick it up, bringing it to the King, who fostered a gross, hideous smile, twisting his face. “Very
good,” he said. “With me.” With a spin of his heels and a whirl of his fur-lined cape, he started the march back to the castle, ignoring the jeers from the crowd who wanted to see Lena meet the block next.
The guards forced Lena to her feet, pushing her to move in line with Cailan, even though it was the last thing she wanted to do.
Within the hour, Lena was practically thrown into her bedchambers, slammed against the wall as the guard carrying the wicker basket entered and set the bloodied thing on her vanity. The blood immediately seeped onto the wood, staining it. The door to her room was yanked shut, though she was not alone.
Cailan remained, meandering to the basket, running his jeweled fingers along its edge.
It took Lena far too long to find her voice, and it was coarse, rough due to her crying, “Why would you do such a terrible thing?” She clung to the wall, moving as far from him as she could in the room. She would not let herself think of Zyssept, not want him to save her. This was the bed of her own making; she had to see it through, one way or another.
And Cailan…Cailan had to be dealt with. There was no coming back from this.
“You do not have the right to question the King,” Cailan told her, his dark eyes glaring at her from across the room. His hand lingered on the side of the basket. “All I wanted was for you to love me. I wanted to rule this kingdom beside you as equals. I thought we were so alike, it must be fate, our destiny to be together.” His voice grew acidic, “I wanted you, Celena Locke.”
I want, I want, I want, Lena thought. He sounded like a petulant child, a boy who had never been told no before. And now he was a man, unafraid to take what he wanted, even if he had to kill to get it.
“And you go and betray me,” Cailan hissed, looking downright terrifying as he frowned at her.
She started to argue without thinking, “I did not—”
“Do not lie to me, my love. I heard the man’s voice last night. I know what you’ve been spending your private time doing. You’ve greatly disappointed me.”
This was about…last night? Not Vale or Bastian or Tamlen, since she knew one of them had been guarding her room while she was with the others…it only left one man. One old god who was trying and succeeding in getting to her. Zyssept.
This was about Zyssept?
“Oh yes,” Cailan added, seeing the shock on her face. “I heard you two. I heard the beginnings of your embrace as well, and it sickened me to hear it. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to teach you a lesson, love, and what better way than to remind you I am king and what I say is law?”
“You are not my king,” she whispered.
It was the wrong thing to say, for he immediately picked up one of the heads in the basket—Anne’s. His footsteps were heavy as he moved toward her, lifting the severed head. The expression on the face was one of frozen pain, sheer terror, her eyes rolled back into her head, her bottom lip sagging down. It was the worst thing she’d seen in her life.
“You are mine in every sense of the word, Lena. Do not let your servant’s life go to waste.” He held the head inches from hers, his actions only fostering the hatred she quelled within her.
“You will pay for this,” Lena said, more a promise than a threat.
Cailan laughed, tossing the head onto her bed, blood splattering on her sheets as it rolled to a stop near her pillows. “Oh, dear. Have you forgotten how powerless you are here? You can do no magic, and now not a single servant will want to get close to you. You have nothing and no one, and as soon as my scouts find that mage friend of yours—what was her name? Ingrid? I’ll be sure to make it so you have no one outside of these walls, either.”
He was threatening Ingrid.
It was something Lena would never let happen.
“From now on, you are to stay in your room, and guards I personally choose will stand right outside. No more trysts for you, love. And I’m working on finding the new seneschal—the fucking mage that put me under that fucking spell—and when I do, I’ll be ready.” Cailan tilted his head. “Unless the poor fool has already abandoned you in fear of my retribution.” He smirked. “We’ll see, won’t we?”
So, it was true. Cailan knew the truth, knew he’d had Henrik executed, knew Zyssept was not the true seneschal. How? What power did he hold that he could so easily overcome a god’s influence?
Lena said, “You cannot keep me here forever.”
He smiled, and it was an ugly thing, making her stomach clench. “Oh, I plan on doing my best.” He moved closer to her, running a finger along her jaw. It would’ve been seen as a tender gesture, had someone walked in at that very moment, but it wasn’t. There was a malice behind it, a hatred that went both ways. “You will go without dinner tonight, I think, while I devise other ways to break that beautiful spirit of yours. An unfaithful woman must be taught a lesson.”
She jerked her face away from him, staring hard at the wall as she muttered, “You are mad.”
Cailan let out a bark of a laugh as he moved toward the door. “Only for you.” He was gone the next minute, leaving her alone with two severed heads, Anne’s still resting on her bed.
Even if her sheets weren’t stained, it wasn’t as if Lena would get much sleep tonight anyway. This day, Cailan, whatever plan she’d started to formulate before losing track of it all when Zyssept kissed her, everything went to shit on this day. She would have to think of a new plan, somehow.
Was she strong enough to come up with the solution to this? Really, Lena saw only one way out, and even then, it did not guarantee the mages in the College would survive unscathed. If she did what she currently debated on doing, it might sentence everyone she’d ever known to their own violent deaths.
But this kingdom could not prosper under such a volatile ruler. Cailan had to be dealt with. He had to be disposed of, one way or another. Rivaini would see nothing but countless of executions. He would rule the entire kingdom with an iron fist, using only one thing to cement his crown: fear.
Cailan was foolish if he thought a fearful populace was a good thing. Those who did not respect their leaders were bound to rise up and rebel. Gods, if Lena had to start her own rebellion, she would, but first, she would try one thing.
There would be nothing to rebel against if Cailan was out of the picture, and the only way to get the crowned madman out of it would be to kill him.
King Cailan’s reign would be a short one.
Chapter Eight
Lena was up all night. After she’d wrapped Anne’s head in a sheet and returned it to the basket, she’d tore up every dress in the closet, destroyed all the makeup in the vanity—which, okay, didn’t really do much in the large scale of things, but it made her feel a little better.
She also wordlessly commanded Bastian, Vale, and Tamlen to steer clear of Cailan and, sadly, her. She would not put them in danger simply because the King was crazy, and even though the guards and servants were following Cailan’s orders, they were only doing what they were told. It wasn’t their place to question if their ruler was nuts, and Lena knew if her men came near her, the other guards would stop them, fight them. No one should be hurt, no one other than Cailan himself.
And he would be. He would be in for a world of hurt, as soon as she figured out a blasted plan.
She might’ve called for Zyssept once or twice…but the god of death was nowhere to be found. She wasn’t expecting him to walk into her bedchambers, but she had anticipated something. A voice in her head, some kind of response instead of the nothingness that answered her.
Where in all of Rivaini was he? He’d always come to her when she needed him, hadn’t he? Then again, Lena had never explicitly called out for him before. He’d always just…shown up, knowing when he was needed. Maybe he was mad at her for telling him to leave after the kiss. Maybe he’d wanted more, expected more, and he’d finally given up his pursuit of her.
The notion of possibly losing Zyssept’s attention, affection, whatever one wanted to call it, had never been as terrifying
. Now she needed him more than ever.
Her stomach growled.
She was also starving, having not eaten anything the day before and no morning meal. How long would Cailan starve her? Perhaps it was how he planned on killing her, even though it went against everything he claimed. He wanted her to pay for what she’d done, wanted her to regret her past decisions.
Maybe if she swore herself to him, he’d let her have just a scrap of bread…
When there was a knock on her door, Lena’s mood lifted, despite the two severed heads that shared her room and the utter feeling of aloneness that had swept over her after the executions. Considering the fact she’d been locked in—trying the knob had been one of the first things she did the day before—she sat in place near the windows as someone inserted a key and entered.
Nilsan, her teacher, one of the College’s enchanters. She wore blue robes, but her wrists were bound by anti-magic shackles. She looked tired, weary, though she tried to smile when she saw Lena. Her brown hair was pulled back, frizz lining her face. She’d most definitely seen better days.
A pair of rough guards stood at her back, trailing her inside Lena’s room, and that’s when Lena noticed what Nilsan held: a small blue vial, very reminiscent of the one she’d given her during the enchanter’s exam. It had to be why her heartbeat suddenly grew so very fast.
“We’ve been working on this for days for the King,” Nilsan said, her shackled wrists rising, holding out the vial. When Lena made no moves, she added, “Please. Just take it so they’ll let me go back to the College.”
Had Nilsan been stuck in the castle working on this for days? Lena wondered, slowly reaching out and grasping the tiny glass object. It was no larger than her pinky, a plain, see-through vial whose contents were a cool, pure blue. If she’d been here that long, Cailan had been hiding things from her.
What else had he kept to himself?
Gods and Trickery: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (Unfortunate Magic Book 3) Page 13