House of Kings (House of Royals Book 3)

by Keary Taylor

  “Sit,” he says as he leads me to a chair, set directly over my father’s crest. “Just wait here for a few minutes and we’ll begin soon.”

  I listen as people shuffle around. More and more Court and House members fill the ballroom. Whispers float around, everyone wondering at the contents of this last and final game.

  Suddenly, there’s a choked off yelp and I flinch. Shouts and angry voices. I reach up to remove my blindfold, but there’s a soft, fragile feeling hand stopping me.

  “Don’t,” they say. X.

  “What’s going on?” I demand, though I don’t try to remove the blindfold.

  “Just be patient,” she says and I hate her more than I ever have before. “You will see in just a few moments.”

  There’s a bang, the sound of a foot connecting hard with the front door and more scuffling. A muffled yell works its way to my ears. There’s the scraping sound of two chairs being dragged against the marble floor and I hear two bodies shoved into them.

  More yelling. More chaos.

  “Silence!”

  Cyrus’ command is deafening among all the noise. My ears ring and the ballroom falls silent. The air quakes with his intensity.

  “Much better,” Cyrus says, clearly annoyed. His booted feet tap across the marble, walking toward me. His hand grabs mine, and he places something cold and hard in my hand. It has weight to it. A sharp edge.

  A knife.

  “This game is for you, my dear Alivia,” Cyrus says. I hear him walk behind my chair, and he places his hands on the high back of it. “This is a game of judgment and quick decisions. You must make a choice and you have ten seconds to make it. In war and leadership, we don’t often get time to make decisions. We must listen to our instincts.”

  His hands slide over the back of the chair, back and forth, in gleeful anticipation.

  “And make a decision you must,” he says, his voice growing chilly and low. “For if you don’t, they both will die, anyway.”

  My blindfold is suddenly yanked away. I blink twice, clearing the light from my eyes. And sitting before me, bound to chairs, duct tape over their mouths, are Trinity and Sheriff Luke McCoy.

  “One of these two has betrayed you,” Cyrus says. “They’ve posed a devastating threat to your House. You must kill someone and you have ten seconds to decide who. Starting…” he walks around to the side of me, holding a digital timer in his hands, with big, bold numbers for all to see. It is set to ten seconds. His finger hovers over the start button. “Now.”

  Cries and shouts rise up into the air, so much noise telling me who the most likely traitor is.

  But I tone them all out. I study their faces. Luke. Who has done so much to protect Silent Bend. Who has helped me with everything I’ve asked. But who has made it very clear that things were so much better before I showed up in town.

  Trinity. She’s shown an obvious hatred for me since day one. She chose to side with Jasmine until the very last second. She only came to my House when there was no other option. Yet, she watched firsthand the punishment for betraying me when Cyrus killed Micah and Jasmine.

  A sweat breaks out on my hands.

  Which one?

  I have to kill someone or they both die.

  Who betrayed me?

  The sheriff? Trinity?

  The shouts grow louder and more panicked. I glance over at the timer and see I have two seconds left.

  And in that moment of pressure, in that moment of panic and life and death stakes, I have a perfect moment of clarity.

  It is not the right decision. Because I realize there is no correct decision.

  There is only the one I have to live with.

  The blade flies from my hands.

  And embeds itself in Danielle’s chest.

  A choked off gasp cuts from her throat. Her eyes grow wide as she falls backwards. Her head bounces off the marble when she hits the ground. Blood instantly seeps from the wound, saturating her shirt. The pink in her skin leeches away and the grey of death claims her flesh.

  Not a sound is heard in the ballroom as all eyes shift from Danielle’s dead body, to me.

  But I feel one weighty set of eyes on me, and turn to meet the gaze of the King.

  “Neither of them betrayed me,” I say, calm and low. “You said this was a test in snap judgment and decisions. It was neither of them, but you said someone had to die. It didn’t have to be one of the two of them.”

  And slowly, one tiny muscle movement at a time, the smile curls on Cyrus’ face. “That is correct.”

  And everyone goes crazy. Shouts. Cries. Words of congratulations and encouragement.

  But there’s a little piece of my heart that dies.

  Because I just killed an innocent girl. A girl whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time when I couldn’t control my thirst.

  “Members of the Court!” Cyrus suddenly bellows. “Pack your bags, for tomorrow night, we depart!”

  This causes all the more stir. Sevan’s name is thrown into the air. There is so much confusion—so many questions left unanswered.

  “I will talk to you in an hour, my dear,” Cyrus says, leaning in close, his hand on the small of my back. He presses the lightest of kisses to my cheek before walking away.

  I feel numb. So very cold. I walk forward, not hearing a word from the crowd that fills the ballroom. I walk around Danielle, feeling my stomach roll. I walk toward the hall. And all the blood in my body pools to my feet when I see Rath, standing in the entryway, and the look on his face tells me he watched everything.

  “I’d like a moment, Alivia,” he says.

  I don’t want to go. I can’t face him after what I just did.

  But I also cannot run away.

  So, I follow him into the library. He closes the doors behind us, blocking out most of the noise.

  I swallow once as I sit. And it takes every ounce of strength I have to look him in the eye.

  “I’m leaving, Alivia,” Rath says. “I’ve served the Conrath family for all these years because of not just what they stand for, but what they did in action. Death and violence are things I left far, far in my past. And I do not wish to accept it back into my life. I cannot return to it. This is my official letter of resignation.” He does indeed hold an envelope in his hand. “I’ve already hired someone to take over my duties, someone like…yourself.”

  Tears pool in my eyes as I finally look at him. My lip begins to quiver and my insides shake. The most human I’ve felt in a very long time.

  “My bags are already packed,” he says. The strain in his voice tells me this isn’t easy on him, either. “I just wanted to say goodbye.”

  And it takes everything I have in me when I stand. When I take three, four, five steps across the library to him. My arms feel as if they’re filled with lead and ice as I bring them up to pull Rath into an embrace.

  “I’m sorry,” I choke out in a whisper.

  But Rath does not offer an “I know,” or any words of comfort. He simply allows me to hold him for a few moments. And then, he pulls away. He offers the smallest of small smiles. He turns for the door, and pulls it open.

  “Goodbye, Alivia Ryan.”

  And then he’s gone.

  “THE KING IS ASKING FOR YOU.”

  I don’t look up when Lillian speaks. My eyes remain locked on the portrait of my father. I’m slouched in my chair, my knees tucked up to my chest. I’ve got a blanket pulled up around my shoulders and head. I’m not cold, but I certainly am trying to disappear.

  “Alivia?” she asks in concern. I hear her cross the library and she squats beside me, dropping to my level. “There was no right choice to make. You had to do something or he would have killed the Sheriff and Trinity.”

  “It’s not just that,” I say in a flat, scratchy voice. I don’t look away from Henry. “Rath just left.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be back in a few hours,” she says in confusion over my reaction. “Supply runs don’t normally take
too long.”

  I shake my head. “You don’t understand,” I manage to get out. “He’s seen the darkness I’ve become. He sees that I am no longer the girl Henry would have called his daughter. He saw me for what I am. And he’s gone.”

  Lillian does not say anything and I don’t look away from my father’s serious, deep eyes. Those eyes hold their own secrets. He did things that were dark and vengeful. But he never sank to the level I have.

  “You should go to Cyrus,” Lillian says. Her voice is tight. “He seemed rather eager to speak to you.”

  I nod, blinking five times fast. I feel as if I should be stiff and moving should be difficult, trying to hold in all these feelings. But my new body betrays me and moves with perfect ease. I climb from the chair, dropping the blanket on the floor. I cross the library without looking at Lillian.

  I do not have to ask where Cyrus is. I can sense him. Hear him breathe. Hear the carpet brush beneath his feet. He’s in my bedroom, waiting for me.

  The door does not squeak as I open it. Cyrus stands in the middle of the room, hands folded behind his back. The expression on his face when he looks at me is disappointed. I’ve let him down, too.

  “I’m not her,” I tell him quietly, shaking my head. Tears threaten to pool in my eyes when there’s a bite at the back of them, but once again, my new body makes that difficult too.

  “And you are entirely sure?” he asks, walking forward. He stalks toward me, as if I am prey and he is a lion. Everything in the way he looks at me is different now. No love. No hope. Only disappointment. “You once let on hope. You said things. You made me believe.”

  “I know,” I say quietly, with a little nod. I feel eerily calm. The King may well wish to kill me for what I did. But in this moment of self-hatred, I find I do not care. “And I thought maybe. Just maybe. I wished for it for a time. But it didn’t make it true.”

  “You let me believe, Alivia!” He suddenly screams the words in my face.

  I let my eyes snap closed and wait for the final blow—for my second and last death.

  “Hope is an unbearable thing,” he says, this time quieter and under control, though through clenched teeth. “Because every time…every damn time I think this will be the one. Surely, after two hundred seventy-one years, ten months, and six days, surely this will be the one.”

  When the blow never comes, I let my eyes slide back open. And there is all the pain I could imagine on his face. There is the death of hope. There is the disappointment. “I’m so sorry,” I breathe out. I am so very sorry for so very many things.

  Cyrus studies me, his eyes flicking between mine. He stands like that for a long time. As if to be absolutely sure that there is not something I’m suppressing. Holding back. Something he isn’t missing.

  I am absolutely sure. I’ve remembered nothing. I’ve felt nothing.

  “I’m not Sevan,” I say, assuring the finality.

  “No,” he finally breathes. “You’re not.”

  And having confirmed his answer, he steps away from me. He grabs the bag with his things and walks for the door. “I’ll be sleeping in my own room tonight. I shall give you your space. We will depart come nightfall.”

  I nod, unable to say anything else. And he walks out, shutting the door behind him.

  Numbly, I walk to the window. Light begins to glow on the horizon and I remember that it’s the first of March, but the view outside reveals no hints at spring. Random, uneven bouts of snow still fall from the sky, adding to the nearly three feet of cover. The sky brightens momentarily with a bolt of lightning. The clouds continue their slow swirl, circling our abandoned town.

  It’s so grim. So fortune telling of death and unhappiness.

  My eyes fall to the small graveyard that is slowly disappearing beneath the snow.

  My entire family is in the ground. My uncle. My mother. My father.

  Ian left me. Rath abandoned me. Cyrus will depart soon.

  And who am I left with?

  Falling for the man who would one day be my worst enemy was the most dangerous thing I could have done—and I was constantly surrounded by people who wished to kill me. He made me vulnerable. My feelings for him left me exposed to those who would manipulate and take advantage of me.

  Opening my heart to him meant opening the door to losing myself.

  I thought I was a good person. I thought I knew right from wrong.

  But in this world of secrets and lies and blood, all the lines have blurred. All the circumstances leading to this means to the end are gray.

  And I’m not sure who I have become.

  IT’S THE SMELL THAT FIRST grabs my attention.

  The hours leading up to nightfall are hectic. Crazy. Court members run here and there. Clothing is thrown in every direction. Hanging from the railing, littering the halls, a sock hangs from the Conrath chandelier. Bags are piled by the front door.

  I can’t help but think there would not be so much chaos if Rath were here.

  While everyone packs and prepares for departure, I catch the scent of something…off.

  In the three weeks since the Court members arrived, I’ve grown used to their scents. I know the individuals. But this one. I do not know.

  “Do you smell that?” I ask Christian as he passes me in the hall.

  He pauses, taking a deep breath. “Smell what?”

  I shake my head. “Never mind. You’ve only been here a few days. Markov!”

  He looks over his shoulder at me, on his way back to his bedroom. When he sees me, he walks back down.

  “Do you smell something…someone that just seems-” I struggle for the right words. “Something just doesn’t belong.”

  He too breathes deeply. “I noticed it when I woke, but there’s so many around, I didn’t think too much of it.”

  I shake my head, taking another deep breath. I detect the faint trail of the scent. I follow my nose, Christian and Markov following behind me. It starts from the farthest south door in the ballroom. Through to the foyer. Up the stairs. Down the south hall. Back to my bedroom, though it does not enter.

  “Someone was checking the whole House,” Christian says, seemingly having caught on to the scent. “Back down the stairs,” he says with a tip of his chin in that direction.

  “Have you seen Sebastian getting packed yet?” a woman asks as we head down the stairs. “He’s always holding up the entire party.”

  “Haven’t seen him,” Christian offers distractedly. Markov leads us in the direction of the northern hall, on the trail of the scent. It intensifies as we walk past doors.

  “They were this way most recently,” Markov says. He pauses beside a door, taking a deep whiff, before moving onto the next one. His eyes instantly flash red. “In here.”

  Christian pulls a stake from his pocket, Markov’s hands come up and his fingers curl into claws, ready to strike. Ian’s training from so long ago comes flooding back to me. My knees bend as my muscles flex and prepare. I wish I had a crossbow nearby.

  Markov throws the door open and the three of us burst inside.

  There is nothing that could have prepared us for what we’d find.

  Painted on one wall is a gigantic red cross, a crown roughly painted above it. And nailed to the wall, a nail through his hands, feet, and through the neck, is Sebastian. A giant wooden stake goes through his chest, through his heart, and into the wall.

  “Intruder!” Markov bellows.

  He tears out of the room, and all hell breaks loose.

  “Who would have done this?” I ask in horror.

  Blood runs from Sebastian’s chest, saturating his clothing, running down the wall and on to the floor. His head lolls forward, blood spilling from his mouth.

  “The blood isn’t flowing anymore,” Christian says as he starts searching the room. “He’s totally gray. He’s been dead for at least two hours. Liv, I don’t smell any exit points.”

  “They’re still in the House,” I say in realization.

  And no o
ne but me and Rath know just how many places they could be hiding. There are endless secret doors, tunnels, and who knows how many other hidden places I have yet to discover.

  A woman lets out a scream as she comes into the bedroom. Her hands fly to her mouth and chest, her face losing all its color.

  “What is going on?” X demands from behind her, shoving the woman aside to get into the room. She stops short when she takes it all in.

  “Sebastian,” the woman cries. And when I look at her—actually look at her, I realize how very much she looks to have the same translucent skin. The same nose. The same unruly dark hair.

  She’s his mother.

  I back out of the room, my mind reeling. There’s so much that needs to happen all at once. There’s too much going on.

  “Search the House!” Markov bellows, giving the orders I am not. “Find whoever did this!”

  Search the House. I can start with that.

  The first place I think for someone to hide is the well. I fight my way through the crowd to the south hall and swing back the painting of the women. It takes me a moment to find the right place to press on the wall, but it suddenly pops out toward me. Swinging it open, I peer into the dark.

  It’s empty.

  My heart drops into my stomach. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

  I close the door, and head further down the hall. I check every painting. Behind every curtain and tapestry. But if there are hidden passageways and rooms, I do not find them.

  A tap on the shoulder sends me spinning around.

  It’s Samuel. The expression on his face is confused. Betrayed. Hurt. Unsure. “What is this, Alivia?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

  My eyes fall to what he holds in his hands.

  It’s a long rod of iron, maybe two feet in length. And at the end of it is a not perfect circle. But as I look closer at it, the details slide into place. The tiny scales. The open mouth. The disappearing tail.

  The snake brand.

  “What is this, Alivia?” Samuel repeats, his voice gaining a hint of franticness. And anger. “What is this, and why was it in your bedroom?”