Queen of Blood

by Jill Myles

  “Murder him?” Seri said in a harsh whisper. “You want me to murder their prince before the eyes of all?” How could she possibly do it? How could she kill a man? Not just any man, but the Athonite prince? Her own life would surely be forfeit.

  But Rilen only grinned and dashed to the back of the barn, where he began to lift great tufts of hay out of the bottom of a nearby stall until the outlines of a hidden door became visible. He lifted it and revealed a tiny room full of swords, knives, and armor.

  “Rilen!” She gasped in fear as he pulled forth a gleaming dagger. “They will kill you if they ever find out what you have.” Anger pulsed through her. She was to marry this reckless fool, to bring him into her home with Josdi and her father and have him care for them. He would put them all in danger. “Rilen, no.”

  “Seri, yes.” He gestured at the swords. “They were bringing them for the soldiers in the castle garrison.” At her blank look, he continued. “Don’t you see? These aren’t toys to be handed out to young children. This isn’t food for the hungry. These aren’t farm implements. They are bringing in extra weapons, Seri. Extra weapons means more troops. They are arming themselves against us.”

  “But how did you get them?”

  “We took them.” The look on his face was triumphant. “We intercepted the caravan and killed them to a man. Now we can fight them on their level. We’re evening the war, Seri.”

  “By killing people?” She stared at him in horror.

  “Seri, these are the same Athonite troops that burned down Geeven’s farm and raped his daughter Nedda.”

  She gasped. “What? When?”

  He nodded grimly. “She barely made it to the healer alive. Seri, we have to act. We must.”

  She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes, thinking of Nedda, who was no more than twelve. It felt as if the world was turning into a nightmare. Even Rilen, the man she’d loved, was becoming a stranger to her. The light in his eyes when he spoke of the rebellion, of killing, was fervent. Maybe too fervent.

  Or was she simply a coward? At least he was acting to save their people. She could do more. Defeated, her shoulders slumped. “Tell me what I must do.”

  He passed her a dagger and a small leather pouch. “These herbs will cause his body to lock up with one taste, destroying his lungs and innards as he waits in bed. Have him drink this on your wedding night, and you can escape as he dies, unable to call for help.”

  She swallowed hard and nodded. “How will I escape? There will be guards outside our door. There are always guards.”

  “Hang a red banner from your window when you get back to the palace. I will look for it in the morning, and in three days’ time, I will wait below the window to rescue you.” He dug around in the room and lifted a rope that had been knotted into a crude ladder, and handed it to her. “I will handle the rest.”

  “The rest? Like what we’re going to do when we murder the prince? They’ll surely retaliate then! Rilen, this is madness—”

  “There is a plan, Seri. Trust.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  Rilen gave a small shake of his head. “I can’t tell you for your own safety. The less you know, the better.”

  That did not comfort her. She stared at the items he’d given her. A rope, poison, and a dagger. Two death sentences concealed on her person. “They’re going to search me.”

  He laughed, the sound bitter. “They’re not going to search you. You’re their chosen Betrothed.”

  He might be sure, but she was not convinced. Seri regarded the dagger with unbridled dismay. “What am I to do with this if I am poisoning him?”

  He leaned in and kissed her forehead again. “That is for you, in case anything should happen.”

  She stared at him in shock. “I’m not going to kill myself.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “There are some fates worse than death, dear Seri. I’m merely giving you an out.”

  * * *

  Too soon Seri left for Vidara Castle once more with Rilen’s weapons tucked into a leather bag on her back.

  She stood at the head of the path leading to the village. Down in the valley below she could see the twinkling lights of the houses as dusk grew into dark, and far beyond the outskirts of the village, her own ramshackle farm, where Josdi and Father waited for her to come home. Guilt flashed through her. “I should go see them, Rilen.”

  “I told you, everything’s handled.” The look on his face was hard. “Seri, don’t you trust me?

  “Of course I trust you,” Seri said. “Who else can I trust?”

  He squeezed her shoulders. “Then trust me to handle this. You have your task. I’ll take care of your family. I promise.”

  She chewed on her lip, torn. “You’ll let them know that I am well?”

  Rilen touched his forehead to hers. “Of course. And you yourself will see them in three days’ time when I rescue you.”

  Her hands clasped his desperately. “And then we’ll run away from here? With my family and yours? We’ll head to the woods to the east and wait for the storm to pass before we return?”

  With a gentle nudge, he turned her back up the path. “Go now, Seri. Tell no one of our plan, and remember the red cloth.”

  She nodded.

  He kissed her then dashed down the path, back into the valley. Seri had hoped to see him head to her farm, but instead, he turned toward Jovis’s farm. She watched him until he disappeared from sight, her emotions in turmoil.

  Seri sighed, the leather satchel weighing heavily on her back. Then, she turned back toward the castle high above the city. No more than a few lengths up the dark road back to the castle, she ran into a patrol of guards. Instead of the leering looks she had received before, the captain of the small troop gave her a look of unabashed relief. “My lady,” he said, reaching for her arm in a courtly gesture.

  She shrugged him away, nervous and afraid he would look into her bag and see its deadly contents. “Remove your hands!”

  To her surprise, he backed away then bowed in a gesture of respect. “Of course. If you will please follow me, we shall escort you back to the castle.” The other guards kept a respectful distance from her.

  Seri hesitated a moment, but it seemed Rilen was right—they would not touch her now. She was the Eterna, the chosen one. She stepped to the front, next to the commander. The other troops fell in place behind them, and a runner left to tell the other regiments that she had been found. She did not look back at the village below, or at the valley that had been her home.

  She had a bigger task now, one that would require her heart and soul. Tears streamed down her face, silent and unnoticed in the darkness, but her hands were clenched into fists, as she walked back to her prison with resolve.

  She would do this for Rilen, and Josdi, and Father. She’d do this terrible thing for her people.

  No matter the cost to herself.

  Back at the castle, they did not take Seri directly to her rooms, but instead led her to the main hall. Several courtiers strolling the hallways watched with curiosity as the guards escorted her through the palace in her dusty, stolen servant’s garb. Seri kept her head high, ignoring the sneering looks around her as they ushered her into Graeme’s study.

  It was just as she remembered: the map sprawled across the table, books scattered on the desks, and candles flickering in the corners of the room.

  The prince sat in a high-backed chair, his long legs stretched out. A book was before him, and he flicked through the pages idly. Though his posture was one of repose, she sensed his distress at a deeper level. She knew, somehow, that he wasn’t really looking at the book. That his thoughts were of her.

  It didn’t make sense. None of this made any sense.

  As she entered the room, Prince Graeme straightened. He tossed the book aside and nodded at the guards. “You may leave.”

 
Seri’s heart thudded in her breast, and she kept her chin proudly raised, eyes averted. The satchel on her back burned like a brand.

  The doors shut, and then it was just Seri and Prince Graeme. He stood, his clothing falling into place with a ripple. His tunic was a deep, midnight blue that made his dark eyes seem brighter, and a deep red mantle curled over his shoulders. He paced around her, hands clasped behind his back.

  After a long, tense pause, he spoke. “You left.”

  “I did.”

  He rubbed his jaw, still pacing. “I felt it, as I feel your unhappiness now. This tether between us . . .” The prince leaned in close to her with an intense look on his face, nostrils flaring.

  Seri leaned away, a strange sensation stirring in her gut. Something akin to curiosity and longing though it didn’t seem to belong to her. “What are you doing?”

  “Testing our bond.” He took a few steps back, and then frowned. “It is more intense the closer I am to you. I suppose that is the Goddess’s work.”

  “I don’t believe in your goddess,” she reminded him.

  The prince turned his palms up. “Whether you believe in her or not, we have both been touched by her curse.”

  So that was it? No anger that she had slapped him? Confused, Seri stared at his mouth. She remembered his shocked expression after she’d struck him. The sharp descent of fangs.

  “What are you thinking?”

  Startled, she looked up and met his gaze. “I . . . I don’t know what to think,” she blurted. “About you. About any of this.”

  He gestured at the table behind them. “Shall we sit and talk?”

  She was acutely aware of the bag on her back, the forbidden implements inside. “If you wish.” Seri sat at the table and was relieved when he chose to sit across from her, rather than next to her.

  An uncomfortable silence fell between them.

  Seri stared at the map on the table, unwilling to look at his face. How could one with such beautiful, noble features be so . . . inhuman?

  “I won’t harm you,” he said in a quiet voice.

  She looked up, startled. “Should I be grateful?”

  He gave a liquid shrug. “I thought you knew about the curse. It is common knowledge in Athon.”

  “I’ve never been to Athon.”

  His expression was wry. “I suppose not. Shall I explain it to you then?”

  She nodded, distinctly uncomfortable. She listened quietly as he spoke of an ancient king who had angered the Goddess. She had punished his kin with the curse of the Blood, to drink of others and perish in the sun. To bear only sons and wait restlessly for the mythic Eterna who would sate their thirst. When Prince Graeme finished, Seri considered his words for a long moment, picking at the hem of the borrowed dress.

  “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “What do you think?” Impatience was stamped in his tone.

  “It’s clear that your goddess favors the Vidari less than even your ‘cursed’ kind,” Seri said finally.

  He arched a brow at her, clearly puzzled. “How so?”

  “I am to breed daughters for you so they will suffer the same fate as their mother? To be married to monsters and serve as their drinking goblets for the rest of their days?”

  “They will,” he confirmed. “Though the terms monster and drinking goblet are up for debate.”

  “And what about love?” She shook her head. “I love someone else, yet no one seems to care about that.”

  His gaze grew stony. “The Goddess has decreed that you and I belong together.”

  She smoothed her dress, feeling helpless. “And thus you see my issue. You have decided. Your goddess has decided. Even my children’s fates have been decided for them.”

  “Marrying one of the Blood is considered a great honor.”

  Seri snorted. “Allow me to be the first to disagree.”

  His lips twitched. “Most women find the bite of one from the Blood quite alluring. It is not viewed as a horror but as an erotic act.”

  She felt her cheeks grow warm. “Then I suspect you will have no end of ladies waiting to enjoy your company after we are married.”

  “I am afraid not,” Graeme said. There was a curious sort of interest in his voice, and she watched his long fingers drum against the tabletop. “Legend says a man with an Eterna will drink from none but her. You will find me the most constant of husbands.”

  “Truly, I am blessed,” she said drily.

  His eyes danced. “And still you are the first to disagree.”

  She tilted her head at him. “You do not want this any more than I do, do you?”

  “While I cannot pretend affection for you, my lady, I am equal parts horrified that I have been tapped and relieved that the endless drudgery of my life is about to change.”

  She wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. She tugged at the high, choking collar of Idalla’s gown, feeling acutely ill at ease.

  “You should rest,” Graeme said, standing up from the small table. “We have a busy schedule until the wedding ceremony. There is much to be done.”

  “Please,” Seri said, standing and following him toward the doorway. “I beg of you. Let’s forget all of this and go our separate ways,” she said, giving him one last chance to save his life. Rilen could not fault her if Graeme tossed her from the castle.

  He turned and paused, and there was sympathy in his gaze. “If I was not what I am, my lady, I would let you go in a heartbeat. But I cannot change who and what I am any more than you can.” He brushed a few strands of her hair back.

  The feel of his skin against hers was alarmingly intense—her breath was nearly sucked out of her lungs and her body flared to life. It seemed to startle both of them, and she looked up at him in surprise to find that his gaze was locked on hers.

  Then, he leaned down and kissed her.

  It was nothing more than a gentle press of the lips, the tasting of his mouth against hers, but it set her on fire, sensation rushing through her. They parted after a mere second, and Seri put a hand to her mouth, half in wonder, half in shock.

  For a moment, he shared her incredulous expression. Then, the prince recovered swiftly and tilted his head in formal acknowledgment and dismissal. “Good day to you.”

  “It’s night,” she said softly as he left.

  * * *

  Seri could hear the nobles of Vidara Castle laughing and dancing well until the early hours of morning. She lay in her massive bed. The backpack was carefully stashed under the mattress, its contents hidden in a lump under her pillows. Thoughts circled in her mind endlessly.

  She had made a mistake coming back.

  Turning in the bed, she jammed one of the feathered pillows under her cheek and flipped her body, trying to get comfortable. In her head, over and over again, she saw the prince’s eyes, felt his lips on hers. She could feel him in the room below, sense his presence like a tangible thing. Would the sensation go away after she killed him? Or would she feel forever lost? Tears leaked from her eyes onto the soft casing of the pillow.

  She twitched, suddenly restless. Alert. Something was . . . happening. Her whole body felt infused with anxious longing.

  Then she heard the faint click of the door. Scarcely able to breathe, Seri closed her eyes, feigning sleep, and forced her breath to slow and relax. She lay in bed, still, her body half-covered by the blankets as someone walked into her room.

  Without looking, she knew it was the prince. She sensed him, just as surely as she sensed his emotions beneath his calm surface.

  The hard soles of his expensive boots thumped as he crossed the floor and stopped at the edge of her bed. She wished she’d thought to cover her body with the downy quilts stacked at the foot of the bed, to hide it from his gaze, for she was dressed in nothing more than a filmy sleeping gown. But she didn’t mo
ve, simply waited.

  In the end, he did nothing. He simply watched her for several long minutes before leaving the room once more.

  Confusion tumbled through her mind, and she sat up after he’d shut the door behind him, wondering what he’d seen as he observed her. Did he see a scared girl . . . or the enemy?

  Seri got up and pulled out the red cape from her bag. She studied it for a long moment, then moved to the window and hung it there. There was no turning back for her. Not now. She had no options. She could either marry a monster and save her people, or she could run like a coward and condemn them.

  The choice was clear.

  She didn’t fall asleep until dawn crested on the horizon and a maid came and drew the heavy drapery shut. She clucked at the sight of the red cape flapping from the window and moved to take it away.

  “Leave it,” Seri snapped, and the girl did, scurrying out of the room.

  Turning in her bed, she pulled the covers back over her face and finally fell into an exhausted slumber. Even in her dreams, though, Graeme was there, gazing at her with his dark eyes and whispering to her with his full lips. He was right. Whether she believed in the Goddess or not, she had to admit that their connection was real. That someway, somehow, she and the prince were connected deeply, irrevocably, their souls bound together as if by fate itself.

  Seri did not wake until the sun was nearly set in the sky.

  Someone knocked at her door and entered, and she sat up in bed, stifling a yawn. Idalla entered, dressed in a maidservant’s gray dress and beaming at her. “Are you awake, my lady?”

  She carried a small tray, which was filled not with food but toiletries—a brush, a pitcher of water, and cakes of scented soaps.

  Seri swung her legs over the side of the bed and slid out, moving to take the tray from Idalla’s hands. “Here, let me get that.”

  The maidservant took a step backward, scandalized. “Lady Seri!” She glanced around, as if making sure no one else noticed, then leaned in. “Please, my lady, let me serve you. We are not equals any longer. In a few days, you will be princesse.”