Queen of Blood

by Jill Myles

  But tonight, she would find out if her husband would set her aside for an Athonite lady as the king had commanded, or if she would remain his wife. She had betrayed the Vidari and told the Athonites their plans. She had not killed the prince. She had not aided the rebellion.

  And now her husband might set her aside for another woman.

  Graeme had fought the king viciously upon the suggestion, and she’d shuddered from the rage that washed through him. The Goddess had chosen, Graeme had argued. She had chosen and they had married, as was their duty. But the king insisted that things were different now. As Graeme was now the sole heir to the throne of Athon and all its lands, he was no longer to be “wasted” on a religious marriage, not when a marriage to bring lands and money back to the crown would be eminently more prestigious.

  And he’d suggested that Graeme take Lady Mila de Vray as his new wife. She was rich. She was suitable. He could keep Seri on the side as a “feeding trough.”

  Seri had reeled at the suggestion. Graeme had sent her away with a kiss to the forehead and a promise that he would get it resolved. But as the day had waned and Graeme had not returned, she worried.

  What if his father had convinced him that he should marry Lady Mila? What if he was tired of Seri’s half-truths.

  Once again, her world had changed in the blink of an eye, and she had no idea what to do.

  “You look beautiful, my lady,” Idalla said softly, adjusting the comb in Seri’s hair.

  “Thank you,” Seri whispered. Her heart ached. She hadn’t wanted any of this, had fought so hard against it, and yet the thought of giving Graeme up . . . hurt. It hurt so much she could scarcely breathe.

  “Do you need anything else?” Idalla ask brightly, her mood cheery. She didn’t know what might happen at the ball, so she was pleased and excited for her mistress.

  “Just a moment alone, I think,” Seri said, forcing a smile to her face. “I’d like to pray.”

  “Of course, my lady. You just let me know when you’re ready to go down to the ball,” Idalla said and bustled out of the room, shutting the doors behind her.

  Seri stared at herself in the mirror miserably. At this time tomorrow, would she be looking at the princesse? Or a cast-aside lover? Her stomach clenched at the thought. If he reduced her to little more than a drinking vessel, she’d leave.

  She bit her lip, determined not to cry at the thought at losing Graeme. Whatever happened tonight, she would be strong and represent herself and her people proudly. If Graeme chose not to keep her . . . well, she would consider that when it happened.

  Behind her, the doors opened, and she swiped at her eyes. “Idalla, I’m not ready—”

  The door shut just as quickly again, and in the mirror, Seri saw a guard in uniform, the red stark against the shadows. Her heart pounded with worry, but then her eyes widened and she gasped. “Rilen, what are you doing here?”

  He strode forward. “Seri. Did you hear? The king is here! We can kill two birds with one stone!”

  Oh no. “We’re not doing anything tonight, Rilen.” Seri shook her head, crossing her arms under her breasts. “This needs to stop.”

  He strode forward and gripped her arms, the jewels cutting into her skin. His eyes were lit with an unholy glee. “It all happens now, Seri. No more waiting. Our people are ready. Even now, we are swarming through the castle like rats about to bring the entire thing down.” He grinned. “It’s going to be glorious to witness the downfall of the Athonite kingdom.”

  She couldn’t let Rilen know how upset his words made her. She forced her voice to be light, forced herself not to pull away from his grip. “One man isn’t going to be able to do much against all the Athonite guardsmen, Rilen. Be serious.”

  “Ah, but while you’ve holed up with our conqueror here in the castle, I’ve been busy. There’s not just one of us, Seri. There are hundreds of blades at the ready, and we’ll cut these nobles down in their finery. As for your husband . . . I’m killing that usurper tonight,” Rilen declared. “Now are you going to help me or not?”

  A sick feeling twisted in her stomach. She pushed at his grip, losing her temper. “He’s not a usurper! He wants to help our people!”

  “Is that what he tells you so you’ll go to bed with him?” He sneered.

  “It’s the truth,” Seri insisted. “I see him at work. Even now, he’s trying to fix the laws—”

  “When Vidari men are in control of the kingdom, we will make our own laws!”

  He wouldn’t listen to reason. Seri’s eyes were full of pain and apology as she looked at him. “I don’t want you to hurt him, Rilen. I love him. Please.”

  Rilen’s hand lifted, and he cracked her across the mouth. Pain bloomed, as sharp and fierce as the pain in her heart.

  “Tell me what you mean,” he raged, his voice breaking.

  “I mean that I’ve fallen in love with him,” she said, her mouth thick and raw against her teeth. She touched her lip where it bled, as tears cascaded down her cheeks. “I tried, I really did. But he’s . . . different.”

  “You were supposed to be mine.” His face was in hers, his angry eyes inches away from her own.

  “I’m not a thing,” she bit out. “You don’t own me. I make my own choices.”

  His eyes were wild. “Explain yourself, Seri. You can’t love him.”

  But she did. The Goddess had chosen right when she’d bonded Seri to Graeme—she knew that, and by the gods, she hoped Graeme did, too. “You forced me to come to this castle, Rilen. You forced me to marry Graeme,” Seri reminded him. “But things happened that were beyond any of our control. I didn’t love him when we wed, but I do now. He is a good man. And if you give him time, you’ll see that he’ll do the right thing for our people.”

  Rilen bared his teeth. “Give him time? Time? We have given them the last one hundred years, Seri! What is different now?”

  “He has me,” she said softly.

  He pulled his hand back to slap her again.

  “Don’t,” she warned. “If you hit me again, I will kill you.”

  He grabbed her by the arm instead. His face loomed inches from hers. “If you are so important to him, you will be our freedom after all, Seri.”

  And he pulled a knife on her.

  She tried to jerk away from him. “Rilen, this is madness!”

  “Even the maddest of men must have freedom.” The grin he gave her was awful. “I am willing to die for mine. Are you?”

  She struggled against him, but when the knife went against the jeweled collar and rested under her chin, she stilled. “I thought you loved me.”

  He leaned in. “I love my people more than life itself. I thought I saw the same light in you. I suppose we were both mistaken.”

  Seri spat at him. “You’re the monster, not Graeme.”

  Rilen wiped his face, his expression fierce. The knife went back to her throat. “Come, my lovely captive. Let us see this folly to the end.”

  When Seri and Rilen emerged from her room, Seri noticed Idalla waiting with a sunny smile on her lips. It took her a moment to see the knife, Seri’s swollen lip, and the tension on both faces. Her smile faded and turned to a look of horror.

  “My lady,” Idalla whispered, her gaze flicking to Rilen.

  “It’s OK, Idalla,” Seri managed. “Really.”

  Her eyes darted from Seri to Rilen. Another soldier walked up behind Idalla, and Seri tensed, wondering if he would attack Rilen, and if her throat would be cut during the fight.

  The soldier nodded at the frozen Idalla. “Should we kill this one?”

  Oh Gods, she recognized that voice. “J-Jovis?”

  “Hello, Seri,” he sneered.

  Were all the guards Vidari rebels, then? “What are you doing here?” Seri asked.

  “Finishing what you started,” he said, grabbing Idalla by the
arm.

  Seri’s pulse raced. How had no one noticed that the guards were Vidari men in disguise? The leather helmets they wore were confining, but they didn’t hide their faces so entirely as to be unrecognizable. How had they crept their way into the castle in such great number?

  Or had they murdered their way through? Her body went cold at the thought.

  “I don’t care if she lives or dies,” Rilen said with a shrug, and Jovis pulled out a knife.

  “No,” Seri blurted, reaching out for her terrified maid. “Wait! She’s not a part of this.”

  “She’s Athonite,” Rilen growled. The knife dug into the tender flesh of Seri’s throat.

  “She also has a family,” Seri said stubbornly, pushing against Rilen’s blade, almost daring him to cut her. When they locked eyes, she realized there was very little left of the man she’d once known. Two moons ago, she’d have said Rilen would never hurt another person. But that was before Kiane, and before she’d married the enemy. A new, darker thought occurred to her—what would Rilen do if he realized the king wanted Prince Graeme to cast Seri aside and marry someone else? Would he cut her throat right then and there? Her fear spiked, and she struggled to remain calm.

  “She’ll warn the others if we let her go,” Jovis said. “Best to kill her and let things unfold as planned.”

  A sob escaped Idalla’s throat and she sagged against the Vidari man.

  “Please,” Seri begged. “If you must, lock her in my room so she can’t tell anyone.”

  The men exchanged a look, and then Rilen gestured at the chamber. “Just barricade the door. We haven’t got time for this. Our real prize is downstairs.”

  The maid’s sobbing grew louder as Jovis shoved her into Seri’s room and barred the door handles with the butt of a spear. “If you try to escape or warn anyone what’s happening,” Jovis called through the door, “I’ll gut you.”

  Idalla’s cries ceased instantly.

  He gave a grunt of approval. “Let’s go.”

  Seri let them drag her forward, horrified by what her childhood friends had become. As they headed down the stairs, they were joined by more guardsmen, more rebels in stolen uniforms.

  By the four gods, was the entire castle swarming with traitors ready to murder the Athonites? How could Graeme possibly be safe? She hoped he felt her fear and worry. Please don’t think I’m just upset about your father, she projected. Please be safe. Please know that all the things I warned you about last night are coming to fruition.

  Too soon they were at the double doors of the ballroom, behind which she could hear excited chatter and the strains of music. She was suddenly reminded of the Betrothal Ball, when her life had changed irrevocably. Back then, she’d stood in this very hallway with Lady Mila, dressed in that gods-forsaken costume. She’d despised Graeme and viewed every Athonite as the enemy. Had the Goddess not intervened, perhaps she’d be at Rilen’s side now, sounding the battle cry. But fate had steered her in another direction, and in the past two moons, Seri’s world had grown larger and more complex, while Rilen’s had only shrunk.

  Rilen grabbed her arm tighter, pulling her against him. The knife dug into her throat again as he murmured, “Don’t do anything foolish. If we die today, we’ve died for our people. I know you don’t care about that anymore, but maybe you care about your throat, hmm?”

  The knife nicked her skin and she felt a bead of blood glide down her neck. She swallowed hard and then licked her lips. “I won’t do anything.”

  “Good. Now, come on. It’s time for our big entrance. Jovis?”

  Jovis opened the doors wide. Rilen and the disguised rebels clustered around Seri and ushered her into the ballroom. Guardsmen lined the walls in their red cloaks and silver armor, and an entire contingent of soldiers stood guard in front of the dais where Graeme sat with his father. But were the soldiers Athonites . . . or rebels? Seri’s heart hammered in her chest. The men with her were calm. Too calm. This had to be a trap. All of it. The Athonites thought they were protecting themselves, when really they were playing into the hands of the rebels.

  “Keep moving,” Rilen said quietly. “Act as if nothing is happening. If you so much as blink, I’ll kill you now.”

  Seri nodded and descended the stairs with small, even steps, reaching for Graeme with her mind all the while. Look up, she begged him silently. Look around you. See what is happening!

  The crowd parted for her, and as if hearing her distress signal, Graeme stood from his throne, a frown marring his regal features. She felt the flare of his panic and heard the gasps of other nobles as she strode across the ballroom, Rilen and his knife guiding her movements.

  “Seri!” Graeme called. The music and laughter ceased instantly, and the room went deathly silent. The king watched his son with narrowed, displeased eyes as Graeme rushed forward. A soldier approached her husband from behind.

  “Now it begins,” Rilen said to her.

  Seri’s eyes widened as the soldier held a knife high.

  “No!” she screamed, surging forward even as Rilen grabbed her arm and flung her back against him.

  It was too late. The knife slammed into Graeme’s back. He collapsed, the handle of the blade protruding from his ceremonial finery.

  “Get the king!” someone yelled. Before King Lucan could even stand, a contingent of guardsmen leapt on him, dragging him from the throne with a triumphant shout.

  At that, the party devolved into chaos. Nobles yelled, and soldiers ripped off their helmets, revealing horrifyingly familiar faces. Timmar. Maester Grimald. Geeven. It seemed her entire village was crying out for blood, along with dozens of hardened faces she didn’t even recognize.

  “I warned you, Seri,” Rilen said, his grip deathly tight.

  She turned to the man she’d once loved, staring at him through the red haze of her anger. “You’ve killed him!” She charged at Rilen and flung herself against him, pounding him with her fists. “You’ve killed him! How could you?”

  “He is the enemy, Seri!”

  “You,” she spat. “You are the enemy! You’re a murderer!”

  Rilen raised his knife again, but Seri shoved away from him and raced to Graeme’s side. He was on his stomach, his dark cloak rippling out on the floor.

  “Graeme,” she sobbed, flinging herself over him. As she grasped his back, she felt something hard beneath his tunic.

  “Be calm,” he murmured so softly she thought she’d been mistaken at first. A surge of love and calm rushed through her.

  Seri bent over him, hiding her face. Could it be?

  “Look up,” he whispered.

  Seri looked up and gasped through her tears. She’d expected to see the Vidari slaughtering unsuspecting nobles, but as she watched, lords in ermine capes and velvet tunics pulled out daggers and swords. The sound of metal on metal rent the air as the nobles beat back the visibly shocked Vidari.

  “Is that Kell?” Seri asked, recognizing Kell’s craggy face as he deftly outmaneuvered a soldier, disarming him and knocking him to the ground.

  She turned back to Graeme, tears spilling down her cheeks. Understanding dawned on Seri. These weren’t nobles at all, but guards, trained and ready for an attack. They’d been lying in wait, anticipating this onslaught.

  “Help me up. This breastplate is stiff.” Graeme groaned, leaning heavily on Seri as he got to his feet. He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “My wife. I apologize if we frightened you.”

  She couldn’t stop crying. “I . . . I don’t understand.”

  He knocked on his chest. “A breastplate. Yours wasn’t the only warning I received, so my father and I decided to lay a trap. We’d heard word of what the Vidari might try, and my father captured a spy on his way here who confirmed what we’d suspected.”

  “I see,” she said, blinking rapidly, trying to rid herself of the tears that she couldn’t se
em to stop shedding.

  In the distance, the king stood and brushed off his clothing, laughing with the guard at his side. Was this all a colossal joke to him?

  Graeme touched her shoulder. His gaze went to Seri’s swollen lip and he caressed her face gently, fingers skimming the nick on her throat. “He hurt you.”

  “I’m all right,” Seri said. “It’s just a scrape.”

  The look on his face became grim and stony with anger, and for a moment, he looked as ruthless as his father. Graeme stared coldly at Rilen, who was battling two men in tunics. They held blades against him on either side.

  Graeme pulled his own sword and stepped forward. At Graeme’s nod, the guards dressed as nobles fell back, until it was just Graeme and Rilen, face-to-face.

  “If you touch my wife again, I will kill you,” Graeme said.

  “She is not your wife by choice,” Rilen threw back at him. “She told me so herself. If she feeds you, she does so out of pity for your wretched kind. She all but begged me to save her from the Athonite demons.”

  “That is a lie,” Seri cried.

  Graeme’s beautiful eyes flicked to her face, then back to Rilen. “Let her choose, then. If she wishes to be with her people, I will leave at this moment and never come back.” His tone darkened. “But you will never hurt her again.”

  “Fine then,” Rilen taunted. “Let her choose between her monster of a husband or her people who have suffered under an oppressive rule for too long. Today, she can save them.”

  Hundreds of eyes focused on her. Seri looked at the two men. At Athonite and Vidari. Enemy and childhood friend.

  But there was never any choice. Not for her. Her heart had decided long ago.

  The candlelights flickered in the ballroom as she came to stand before Graeme. Then, in front of the eyes of all the Vidari rebels, she took his hands. Gasps and murmurs of shock swept through the room, nearly drowning out her words.