Mother peered over me, both of us looking at my face in the mirror. My eyes were rimmed in blotchy red. Two by two, tears dribbled down my cheeks and saturated my white gown. A bride should cry in happiness on her wedding day, not in mourning.
Father wouldn’t walk me down the aisle. I refused all attempts to have someone stand with me. It was Father’s right and if his soul chose to be there with me, I’d have no other in his place.
Carefully exposing the pieced-together bodice dagger, I slid the weapon in between my corset and my bare bosom. It had been delivered bit-by-bit inside the chess pieces, and I’d kept it these past few weeks, waiting for the right time. The blade was but four inches long. Enough to carve Darrin’s heart out.
“Please stop trying to kill the new monarch,” Mother whispered.
My sorrow turned cold and I arranged my face into a nonchalant mask. Mother squeezed my shoulder and sighed. “Stop the cycle of hate.”
“Father died protecting us,” I hissed in low tones. “How can you be so spineless?”
The former queen of Allsveil straightened. Her face soured in disdain at me. “King Fieron died because of his stubbornness. A fate I don’t wish my daughter to follow.”
I held my tongue.
“They will kill you.” She lowered her tone so the guards behind us didn’t hear.
“I don’t care.” My fate or death didn’t matter as long as I got to kill him first.
“Do you not care what it will do to me?”
I flicked my eyes to hers, holding her vulnerable gaze in the mirror.
“King Goththor tried to negotiate with Fieron before he attacked.” Mother lowered the veil over my face. “Just remember that before you do something rash.”
What I forced myself to do next collapsed all my awareness into a concentrated ball of intent. I walked from my room to the chapel in lifeless fashion. The end justified the means. My thoughts focused on one thing. Kill Darrin. Everything else was tossed to the wayside.
The crowd on either side of me. The priest. The decor. Nothing averted my gaze. My groom didn’t look back to see me as I walked down the aisle. When I stepped up beside him, he didn’t even turn to greet me. The priest spoke. Darrin spoke. I might have said something. Then it was over and he turned to me. The usual bright face didn’t greet me. His eyes were dead. I was startled, thinking I’d just married King Goththor, but reason overcame my imagination.
Darrin’s face was pale, and his trembling hands lifted my veil. He looked like a man making every attempt to remain still. Cold, clammy hands cupped my face.
“We’re in this together now.” His lips fluttered over mine; it barely registered that he kissed me at all. The twinge of lightning, like when I’d kissed his cheek before, shot down my insides.
Darrin blinked and focused on me for what I thought might be the first time. For that brief moment he was here with me. His thumbs swiped at my cheeks and his gaze became watchful. The bells rang and Darrin put on the most hideously fake smile. Part of my heart thunked to the floor and died. The other half wanted to give him mercy and kill him quickly. Those eyes…he already looked dead.
I stood to greet guests. I sat and pushed food around on my plate. I did everything a bride does while watching Darrin drink enough to fill a moat. He wanted to taste every wine, ale, and cider available and then drank them all thrice more.
Mother’s presence beside me, nudging me when it was necessary for me to speak, comforted me against what I could only describe as shock. The cold, hard metal laying flush between my breasts was the only feeling my brain absorbed.
Darrin flittered here and there flapping his lips as fast as hummingbird wings. A very drunk, weaving hummingbird. No one noticed his fake smile but me. His real smile, the smile he gave me when we first met, might have been charming had we met in different circumstances. That smile happened to be warm, expanding his face from side to side, shortening his chin and pulling up his hairline. That smile never emerged.
He also pretended to be lighthearted, but as the day grew into night, the tightening of his shoulders professed his climbing anxiety. But the more he drank, the easier it would be for me to eviscerate him. Finally, King Goththor slapped Darrin on the back and whispered in his ear.
Whatever the king said, it frightened his son. Darrin’s face fell and his body trembled. My soon-to-be dead husband caught my eye and nodded. He was telling me it was time to leave. Good, it was time for him to die.
Darrin lumbered towards me. Propping a hand on the arm of my chair he leaned over me, barely able to keep his balance. “Father says I’ve made a spectacular fool of myself and you enough. I’m going to bed.” He paused, blinking at me. “You should come too.”
I rose. Darrin stepped back and half fell, half leaned into the table. Then he loudly slurred, “Goodnight ever-body. It was nice to meet you all, but my bride is taking me away now.”
Rowdy guffaws enveloped the room. Queen Goththor held her face, slowly shaking her head. My mother, tittered—tittered of all things! Heat rolled off my face. I grabbed Darrin by the shirt sleeve and hauled him into the hallway. More riotous laughter pricked a needle to my pride.
“You are a spectacular mess.” I shoved him away as soon as we were in the corridor. Darrin fell against the wall, using the stone for support. He laughed and the sound stopped my heart. Damn his charm. When I turned to him he looked as silly as a new puppy trying out his over-sized paws.
“Those are the first words you’ve said to me today.” Darrin stared at me.
I huffed. “I said ‘I do.’”
He waved a slow, floundering finger at me. “That doesn’t count.”
I grabbed his finger and with his help, yanked him on his feet.
“Does...” He paused and brought his finger to his lips. “Did—” He shook his head. “Did your father scare the all mighty wits from you?”
My heart ached. “Yes.” What an odd question.
“Well, we have that in common.”
I sighed and started walking. Darrin trundled after me.
“You’re beautiful.”
I turned and scowled. Of all the things to say. “Do you just say whatever comes to your head when you’re too far in your cups?”
“I say what I like.” Darrin stood there, hunched over, staring at the floor.
“Of course you do.” He never shut up. He was kind of like Father that way. Always talking nonsense.
“Do you think they like me?”
“Who?”
He jerked a thumb behind him. “Your people, my people now.”
“Oh, I’m sure you charmed them with your gallant wits and impressive drinking stamina.”
We walked, or rather, I walked and Darrin stumbled, to my chamber. My groom eerily silent. When we got to the doors he looked down at his hands. “Well, goodnight.”
I panicked. “Not even man enough to spend an evening.”
He pointed to the door. “You tried to kill me last time I went in there.”
“Then we’ll go to yours.”
He leered at me. “You don’t even like me. How am I supposed to stick it in when you’ve probably laced yourself with blades?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You probably have teeth down there.” He waved a loose hand at my stomach. “I want no part of that, thank you very much.”
“Is that what you think?”
He wobbled his head.
“Well, if you don’t come in with me tonight, you can forget every other night as well.”
“Fine by me. I’d rather remain pure.”
I stared at the prince. “You mean you’re a virgin?”
He wobbled his head, yes again.
“Seriously?”
“Why? Are you not?”
Scandalized, I wanted to slap him. “Yes! Of course I am!”
“Oh.” He giggled. “The virgin couple.” He waved at the corridor behind us. “We’ll walk down the street and they’ll say, ‘Oh look!
The virgin prince and princess.’”
“How old are you?”
He looked at me, surprised. “Eighteen.”
“And you never?”
“I’ve been on war campaigns with father since I was fifteen.”
“But—”
“Women of ill repute don’t interest me; I wanted someone of my own.” He slumped back on the door with his eyes closed. “Looks like I won’t get that either.”
Oh, no, no, no. I will not feel sorry for this lump of an excuse of an orphan-maker.
“That’s all right.” He waved a finger at me. “Life’s a bitch because if she were easy she’d be a slut.”
With that statement I pulled the latch and both doors swung open. Darrin went crashing to the floor. I looked at the door guards. “Put him on the bed,” I told them.
Treating him more gently than I would have liked, the guards deposited the passed-out groom where I told them to.
“Be kind to him, my lady,” one of the guards said. Be gentle with him indeed. Since he wasn’t going anywhere, I made myself a glass of mulberry courage and drank it before I could think about it. I trusted in King Goththor’s threat to rip my eyes out then chop my head off. I didn’t expect to live beyond the morning.
So I climbed on the bed and straddled my husband. Asleep and vulnerable, he looked somber. He was not the grinning idiot I’d thought he’d be in his sleep. Darrin had easily accepted his father’s command to marry. Easily laughed, and gave a smile to everyone. If we lived in a different world, one could see him as dedicated to family, and congenial. Except that he killed my father. The metal against my breastbone was a hard reminder that I wasn’t here to contemplate the validity of my actions.
Unsheathing the misericorde, I used one of the three sharp edges to slice through the ties of his doublet. Black velvet flaps gave way to expose his white tunic. I ripped the cotton shirt in half, watching his eyes to see if he’d wake up. I expected him to catch my hand, smile, and blather some retort. My chance would be gone. But Darrin still suffered from enough wine to fill a lake and remained passed out.
A hairless, pale chest peeked out from the rip and I moved the shirt to get a better look at where his heart was. His skin was smooth. Warm. Inviting. My breath hitched in anticipation—of killing him, of course. But, I’d never seen a man underneath his garments before. I swallowed and explored. Two nipples, a hard chest with the most fascinating creases. Those muscles led me to a belly button and thick hairs that enticed me to release the ties on his pants. I snapped my attention back up to his face. Still somber and quiet. He distracted me even in his sleep. My eyes fell back down to his groin. No. No. Alexia, get on with it.
Holding the long, skinny misericorde in both hands, I raised the weapon over my head. I burned a hole with my eyes at the place where I would plunge a hole through his heart. My arms held there until my shoulders grew stiff. One last breath and I willed my aim true. I would kill him. For Father. I gritted my teeth and breathed. My aching arms betrayed me. My shoulders grew numb. Straddled over him, arms raised, weapon at the ready, I willed the knife to plunge down. My hands would not obey.
Father’s words circled in my head. Vengeance is not the point, change is. Mother’s words to me this morning. King Fieron died because of his stubbornness. A fate I don’t wish my daughter to follow.
If I seek retribution, my father’s commander once said, I wait for God. For he serves better justice than I could ever dream.
With their voices in my head I plunged the knife down, once, twice, three times and then three times more. Feathers floated up from my continual destruction of the pillow next to Darrin’s head. Piercing innocent duck feathers was easier than killing my father’s murderer.
Why? I was no murderer. Not even to avenge Father. I stabbed the pillow more times than I could count, fevered, enraged that I couldn’t take a life, that my weakness prevented justice. Feathers exploded upward and then drifted around the room. In my final act of defiance, I rammed the misericorde into the middle of the headboard and flew across the room to sit in front the chess set King Fieron had given me for my thirteenth birthday.
Tears scalded my cheeks. I released the dam and all my grief came out in heaving sobs, the first since his death. Feathers stuck to my face and hands. Tears mixed with plumage and the two together didn’t feel right. Nothing would ever be right. The feel of eyes upon me brought my head up and I wiped away my damp hair.
Darrin stared at me from the edge of the bed. In his hands he held my misericorde. His silence filled me with dread. His eyes were the eyes of King Goththor when I first met him—dead, lifeless, miserable. Darrin now wore that expression and I knew his smile would not be returning. Not for me.
He slipped off the bed and padded over to me. Those eyes were untrustworthy. They told you nothing of his thoughts. Darrin handed the misericorde to me, handle first, and I gently returned it to its sheath. He turned and quietly slipped out of the room.
10 - Goththor
My plan went exceedingly well. I’d taken a gamble hoping Darrin’s congeniality and his marriage to the original Allsveil monarchy would heal the tides of resentment rising from the merchants and noble born. All was not forgotten, but people understood money. Offer the middle class a stable environment to sell their wares, and maintain the status quo for the nobles, and they were happy. Happy meant complacent. It was a state I used to despise in others, but it now looked appealing.
Fighting with Brie for so long made peace seem a worthwhile goal. I knew that sooner or later our fights would begin anew. But now I had Aighta’s knowledge. If I kept my temper, I could use that knowledge to soothe my wife.
Merchants of every station of wealth filled the halls, curious as to what the new liege had to offer. My wife gallivanted among them, cooing at their jewels or dress, and generally making friends within a populace that had the potential to hate her.
Gods-be-damned, she was brave. I was lucky to have her here, smoothing the wrinkles of my uncouth ways. Brie had come to our son’s bridal reception in a different dress than the one worn at the wedding, and therefore I hadn’t seen her in what she wore now. I was shocked and confused by her choice in wardrobe. It looked as if she hadn’t washed the red dress I’d splattered on her weeks ago. The stains were still there. I sought out Aighta and cornered her along a pillar near the door.
“Why is she wearing that dress?” I shot a glance at Bridgette.
Aighta frowned and looked over. “What’s wrong with her dress?”
“Don’t act innocent with me. I know how you ladies talk when you’re alone.”
Aighta straightened and raised her chin. “Except Bridgette doesn’t.”
I snorted, playing off the sneer I wanted to give. “You mean to tell me the two of you don’t discuss the size of my penis or what position we do it in?”
Aighta shook her head. “She shoves my own words back at me, telling me you wouldn’t appreciate it, and that’s usually the end of that line of conversation.”
Pride swelled in my chest. A sense of trust and gratefulness for my lady repaired the foreboding I’d had when I’d seen the two chatting in the afternoons. I wasn’t going to enlighten Aighta about the dress, but I couldn’t understand why Brie wore it now. Subtle things only confuse me. Was it an adornment to make me feel abashed? If she wanted that, mocking me in public with words would have had better effect.
Bridgette stood in the middle of the room, soaking in the merchants’ attentions as a flower soaks in the rays of the sun. One lady of distinguished value, jewels dripping down her dress, pointed to Bridgette and said, “My dear, that is a lovely dress, but it seems to be stained.”
Glancing to see if I was listening, Bridgette curved a smile I was sure was meant for me. “No, duchess, it’s part of the decor and beauty of the dress. These are not stains, they are part of the maker’s artistry and are there on purpose.”
“Oh!” The jewel-dripping duchess pulled back. “My apologies. I did not mean
to offend. I’ve never seen such a pattern.”
Bridgette smiled so wide her beauty caught my breath. “No offense taken. It’s a trend I encourage all the ladies to wear.”
I scrunched my lips to keep from laughing. Tears welled in my eyes. I turned from Aighta and breathed deep to collect myself.
“Aiden,” Lady Tyilasuir whispered so softly I near missed my name. “Are you alright?”
I shook my head. It seemed Bridgette was toying with me. The kind of wonderful playing that set my blood on fire and my lifted my cock to a whole new level of granite hardness. This was our secret. Something we had together. Another story to laugh over in bed.
11 - Alexia
How does one go about mending a wall that is so irreparably damaged? How do you trust the fortification once it’s been breached? I’d broken something within my husband. He no longer smiled, no longer walked with ease or lazy precision. Instead, he watched everything and everyone with a suspicious eye. I’d done that. Me. I couldn’t say how I knew, but it was me who’d taken everything from him. The knowledge cleared my mind of the murderous haze once gripping my motives. I was not normally that person. Would Father, the man who loved everyone, be proud of me for holding this spite in my heart?
Yes, I’d wanted Darrin’s death, but I could not think of a more cruel fate than living in a strange land, never to go home, and being forced to make his home in enemy territory with a wife who didn’t particularly like him. His father and mother would be leaving soon. Leaving him to rule.
Perhaps his father put him in charge because Darrin was surrounded by enemies. It would keep Darrin from trying to leave Allsveil, thus preventing an in-house upheaval. Smart on King Goththor’s part. A man too busy defending himself from everyone in his home including his wife didn’t have the resources to attack other kingdoms.
My father had been happy. He’d been, for the most part, safe with a family who was loyal and loving. What did Darrin have? But how could I mend this hole in my heart? Like father, like daughter. I had been unwilling to negotiate. Mother was right, living in hate would consume my soul, tarnish the Tyilasuir name and ostracize me from my people. So, to mend a broken heart I would start with civility. If I could be civil to Darrin, it was a start of the path back to the person my father loved. Back to the person I wanted to be.
The Spoils of Allsveil: Dark Heart Heroes #2 Page 7