by Tara West
“You have a gentle heart.” He stood and his fingers circled her wrist like shackles. “You risked your life to save a child. You’re the sister of the bravest man who’s ever lived, and I would love for our sons and daughters to inherit your family’s fighting spirit.”
“Are those the only reasons?” she asked, though she couldn’t deny those were good ones.
“I’d be a fool to deny I wasn’t marrying you for political gain. With Alexi Faustus’s sister as queen, the Dragon Defenders might be willing to negotiate a truce, and the people will be more inclined to look upon my reign as legitimate.” Raising her hand to his lips, he brushed a dry kiss across her knuckles. “The fact that you are brave, kind, and breathtakingly beautiful is a bonus.”
She fought back the rising tide of nausea that roiled through her gut at the thought of sharing a marriage bed with him. Everything Melandris had taught her, from feigning desire to sucking on wooden dildos would certainly come in handy on her wedding night. At least the king was attractive. Too many of her fellow priestesses had been married off to pot-bellied old men with saggy skin.
“Very well.” She spoke the words that sealed her doom. “I will marry you.”
“Excellent.” He motioned to the hall door. “The priestess is waiting.”
Her breath caught. “So soon?”
She thought she saw something dark, something sinister in his eyes, but it had to be her nerves playing tricks on her. He’d freed Lea and promoted her to servant status, and he’d killed his father to save her and her fellow priestesses. He couldn’t be that terrible.
“My dear,” he said smoothly, “the sooner we marry, the sooner the people will be at ease. Tomorrow is my coronation. I wish to show them their king is stable to avoid a revolt.”
Taking a steadying breath, she said, “All right.”
She felt like she was marching to the beat of her funeral drum as she followed him to the castle temple and recited her vows before the temple priestess and the dozen guards who stood behind them, hands on the hilts of their swords as if they expected her to run.
Once their hands were bound by the ceremonial gold rope, and she looked into her husband’s black eyes, she felt as if the world had swallowed her whole, and she was falling into an abyss. Great goddess, what had she done?
SHE WAS MORE RELIEVED than disappointed when her new husband left her alone in her chamber after the ceremony, claiming he had many duties to attend to. When she offered to help him, he’d snickered and walked away. Though the rejection stung, she refused to be deterred.
He’d left her three servants. She sent the first one to find Lea. The second she sent after a list of every court and judge in the country. Even if her husband thought her useless, she had every intention of making him keep his word and letting her oversee the courts.
After sending the third for a quill and parchment, she penned a letter to her parents, imagining their shock when they received a missive from the palace that their daughter was the new queen. She handed the letter to the servant, pleased when the attractive young woman with strawberry-blonde hair almost the exact shade of Jade’s, bowed low and hastened from the room. Though her mother’s incessant complaining grated on her nerves, she’d asked them to visit. Perhaps her mother wouldn’t grumble as much when she enjoyed the palace’s luxuries.
Next she wrote a brief letter to Melandris, telling her to prepare for changes at the temple. She did not indicate what those changes would be. She smiled when she adhered the royal seal to the parchment, imagining tears of worry streaking Melandris’s face paints while she awaited her fate. Kyria had decided to let the head priestess wait, drawing out her torture. Before she started her letter to Jade, she imagined Alexi scolding her for lowering herself to Melandris’s level. Then she thought of Jade, still in Melandris’s clutches. The head priestess would be forced to be kind to her best friend while she waited. For that reason alone, she didn’t regret her spiteful letter.
The letter to Jade was the most difficult she’d ever written. There was no easy way to break her best friend’s heart.
My dear, sweet Jade,
As you predicted, I married the king but not before he gave me control over the courts and temples. Dear friend, think of the positive changes I can enact in our country. Slaves and citizens alike will benefit from my reforms. But I am no fool to think such monumental changes will be easy. I’m asking you, my darling, to please join my court and work as my most trusted advisor. You rejected my proposal before, but a lifetime without you would be too painful to endure.
Also I thought you would like to know the king has freed the slave girl, Lea, and has elevated her to palace servant. My next goal is to get him to return Lea and all slaves to their homeland and to abolish slavery for good. I believe he has a kind heart, and with our influence, his rule will be one of peace and prosperity for all.
Your always faithful and loving friend,
Queen Kyria Milas
She jumped when a long braid of thick black hair fell over her shoulder. A woman with pale skin, a narrow nose, and high cheekbones, glared at her. Dressed in a silk robe of royal blue embroidered with gold threads and wearing sparkling jewels that must have cost a small fortune, she was about ten years older than Kyria and would’ve been considered pretty, save for her thin lips twisted into an ugly scowl.
“Abolish slavery?” She snatched the letter off Kyria’s desk, smudging ink that hadn’t dried. “Are you daft?”
“I beg your pardon!” She jumped to her feet and snatched the letter back, accidentally ripping it in the process. “You’ve no right to read my personal correspondence.”
The woman, whose height matched Kyria’s, marched to the dresser beside Kyria’s bed, one hand in the pocket of her robe while she fidgeted with one of her perfume bottles. Kyria rarely wore perfumes, but that lavender bottle had been given to her by Jade, and she’d be damned if she’d let this strange woman abuse her privacy any longer.
Crossing the room, she snatched the bottle out of her hand and carefully set it down on the dresser. “What are you doing in my chamber?”
The woman eyed her as if assessing the worth of a market sow. “I wanted to see what you looked like.”
“Now you’ve seen.” She gestured to the door. “Kindly leave.” Did she have no idea Kyria was the new queen?
“Feisty.” The woman’s smile thinned. “I suppose you’d have to be, to go up against a dragon. I am Demendia, personal mage to the king.”
Kyria stepped back when Demendia held out her hand. “I didn’t know the king had a mage.” A lie, because Flavia and Albina had told her, but she wanted to make Demendia feel insignificant.
Her hand dropped. “I’m his closest confidant. I know all his secrets.”
What the hell was that supposed to mean? When the woman smoothed long fingernails glistening with black polish down the plunging neckline of her robe, revealing the swells of two perky breasts, she knew exactly what the mage meant. She was his lover. This should have upset her more than it did. Was it wrong she secretly hoped he’d spend more time in his mage’s bed than in hers?
“Were you his father’s mage as well?”
Demendia leaned against the marble dresser. “I was.”
“Is that why you wear the black poppies?” The small black flowers circled the top of the woman’s head like a crown.
Kyria saw agony on her face and recognized that look of despair. She’d seen it enough times in her mirror.
“No,” she drawled, feigning disinterest. “I wear them for something else.”
Though Demendia had done nothing to deserve Kyria’s kindness, she knew the importance of a mage to a monarch, and she decided to make an effort to console her. She reached for the woman’s wrist, pleased when she didn’t pull away but shocked that her skin was as cold as the king’s. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
She snatched her arm away with a hiss. “No, you’re not.”
Her eyes shifted from black to d
eep crimson and back again. It had to be magic that made the mage’s eyes do that. A dark magic. Kyria wondered if such dark magic had turned her eyes black, the king’s, too.
Her lower lip quavered. “You don’t even know what I mourn.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t express sympathy for your loss.” She watched Demendia’s reflection in the mirror as the mage clutched the dresser with white knuckles. Her eyes were so dark, they looked like pools of ink. “I know the stinging pain of losing someone dear.”
“My dear friend was murdered. Butchered in the street like a pig.”
How horrible. Perhaps it didn’t explain why Demendia was such a bitch, but it did help her understand the mage a little better. Mages were known to be temperamental, a grieving mage even more so.
“I hope the king’s men are looking for the killer,” she whispered.
The mage let out a burst of sibilant laughter. “If only.”
“I don’t understand.” As much as she wanted to make peace with Demendia, her mind games were already proving to be exhausting.
The mage spun around. “Of course you don’t. That’s why he picked you. You’ve fallen into a den of dragons, and you don’t even know it.”
She brushed past Kyria and stormed out, her dark robes billowing behind her.
Den of dragons? What did that mean? Perhaps she was jealous that Kyria had married her lover, and this was her revenge—veiled insults and vague threats. Kyria had been relieved to escape Melandris because her head priestess was a bitch, but the mage was pure evil.
MUCH TO KYRIA’S DISMAY, the servant she’d sent to get a list of judges didn’t return, but Lea was brought to her that evening as a wine girl. She immediately made Lea sit beside her and bade another servant wait on her. The king hadn’t come back yet, which had suited Kyria just fine. Perhaps he’d already found his way to Demendia’s bed. After dinner, she bathed Lea and dressed her in a clean peach robe, ignoring the scowls from the servants. Brown robes symbolized slavery, gray robes were reserved for servants, and colorful robes indicated class and privilege. The richer the color, the wealthier the citizen. Lea would not dress as a servant as long as Kyria had any say about it. She would treat her as a guest until she was returned to her family.
Kyria looked forlornly at the quill and parchment she’d left on the table. After Demendia ruined Jade’s letter, Kyria hadn’t had the courage to pen another. A nagging feeling told her Jade would be safer at the temple than at the palace, that the king wasn’t as kind as he pretended. She’d been misled by his pretty words and regretted marrying him. He’d lied when he called her breathtakingly beautiful. Her mother had once told her she was beautiful by Fae standards but not for human. She was too dark, tall, and thin. If it hadn’t been for her parents’ wealth and privilege, she never would’ve been admitted to the temple. The king should’ve sought a bride who looked more like Jade, pale and curvy with hair the color of a peach’s soft flesh and heavy, squeezable breasts.
When a trio of fair-skinned servants arrived, followed by four soldiers, Kyria’s veins turned to ice.
“The king requests your presence in his private chamber,” one of them said.
“Of course.” She gave the other servants a sharp look. “Lea is to be treated as my guest and will sleep in my bed tonight.”
The servants bowed, mumbling their understanding. They didn’t appreciate the girl’s elevation from slave to guest, but too damn bad.
She was taken to a chamber not far from hers. It was elaborately decorated with heavy, colorful tapestries on every wall, an enormous bed with billowing drapes, embroidered benches piled with silky pillows surrounding a pool twice the size of hers, a long buffet offering many different foods, and a beautiful balcony overlooking the city. The only thing missing was the king.
Why had he sent for her if he didn’t intend to be here?
When the guards left, closing the oak doors behind them, a surge of crushing anxiety pressed on her chest, making each breath a trial. She felt like she was being sealed in a tomb.
One goblet of wine was usually enough, but she’d need a cup or two or three to survive this night. She was reaching for it when a servant intervened.
“Let me, My Queen.” The young girl with red hair and a smattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks took the bottle from her and poured into a goblet. Her hands shook. Was she afraid of Kyria or the king?
She’d grown up with servants, but her parents expected her to do a few things on her own, including pouring drinks. After thanking the servant, she sat on the balcony as the sun set over the city, the breathtaking Mt. Olion in the background, a thin stream of smoke rising from its top.
The servants stared at her, hands clasped in front of them. “That will be all,” she said. “You may leave.”
They blinked at her and then at each other.
“But the king says we must stay with you,” the redheaded girl said.
She waved them off. “How very thoughtful of him.” She smiled. “But I prefer to be alone.”
Their frightened looks reminded her of her mother’s caged birds debating bolting for freedom whenever the latch on their cage door popped open.
The girl who’d poured her wine glanced at the bath. “Don’t you need us to help you?”
Kyria repressed a laugh. “I can bathe myself, thank you.”
After sharing hushed whispers, they bowed and shuffled out of the room.
She made quick work of her bath. It wasn’t fun without Jade, and she felt too uncomfortable and exposed being naked in the king’s chamber, as if unseen eyes were watching her. The soft, white gossamer robe the servants had left was beautiful and felt like water running through her fingers, but she imagined looking like a lamb on its way to the slaughter, wearing so much white. She also feared the gown contrasted too strikingly against her dark skin.
She chose instead to put back on her day gown and climb into his big feather bed, her knees sinking into the mattress. Then she waited. And waited. But the king never came.
She heaved herself out of the bed and paced his chamber, smelling his colognes and fingering the fine silks in his wardrobe.
Suddenly Jade’s words echoed in her memory. The vault is in his wardrobe. If the king had one in his wardrobe, how would Jade have known?
Recalling how Jade’s eyes had darkened as she whispered her warning gave Kyria chills. It was as if another person had been speaking through her lover. Whisper “imperi apertis” three times, and it will open.
Her mother had taught her only a little of her ancestral language, but she knew enough to recognize the Fae tongue. How did Jade know it? Speaking Fae was punishable by death. She ran her hand across the wood at the back of the wardrobe, then knocked, surprised when she heard a hollow echo.
The desperation and fear in Jade’s eyes haunted her memory. Imperi apertis.
She ran her tongue over her parched mouth before looking over her shoulder to make sure she was still alone. When she saw no one, she summoned the nerve to whisper those words, if for no other reason than to prove to herself Jade had gone mad.
She looked over her shoulder to make sure she was still alone. “Imperi apertis.” She barely breathed the words then said them twice more.
Her heart hit her stomach and she nearly fell back from fright when the back of the wardrobe made a loud clicking sound, and the door slowly swung open. “Oh, Jade, what have you made me do?”
Placing a hand on the door, she peeked inside, surprised to see a beautiful garden. Gingerly stepping inside, her jaw dropped. She was in a circular atrium no more than twenty paces in width. Water dripped down sand-colored tiles into a raised stream that circled the room, delivering it to the myriad plants blanketing the floor through narrow hollow chutes made of wood much wider than hay blades.
What caught her eye was the barrel on a wide pedestal in the center of the atrium. Beside the barrel’s spigot was a shallow bowl and a glass eye dropper.
Pour it out, Jade had
said, but be very careful. More than three drops will kill you.
“Life water. One drop heals you, three drops will kill you.” Her mother had told her about the Fae elixir. She’d forgotten what two drops did or maybe she hadn’t known.
Pour it out, Jade’s words haunted her, blaring in her mind like the horns of Sawran during one of the many dragon breach practice drills.
Pour it out, pour it out, pour it out.
But if she did so, the king would know and not even her brother’s legacy would protect her from his wrath. Fear propelled her out of the atrium. She raced into the closet, her heart hammering when she realized she didn’t know the words to close the portal. Much to her relief, the heavy oak door closed behind her.
Climbing into the four-poster bed, she curled up in a fetal position, praying the king wouldn’t come to his chamber and expect her to perform her marriage duties. She couldn’t look the man in the eye, let alone let him touch her. Why did he have the forbidden water when it was a crime punishable by death to possess it? Humans had been taught it was poison, so why would the king keep it hidden in a chamber? Perhaps it had belonged to his father. Perhaps the new king didn’t know his father had stored the elixir. But then how did Jade know about it?
“LADY KYRIA, YOUR MOTHER has sent us to retrieve you.”
Kyria stared at Quin, who blinked up at her with large amber eyes, flashing a dimpled smile. Beside him was Theron, his pale blue eyes sparkling like diamonds while he leaned against the tree with arms crossed. She had to be dreaming, because though their faces and voices were clear, she could not feel the tree bark pressing into her palms, nor could she smell the rosewood in her mother’s garden.
“I’m not climbing down from this tree,” she declared, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. She feared this dream was a retelling, and the outcome wouldn’t be to her liking.
“Your mother will be cross if we return empty-handed.” Quin wagged a finger. “You have an important visitor.”