by Tara West
Titus said, “Ronan, we’ve come to offer help.”
Ronan waved them off with a dismissive sneer. “We don’t need no help.”
“Your roof was about to collapse,” Titus grumbled. “We made a pledge to protect our brothers when we swore an oath to the defenders. You would dishonor us by making us break our promise?”
Ronan rolled to the other side of the room, bottom lip hanging, and stared into the fire.
Quin removed his cap and bowed to the young mother. “Urah, this is Kyria.” He introduced her by her first name, as he’d been doing all day. She was glad he didn’t address her as the queen. In fact, she would rather pretend she wasn’t married to that monster.
The woman stood, curtsying. “Your Highness.”
Kyria clasped the woman’s hand. “Call me Kyria.” She found it difficult talking through lips that felt like they were encrusted in ice. “There’s no need for formalities.” She shuddered as a chill wracked her. “I apologize. I’m not used to the cold.”
Theron ushered her toward the hearth. “Sit here until you warm up,” he whispered. Though she wanted to help, she didn’t argue. Despite the thick gloves that covered her fingers, they still stung. Rubbing her hands together by the fire, she smiled at a little boy with a dirty face, who offered her a crusty piece of bread.
“No, thanks,” she said. “I’m not hungry.”
“The queen is used to finer food than our stale bread, son,” Ronan said bitterly.
She didn’t know how to respond. She looked to Titus, whose glare was practically burning holes through the back of Ronan’s head.
She wanted to tell him she’d eaten plenty of stale bread and cleaned more than her share of shit pots as a priestess of Kyan but kept her mouth shut. Ronan was obviously in a foul mood, and talking to him would only make him worse.
Ronan glared. “If you stare long enough, maybe my legs will grow back.”
“I’m sorry.” She hadn’t realized she’d been staring, wondering how badly scarred his legs were under the knitted caps that wrapped each stump.
“I don’t need your pity. What I need is for your husband to compensate those soldiers who sacrifice their lives and limbs so you can enjoy your banquets.”
“Easy, Ronan,” Titus warned.
Her defenders were bristling, staring at Ronan as if they were wolves about to pounce.
“I want that, too,” she said.
Spinning around in his wheelchair, he faced her directly. “Don’t pretend you royals care about us while your servants clean your cockstands and polish your tits.”
“Ronan,” Titus warned. “Say another word to her, and you’ll regret it.”
Ronan tightly clutched the sides of his chair. “Look at the mighty Titus, from slave to commander and now the queen’s fuck boy.”
Kyria gasped when Titus charged the man with a roar, snatching him out of the chair by his shirt collar and hauling him up against a wall. The man flailed like a fish out of water, spitting and cussing.
“Titus, please,” she begged. “Let him go.”
“I’ll let him go when he apologizes.”
She rolled her eyes, and that’s when she saw the thatch was caving in. This house wasn’t safe. She wondered if it was in such bad shape because Ronan was mean to everyone who tried to help him.
Urah sat quietly, not making any effort to help Ronan. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw a hopeful gleam in the woman’s eyes.
When their eyes met, she swore she felt a kindred spirit. They were both married to monsters.
Ronan twisted and flopped, and his face turned as red as an overripe apple, but he refused to apologize.
“Titus,” she pleaded. “I don’t need an apology. This is madness.”
She looked to Quin and Theron for support, but their attention was locked on Titus and Ronan. She sat beside Urah, hoping they could offer each other comfort while their men acted like dragon’s asses.
Urah leaned forward and whispered, “He had it coming.”
Kyria nodded acknowledgement. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m sure you understand.”
“I do.” She frowned. “My husband’s soul is blacker than tar.” She pointed toward the ceiling. “Your roof needs to be repaired.”
Her shoulders fell. “I know, but Ronan refuses help.”
Kyria jumped when she heard a heavy thump. Titus had dropped Ronan, and the legless man was attempting to climb back in his chair, but it rolled away from him.
“Help me, you useless bitch,” he snarled at his wife.
“Let’s go.” Titus dragged her to the door.
“If you need anything, Urah,” she called over her shoulder as Urah helped her husband into his chair, “anything at all, you know where to find me.”
“My wife needs nothing from you.” Ronan snarled at her like a wounded animal.
She’d barely managed to slip on her gloves before they were back outside. As they marched down the path to their hut, Quin holding her arm, she cast one last woeful glance at Urah’s cottage. That poor woman. She saw too much of herself in Urah’s circumstances and wondered if their futures with abusive husbands would be more than either of them could bear.
Chapter Fourteen
THEY STOPPED OFF AT the big hall where Anton had first taken her. Ignoring looks from the other men, Titus found them a secluded spot at the end of a long table and brought her wine and a bowl of stew. She was famished and finished it and a crust of bread quickly. Her defenders each had two bowls and large mugs of ale.
Afterward, Quin took her to the latrines. Staggering back from the stench that wafted from the door, she nearly lost her supper. Pinching her nose, she slammed it shut, tears stinging her eyes.
“I can’t.”
Quin’s gaze flicked from Kyria to the stone battlement. “Come. I will find you a place in the forest. No one will see.”
There was a large pine on the outskirts of camp. He handed her a leaflet of old parchment. She was shocked and amused to find the defenders used decrees from the king to wipe their asses. After she’d nearly frozen her ass off and pissed a stream that immediately turned to ice, they returned to their small hut. Theron and Quin apologized profusely and retired to their narrow cots on either side of the hearth. They had gone straight from their nightly shift to taking care of the widows. They had to be exhausted. They were snoring not long after they hit the furs.
She looked at the makeshift bed by the hearth where she’d slept with Titus, where they would have made love that morning if Quin and Theron hadn’t banged on the door. He folded his long legs, set down the mug of ale, and patted the spot beside him. She joined him, secretly hoping they would pick up where they’d left off.
“That was awful.” A shiver coursed through her as she recounted the day’s events. She hoped they wouldn’t have widow duty again tomorrow.
He leaned back on his palms, his back to the fire, and gave her a long look. “Most defender families are not lucky enough to be wealthy, like yours. The only severance they get is their soldier’s shield, which they usually sell to pay for food.”
She didn’t like the accusation in his voice, as if it was her fault for being born into nobility.
She moved back, needing some distance from him. “But aren’t you taking care of them?”
“Do you think we can feed them all?” His laughter was acerbic. “Only a few defender families live in Periculi.”
“Why?” She braced herself. Why was he taking his sour mood out on her? It wasn’t her fault they had harsh living conditions.
“Do you not understand how dangerous it is living here?” He snorted, motioning toward the window as the wind howled outside.
“I’m not blind, Titus.” She was annoyed. Did he not understand she had to piss icicles behind a tree, her ass cheeks turning into twin blocks of ice, instead of using a chamber pot like a normal human, or that she’d nearly fallen face-first on the slick ground half a dozen times?
While it was a small taste of the harshness of life in Periculi, she could ascertain how difficult everything was. “I saw the men with missing limbs and the widows mourning for their husbands.”
He sipped his ale. “Most don’t appreciate the dangers here until they’ve had to face down a dragon.”
“Actually,” she said, “I have.”
“When?”
“About a week ago, when one escaped and was loose in the city.” She shuddered when she remembered the beast’s neck swaying like a cobra prepared to strike.
His jaw dropped. “Sawran?”
She did not like the smirk on his full lips. “Yes.”
“No dragon has ever gotten past the walls of Periculi,” he said, “unless they were bound and chained and used for sport in tournaments.”
“Then this dragon was used for sport.” Her father had taken her to a tournament when she and Alexi were children. The small juvenile dragon had been slayed by three disabled Dragon Defenders, each missing a limb but still determined to prove their manhood. She remembered Alexi had been angry with her for crying when the dragon was struck in the heart and cried out like a frightened child. She didn’t like seeing any creature in captivity, tortured and forced to do the bidding of others, even if it was a poisonous serpent.
“But the king has no more dragons,” Titus said. “He had each one killed in the tournaments years ago, and we will not be giving him another.” He took another long swallow of ale.
“There was one in Sawran, she insisted. “I held him off until the king’s men killed him.”
He spit ale back into the mug. “Impossible.”
She bristled, angry with him for making her relive that horrible day and also have to defend her integrity. “Why would I lie?”
His eyes narrowed to slits as he palmed his mug. “What did he look like?”
She shrank from him. He already thought her a liar. Why would she risk her husband’s wrath? “I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
Wrapping her arms around herself, she looked away. “Because I’m afraid.” She remembered the king’s warning right before she left. If word reached him that she’d told the defenders about the winged dragon, what would he do to her loved ones?
He forced her to look at him. “You have nothing to fear with me, sprite.”
She wanted to believe him, but she’d been fooled by a man’s charms before. Her husband had gone from calling her “breathtakingly beautiful” to a “Fae whore” in the course of a day. Could she trust Titus with her heart now after her husband had already pulverized it? “If I tell you, do you promise not to tell anyone?”
His silver-flecked gaze was unwavering. “I promise.”
“He was blue.” Digging her thumbs into her neck, she turned up her palms, fanning her fingers. “With what looked like a parasol around his neck, and he had these, these... never mind.” She couldn’t bring herself to tell him about the wings. He’d think she’d gone mad.
“Go on,” he encouraged, gripping her hand.
Her spine caved inward, compressed by a deluge of worry and regret. “You won’t believe me.”
He scooted so close to her, their knees pressed together. “Tell me.”
That deluge pressed so heavily on her spine, she feared she’d break from it. She didn’t want to risk the lives of her family and friends, but she had to tell someone. The king might be hiding the winged dragon for some nefarious reason. “He had wings.”
He let out a hearty burst of laughter. “Now I know you’re lying.”
“You’re a pig.” She jumped to her feet, so angry she saw red. “I don’t know why I ever desired you.” She hadn’t just wanted him, she’d loved him, even though she’d known it was forbidden. Before her brother’s death, she’d secretly and selfishly wished her brother would transfer to another unit so she could marry his brothers-in-arms, most of all Titus. She’d wanted to trust Titus with her secrets, maybe even her heart, but he was cruel, too. To find out this way, after loving him for so many years, was devastating.
She retrieved her cloak and put it on, then put on her boots, determined to leave. She could not remain with Titus. She’d rather freeze outside. “I’m finding somewhere else to stay.”
He stomped up to her. “Because I don’t believe that dragons have wings? Don’t be this way.”
The vein above her temple throbbed. “Don’t be this way? So it’s all my fault that you’re a jerk who doesn’t believe me?”
“Look, I’m sure you thought he had wings. You were probably just imagining it in your hysterics.”
“Hysterics?” Before she could stop herself, she slapped him hard across the face, the sound ricocheting off the cabin walls.
Quin and Theron shot up mid-snore and gaped at them.
“What’s going on?” Quin asked.
“Nothing. Go back to sleep,” she said.
Mumbling under their breath, they fell back into the furs.
Her breaths came in shallow gasps. “I’m not the only one who saw wings. My best friend saw them, too. So did many witnesses, who were then murdered by the king’s guard.”
He rubbed his jaw, his dark skin imprinted with angry welts in the shape of her hand. “What?”
There was a loud knock on the door. Titus opened it, and an older man in full armor pushed inside, the wind whistling behind him.
“Queen Milas,” he said stonily. “General Faustus requests your presence in his chamber.”
“Good.” She followed him out without a backward glance.
As she marched up the slick hill toward Anton’s hut, she was painfully aware of Titus hovering like her personal shadow, catching her waist a few times when she slipped. She hated her unstable footing. She was Fae and could scale two-story walls. What was wrong with her? Refusing to thank Titus or acknowledge his presence, she trailed the messenger into the long hut, taking big strides in the hope Titus would fall behind, then swearing when he easily kept up. When they reached the back room where Anton slept, she smiled when her uncle stopped Titus from entering. When he tried to protest, Anton slammed the door in his face. Served him right for acting like a hairy gnome wart.
“DID YOU HAVE A GOOD day, niece?” he asked as he ushered her to a chair.
She thanked his servant when she was handed a steaming cup of tea. Curtsying, the servant left the room.
“No.” She frowned into her cup. “I must ask you to please find me different living arrangements.” Her heart hurt so much, it felt near to bursting. She didn’t want to leave Quin and Theron, but she couldn’t stay with Titus after the way he’d treated her. She’d always known he was a brute, but she thought he’d soften for her. She was beginning to realize men simply didn’t change. Once brutes, always brutes.
“Safer than with Alexi’s brothers-in-arms?” He sat across from her with a steaming cup. “Men who have vowed to protect you?”
She looked away, embarrassed that perhaps he knew she’d fallen in love with her defenders. “I’ve never heard of such a vow.”
“All defenders make them when they pledge themselves to their brothers-in-arms, to protect each other’s families should one of them perish.”
“I doubt Titus would protect me.”
Anton moved closer. “He’d give his life for you.”
She looked into her uncle’s eyes, hoping, praying, he wasn’t like all other men in power. “Why’d you call me here, Uncle?” she demanded, arching away from his touch. The uncomfortable chair poked her backside.
“My spies have sent a report that you battled a dragon in Sawran,” he said. “Is this true?”
Nervous energy tickled the nape of her neck. Were Evander and Marcello his spies? “Yes,” she said, carefully watching for his reaction.
Leaning back, he drummed long, dirt-stained fingers on the table. “Tell me about it.”
“Why?” She looked away from him, feeling too self-conscious. “So you can laugh at me like Titus did?”
“I won’t la
ugh at you, I swear.”
“Who are your spies?”
He arched a bushy brow, flashing a slanted smile. “I can’t divulge that information.”
“Then I can’t divulge mine.”
“Kyria,” he said on a sigh, dragging a hand through his bushy gray beard. “I’m not your enemy.”
She warily eyed him. “But you’re not my friend either, are you?”
He placed a hand on his heart. “My allegiance is to the defenders, but I swear, niece, I will do whatever I can within my power to keep you safe.”
Why was telling her uncle far more daunting than confiding in Titus? Even though he was a brute, she still trusted him to guard her secrets over her uncle. “If the king knows I told you....”
“I will not tell anyone you told me.”
“The dragon had wings, Uncle,” she blurted. She mentally berated herself for so easily spilling her secrets, but she longed to tell someone who’d actually believe her.
He leaned so close, she could smell the sour mead on his breath. “Did you see him fly?”
“No.” A shiver stole up her spine as she remembered the thunderous boom that woke her from the afternoon nap she’d taken in Jade’s arms. “But I heard him land, and then I heard screams.”
“Did others see him fly?”
“It matters not.” Her stomach churned when she remembered the two imposing soldiers who’d paid her and Jade a visit. She still couldn’t believe she’d killed one of them. “They’ve been silenced by the king’s thugs.”
Her uncle dragged a hand down his face. “I wonder how many more he has.”
Great goddess. Demendia’s words reverberated in her memory. You’ve fallen into a den of dragons, and you don’t even know it.
“What is it, niece?” he asked, his brow furrowing.
“Something the king’s mage said to me.”
Panic flashed in his eyes. “You’ve met Demendia?”
Was he afraid of her? “I have.”