The Last Queen Book Two

by Odette C. Bell

  The knowledge that no matter how far I run, it will never be far enough.

  And yet, at the same time, something tells me not to give up. For even if the horse has auctioned me off, the king he sold me to is not here to claim me yet.

  I have hope.

  I hold onto that word just as I find the strength to bring my hands up and clutch my shaking fingers over the whip.

  John is fighting – and he’s doing so valiantly – and yet, the horse is matching his every move.

  For the horse has desperation.

  I can’t even imagine what will happen to the horse if he fails to deliver me to whoever the hell bought me, but I can bet it won’t be pretty.

  The horse has a vested interest in using every last scrap of his magic to end this and claim me once and for all.

  But John is vicious, desperate – and as I catch a glimpse of his eyes once more, I can feel the power of the imprinting spell. It’s as if I can feel his heart beating inside my chest, and it tells me that he’s prepared to do anything – even die – to get me back.

  John lets out another desperate bellow as he charges at the horse. But the horse hits back.

  So John shoves a hand to his side. As soon as he does, something leaps into his grip.

  It’s a sword.

  It’s almost like mine, but it doesn’t look nearly as powerful. There’s only one of them, too.

  But that doesn’t matter, because as John dashes forward once more, I can see a pulse of energy flow through his chest, slam down his arm, and sink into the blade of his sword.

  A second later, the steel blade begins to burn with all the glory of a thousand suns.

  It’s almost too much to watch, but there’s nothing in the world that will see me close my eyes.

  This is the true power of a king.

  Though I have many skills, I wonder if I will ever be able to rival magic like this.

  The horse hisses back. He does not meet the blow like he has others – nor does he try to set up a barrier. He obviously realizes that as soon as that blade touches him, he’ll die.

  So he dodges.

  He moves so fast, he’s almost a blur. And as he shifts, I am shifted too, jerked back-and-forth on the whip as if I’m a ball attached to a string.

  And yet, as my head jerks this way and that and my legs flail limply, I keep my hands locked on the whip.

  I focus.

  I have to get out of here. I can’t let John use all his magic to fight the horse. Because if the horse is right, and another king is out there, I know I’ll need John’s protection.

  So I sink my teeth into my lip, wince, and give it everything I’ve got. I reach right down, scrounge the last of my strength from the depths of my soul, and I use it. I let it blaze out of my fingers and sink into the whip.

  There’s a crack, and it doesn’t just sound like a glass being pushed off a table. It sounds like a thousand bones breaking all at once, splintering, never to be remade.

  The horse’s eyes pulse wide as the whip around me crumbles and turns to ash.

  I fall, and just before I can slam head-first into the pavement, I twist and land on one foot and knee. I press a hand into the pavement as my hair suddenly appears around my face, slashing in front of my lips and open eyes.

  I return to my original appearance, my evening gown giving way to my worn jeans and leather jacket.

  I can see a smile part John’s lips, but he doesn’t say anything to me – he can’t spare the breath. He slashes at the horse once more, and I hear the horse let out a feverish scream. It’s the scream of someone who knows their last hope at redemption is quickly slipping away.

  I feel another whip slice out of the darkness toward me, but this time I’m ready for it.

  I turn hard on my foot, twisting so fast, my hair forms a fan around me. I also dart back, crunch down low, plant a hand into the pavement, and flip.

  Another whip comes at me, and another, but I dodge them all.

  For the horse is distracted dealing with John as he slashes wildly with his magical sword.

  I know I’m going to need to go on the offensive, but just as I spread both my hands to the side, intending to call my swords, John jerks his head toward me. “No,” he bellows, and there’s such a desperate quality to his tone, I’m stopped in my tracks. “You can’t afford to use any more magic. It will make you a soft target,” he pleads.

  Though I flip back once more as two more whips come at me from every direction, I don’t call on my swords. Instead, I fix all my attention on John.

  Though John is fighting valiantly, the horse is becoming more desperate by every second.

  And the quality of the magic shaking off him is changing. It’s burning brighter, and as it does, I swear it starts to consume his very skin. Almost as if his magic is using his body as a power source.

  It’s awful to watch. And there, right in front of my eyes, I see scraps of his flesh turn to dust and flit away on the wind.

  I never stop paying attention to the whips though, and they keep coming at me.

  I expect John to win with every second – I expect the horse to finally make a fatal mistake and catch a chest full of that sword.

  But it doesn’t happen like that.

  Because a second later, I can practically feel something break in the horse’s mind as he appears to come to a critical decision.

  His lips jerk hard over his teeth, and he lets out a grating snarl.

  As he does, he opens his arms wide.

  Magic charges everywhere, sinking into the pavement below him and instantly creating a transport spell.

  It’s massive.

  This one doesn’t just encase his feet – it reaches out for half a block.

  Meaning I am well within its perimeter.

  “No,” John bellows.

  Just as I could practically hear when something cracked in the horse’s head and he came to a critical decision, I swear I can do the same thing now.

  I swear through my connection to John that I know he’s about to do something stupid.

  All to save me.

  He has just half a second to make eye contact with me. And though he doesn’t say anything with his voice, I feel him impart more than words ever can.

  There’s tenderness, desperation, and yet confusion. Fear, maybe, too. Maybe it’s the same fear I feel every time I’m in John’s presence and I get the desire to tell him who I am. The fear that once we imprint fully, there’ll be no going back.

  The horse lets out such a grating bellow, the ground beneath me begins to shake.

  I start to sink. The pavement simply gives way. It’s consumed by the magic, torn apart as the greedy spell seeks more power.

  I let out a shriek.

  “You need to head to my office. You need to unlock my chessboard. You know where it is. You have to assume my position. Take my army. It’s the only thing that will save you,” John has time to say, words so whipcrack fast, I swear they bypass my ears and head straight into my brain.

  I want to tell him I don’t understand a word of what he’s saying, but I do. I know where his chessboard is.

  But how can I, a queen, possibly assume his army?

  “Unlock the board,” John says. He twists forward.

  The pavement is still eating me. I’m up to my knees in it now, and there’s so much magic climbing my body, I feel like I’m going to be consumed by it.

  But the transport spell doesn’t take effect, not yet – and I can tell why. John seems to be combating it. He’s no longer swiping desperately at the horse and instead is sending bursts of power into the pavement. His trademark white-blue light is combating the earthy, dark, blood red glow of the horse’s magic.

  John is buying me some time.

  Enough time that he can whip his head around and make eye contact.

  It lasts. And yet, it doesn’t last long enough. In one instant, it feels like an eternity, stretching on forever. Just me and him, trapped in each other’s gazes.
And yet, at the same time, it seems like the smallest fraction of time reality can provide.

  John makes a quick movement with his hand, and before I realize what he’s doing, he’s unlocked Walter’s phone.

  He throws it at me.

  Despite the fact I’m shaking, I manage to catch it.

  “This will tell you everything. Find the chessboard. Fight in my place.” With that? John bellows and charges forward.

  He doesn’t attack the horse. Instead? He stops half a meter from the horse’s side and sinks his sword up to the hilt in the asphalt.

  Magic sparks everywhere. It seems to infect every single scrap of asphalt, climb up every wall, and bite through the air.

  I’ve never seen anything like it. But before I know what’s happening, I feel something slam into my chest, and I’m propelled backward. I roll across the other side of the street, and by the time I make it to my feet, I hear something crack.

  The transport spell. It takes effect. And in the blink of an eye, he disappears. My king. John.

  He takes the horse with him.

  I... stand there for several seconds. Swaying back-and-forth on my feet, a dead look in my eyes.

  I can’t move. Can’t stop staring, can’t breathe.

  The excess magic from the transport spell takes several more seconds to dissipate, the little crackles making their way through the storm drains and sinking down into the ground below.

  I hear a car backfire several blocks away, and it’s enough to shake me to my senses.

  I reach a hand up and clasp it over my mouth, breathing so hard through my fingers, it’s like I’m trying to suck them into my lungs.

  I want to stand here and grieve, but I know I don’t have the time.

  A sense of true desperation races up my back, makes my hair stand on end, and pushes me forward.

  I run.

  But I never loosen my grip on Walter’s phone. I don’t tighten my fingers until I can punch right through the metal and glass. I hold it as tightly as I can without destroying it. Eventually I put it in my pocket.

  And finally, I reach Rowley Tower.

  I go right in the front door. It’s still the wee hours of the morning, and the building is closed.

  I expect I’m going to have to ram my way in with magic, but just as I round my shoulder and send a charge of magic over my body, the doors open for me. Almost as if they were expecting me.

  I barrel right through them and skid to a stop several meters away.

  I jerk my head around to see the doors close.

  ... It’s almost as if they were expecting me. They didn’t open because of an electronic command – even from here, I can feel the magic.

  ... I wonder if it’s John. If he somehow has such a connection to his building that he can control it, wherever he is.

  And wherever he is, I hope like hell with all my heart that he’s alive.

  I push myself across the atrium, coming to another skidding stop in front of the chessboard locked away in the alcove.

  I slide across the floor with my old shoes and have to slam a hand against the bulletproof glass of the alcove. Even though I impact it with some force, my hands still charging with errant flecks of magic, that magic does nothing.

  Though I find myself lost in staring at the chessboard for half a second, soon enough, I harden my jaw, ball my hand into a magic fist, and bring it down against the glass.

  I know the glass is strong, and I realize it will probably take several blows to break it, but I am rebuffed.

  As soon as I try to break my way in through magic, it’s as if it reacts with something in the alcove. I push away.

  Sweat slicks my brow, and my eyebrows dart down with worry.

  I don’t give up, though. I just clench my teeth, round both of my hands into fists, and pump as much magic as I possibly can into the flesh.

  Then I round on the alcove once more. I dash forward and punch the glass.

  This time I am rebuffed completely. I’m thrown halfway across the atrium. It’s only because I allow magic to pulse over my body at the last moment that I don’t break my arms and legs as I slam against the atrium floor.

  It takes me several seconds to stagger up, and as I do, I lock my wary gaze on that bulletproof glass.

  I shove a hand to the side, getting ready to call on my swords, but I stop.

  The exact words John used slam into my head. He told me I had to unlock the board – not break in and steal it.

  ... What if it’s protected by magic even I as a queen can’t break?

  I hesitate, fingers jerking back and forth in the air as I wonder whether I should call on my swords. But then I remember the visceral reaction John had when I tried to join the fight earlier. He told me to save my strength. For my strength is the only thing that is going to keep me from the king who the horse sold me too.

  Reluctantly, I let my hands fall to my sides, then I jerk back, clenching my teeth hard.

  There’s one thing I can be thankful of. I haven’t been interrupted yet.

  Though I’ve attacked the alcove twice, and I’ve been sent skidding halfway across the atrium, security hasn’t rushed in to attack me.

  And I know people live in this building.

  But somehow, possibly through John’s enduring connection, the building seems to stifle what I’m doing.

  It protects me.

  I just hope that protection will last as I turn hard on my foot and face the elevators on the opposite side of the room.

  As sweat slicks my brow and dribbles down my cheeks, I push toward them, throwing myself into a run as a plan forms in my mind.

  I’m going to head to John’s office. It’s not just me giving into my curiosity to see it.

  Despite the fact I’ve worked here for two weeks, he’s never invited me in, and from what I’ve seen, he only appears to invite in his advisors.

  Now I hope that the key to opening the chessboard is in there.

  I reach the elevators, punch a hand out, and thumb the button to open them.

  Waiting for the elevators to descend is one of the worst experiences of my life. I can’t stop thinking about John. Nor can my heart stop yearning for him. I have to bring up a hand and flatten it over my chest as I try to still the beating muscle. But there’s nothing I can do. And I imagine there will be nothing I can do until I can save John from that horse.

  It’s crazy that I’m thinking of that. I should be thinking of myself. Out there is a new king who’s here to claim me. I should be using all of my magic and concentration and hope to keep the hell away from him.

  Instead, as the elevator finally arrives with a ping and the doors open, I thrust myself inside, and I lock my mind on John.

  ... I think he’s fine. Wherever he is. Not fine – but alive. And that’s all that counts I tell myself as I clench my teeth together, jerk my eyes up, and stare at the little electronic board above the doors that tells me which story we’ve reached.

  As I wait to ascend to the penthouse floor, thoughts slam into me. It’s like I’m being beaten by the most violent storm imaginable.

  I reach a hand up, clutch it around my middle, and bend forward. I stare and stare and stare as those little electronic numbers march up the stories. Until finally, I reach the penthouse.

  I know I should hold back, try to figure out if anyone else is on the floor before I burst through the doors, but I can’t.

  As soon as they open, I throw myself forward.

  I feel something kind of un-click around me. Like a field that was seconds from snapping on, but that, at the last moment, changed its mind.

  I wonder if it’s some kind of security system that the building saved me from?

  And, again, that makes me wonder if John still somehow has a connection to this place, despite the fact he’s God knows where fighting that horse with everything he has.

  I dash across the penthouse floor, shoes squeaking against the polished marble.

  I lock my sights on John�
�s imposing doors.

  Again, I round my shoulder, send a charge of magic darting through my body, and get ready to barrel through the doors.

  I don’t have to. They open with a creak, spreading wide just as I reach them.

  I shift inside, moving as fast as I possibly can. Moving so goddamn fast, I almost lose one of my shoes.

  I stagger to the side as I finally enter John’s office.

  It’s situated on the corner of the building, and judging by the rest of the space around it, I assume his office is massive. It has to be. And, judging from the outside appearance of the building, I equally assume that two walls should be made of glass.

  But that’s not what I get.

  For, as I barrel into his office, it’s small. Cozy even.

  There’s just enough room for four things. A crackling fireplace on the far side, one antique desk, and two chairs.

  As I barrel in, I almost trip over the rug the desk is situated on, and I have to punch a hand out, clasping the back of the closest chair for support.

  Instantly, my eyes are drawn upward.

  Maybe I should be focusing on the rest of the room. Maybe I should be trying to figure out how the hell this space seems so tiny and yet feels so large.

  But I’m not.

  I stare at the picture above the fireplace.

  It’s... a woman.

  I recognize her. Except I’ve never seen her. Because it’s not the woman herself I’m recognizing – it’s the look in her eyes.

  There’s... something about it that reminds me of myself.

  This kind of deadened power.

  I... stand there and stare at it, breathing so hard, my chest rattles back-and-forth and my lips wobble.

  It takes me so long to wrench my gaze off that painting.

  I remind myself that I have to unlock that chessboard. Though I can tell this building can protect me from a lot, if another king attacks it with an army, I’m screwed.

  I dash forward, reach the desk, clutch a hand on the first drawer, and wrench it open.

  I hear something click, and I can again tell that the building is helping me.

  But as I rifle through John’s drawers, not even knowing what I’m looking for, I don’t find anything.

  I have no idea how to get into that alcove.