by Bec McMaster
“You have ten minutes,” Eris warns.
Finn winces. “Our prince may need slightly longer than that, my love.”
“Ten minutes.” She stalks toward the tent flap. “If he’s that desperate to have her, surely that’s long enough.”
Oh, she’s furious all right.
But I wave the others out after her.
I’ll deal with Eris’s misgivings later.
“You saved him,” I murmur as soon as the tent is empty. “Thank you.”
Iskvien pushes to her feet as if sitting leaves her at a disadvantage now we’re alone. “It was nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing.” I take her hand. “I was about to sacrifice any claim upon Mistmere. Instead, your mother is left with a hand of useless cards.” My voice roughens. “Can she trace this back to you?”
“I don’t think so. We weren’t seen. Edain will suspect someone helped him, though I doubt he’ll think of me.” Iskvien bites her lip. “Nobody ever suspects me.”
I capture her face in my hands. “Come to me if you think she knows. I’ll protect you.”
But Vi tears away from my grasp. “I didn’t just do it for you. She was holding him over my head. Now I’m free.”
“To break this marriage contract?” I hate those words. To even think she’s being forced to marry another….
She hesitates. “Yes.”
My eyes narrow at the tone of voice used. That wasn’t an emphatic “yes”. Our eyes meet. “You don’t have to marry him.”
“If not Finn then it will be someone else,” she says with a shrug. “My maid perhaps. My groom. She’ll put a knife to their throat and force my hand and—”
“No.” I slide a hand through her hair. “You do not have to marry him.”
Fury suddenly blazes in her expression. “And how do I avoid such a fate?”
“By marrying me.”
The words simply force their way past my lips.
Vi freezes.
Even I can’t believe I just said it.
But the second I put them into the world, I know they’re real.
This has been where my heart has been heading from the moment I laid eyes upon her.
I stroke my thumb over her satiny cheek. “Marry me,” I whisper. “Be mine, Vi. She’ll never be able to harm you again.”
“As tempting as that is,” she whispers, “I barely know you.”
“You trusted me with your body.”
She pushes away, pacing through the tent. “I know.”
“Then why doubt me now?”
“How do I know that this hasn’t been planned from the start?” A look that slays me. “I want to trust you. I want to believe this is real. But it’s one thing to kiss you and lie with you, and quite another to bind my fate to yours.” She swallows. “This is forever, Thiago. And I can’t help thinking about the war between you and my mother. I can’t help thinking that you would do anything to destroy her.” Her voice grows very small. “What if this was your plan from the start? Ruin me. Woo me. Steal me away.”
“This has nothing to do with Adaia. We have nothing to do with her—”
She ducks beneath my arm as I reach for her. “There is no “we”.” Frustration roars to life in her eyes. “Prove it. Prove that marrying me has nothing to do with spiting my mother. Prove this is real.”
“And how do I do that?” When she won’t believe my words.
She looks as though a thought occurs.
A horrible, terrible thought, judging by the way her cheeks pale.
“Give her the lands she wants,” she says breathlessly. “Give her the territories in Mistmere. Do it and I’ll marry you. Do it and I’ll become your wife.”
She may as well have struck me.
Give Adaia Mistmere?
No. A thousand times no. Not only is it dangerous politically, but it’s become the playing piece I won’t surrender. My pride won’t allow it.
“You were willing to give it for Finn,” she whispers.
If it was the only way I could save his life….
A part of me hates that she’s asking this of me. A part of me applauds it. I don’t want just a wife. I want a queen. And a queen makes sure of her own worth.
I could have her, and is she not worth a thousand Mistmere’s?
“Do you promise to marry me if I surrender those territories to your mother?” The words are soft. Dangerous.
There’s something about her expression that softens in disbelief.
“I promise. I promise once, I promise twice, I promise thrice. I will marry you if you give Mistmere to my mother.”
Dark, silky lashes obscure my eyes as I try to hide the flare of possessive joy within me. She’s mine. “Then I will hold you to your promise, Princess.” I capture her hand, bringing it to my lips and brushing a soft kiss across the back of her knuckles. “Meet me at the Hammerdale ruins at midnight.”
“And then?”
I can’t help myself.
I kiss her.
Capturing her face between my hands I swoop down and claim that luscious mouth. A gasp escapes her, but then her fists are twining in my shirt. It doesn’t matter if she’s the daughter of my enemy. It doesn’t matter if we barely know each other. We have this and it burns between us. A promise of more. A promise of forever if only I am brave enough to reach out and take it.
I draw back breathlessly, because I promised Eris I would be brief. “And then you belong to me. Forever.”
10
Iskvien
Thiago did it.
He gave my mother Mistmere, simply gave those territories away as if they mean nothing to him. As if there hasn’t been years of strife and bloodshed, two kingdoms holding a knife to each other’s throat. As if Mistmere isn’t the queen on the fari board that my mother and this prince have been playing to win for years, each determined not to yield.
He did it.
For me.
“What fucking game does he think he’s playing?” my mother rages as she stalks circles around her tent. Her golden skirts rasp on the carpets that are laid everywhere, but the slither reminds me of nothing more than a serpent. “He’ll give me Mistmere? And for what? For nothing? For peace.”
“Maybe he’s tired of war?” Edain murmurs, from where he’s lounging on a daybed in the corner. He fingers a strand of grapes, his face blank and bored.
Andraste sits in the chair opposite him, casually stroking a cat. All her attention is focused on those long, gentle caresses, as if she doesn’t dare even look at my mother.
I feel the tension too. Even from this little chair in the corner of the room. It’s a surprise to find—after all these years apart—that there’s something we still share.
We both recognize the warning signs.
Mother’s fury starts small, and it builds like a storm on the horizon. Someone will suffer for this. Edain just pushed his way to the head of the list.
“Tired of war?” My mother turns on him like a snake about to strike. He’s made himself a target by speaking up, but maybe he’s spent too many years under her tender loving care to give a damn. “That bastard murdered the queen of Evernight, and then crushed any and all who opposed him. Thiago spent years wading through blood. He had the heads of Evernight’s ruling princes mounted on the walls of his keep to show his city who ruled them now. And you think he’s tired? Of war?”
Edain’s sleepy-lashed look turns hot and insolent as he plucks a single grape from its strand. “Maybe the recent incapacitation of his friend, the hunter, has made him think twice about crossing you. They say he cares deeply for his circle of friends. He offered the borderlands for that bitch, Eris, after all, and there was nothing in it for him at the time. He didn’t even know her. And I’ve never heard of anything that suggests he actually mounted his prince’s heads on the battlements. Only the rumors.”
Rumors. Which means she started them. I don’t know why that thought makes it easier to breathe.
Maybe because I don’t want to think
Thiago the type of male who will guillotine someone and then stab their head onto a spike. That isn’t the prince I know, who laid me on the grass and kissed his way down my body. That isn’t the handsome stranger who looked at me with a smile in his eyes, as he captured my hand and lifted it to my lips.
“It doesn’t make sense,” my mother hisses. “No. There’s some play here at hand.” She presses her fingers to her temples. “I just can’t see it. And if I can’t see it then I don’t know where he’s going to strike from.”
I can barely breathe.
The play is me.
I set the challenge before him.
Prove it. Prove I mean more to you than a chance to spite my mother. Prove your offer true.
The thought leaves me breathless and raw. I can’t wait until tonight to see him. I can’t wait to demand to know what he’s thinking. It was a stupid challenge, thrown his way to stop this reckless foolishness. It was never meant to test his resolve. I didn’t think he’d actually do it.
Because now it’s my turn to roll the dice, and I don’t know what to do.
Mother’s right. There has to be some play here. Something long-term perhaps? Perhaps he cedes the southern half of Mistmere to my mother, marries me and—
And then what?
She’s not going to grant him a dowry. She’s not going to celebrate our marriage. If he gains something from this, then I can’t see it, except for the horrible, breathless sensation that maybe it’s me that he gains, but I’m worth nothing in the grand scheme of things and—
“Vi!” A set of fingers snaps right in front of my face and I freeze, because I lost focus on the true danger in the room, and now she’s glaring down at me, leaning forward until both her hands are resting on the arms of the chair I sit in, caging me in. “Are you even listening to me?”
Mother’s fingers dig into my chin, and my heart hammers in my chest because fuck, I’ve made myself a target by letting my thoughts drift.
“Of course I was listening.” I have to salvage this moment, or I’m the one who will bleed for it. “I was just trying to think what he might gain by this.”
“And?”
“Nothing.” The word’s soft. Dry. “He has nothing to gain. Unless…. Unless he seeks to make you out to be the aggressor. Perhaps this has something to do with the other queens and….” I almost say Kyrian’s name, but she sees him as another male usurper. “Maybe it’s got something to do with winning Queen Lucidia to his side. She votes for him as often as she votes against him, and with Queen Maren as your firm ally, and Pri… Kyrian as his, that leaves Lucidia to break any potential ties within the alliance.” I’m babbling now, but she looks thoughtful. “Lucidia craves peace and if he offers the alliance peace, then she will ensure he remains in power to hold the balance.”
She shoves away from me, and I almost fall out of the chair. “At least one of you is thinking.” She taps her lip. “There was some rumor suggesting he and the eldest Ravenal princess sought to make a match.” Her face darkens. “You’re right. This goes further—deeper—than I could have suspected. We have to stop this alliance before he can wield it against me.”
Punishment averted. I release a slow breath, but Edain is watching me from across the room with those implacable eyes. Sometimes I wonder if he sees far more than he ever reveals.
“How do we stop it?” Edain muses, tossing another grape in the air.
“You could kill the girl,” Mother muses. “If I sent you to steal a knife from his tents, you could use that. Lay the blame at his feet.”
Edain actually fumbles the grape, catching it before it hits the ground.
Andraste and I share a look.
It’s rare that my mother makes a slip like that in front of us.
Edain stares at her flatly. “You want me to kill Lucere? With Thiago’s knife?”
There’s a certain sort of glee darkening her green eyes. “Why did I not think of this before?” she breathes. “It’s perfect.”
“It’s madness,” Edain counters. He pushes himself upright, tossing the grapes aside as he locks gazes with her. “Firstly, I would have to be able to even get close to the Prince of Evernight. His people are—”
“Not that good.” She whirls on him, and I can see her mind is made up. “Not as good as you when you want to be unseen.”
“Firstly, if I could get close to him, then he would already be dead and we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” he points out, and I wonder if he’s actually tried before. “Secondly, the laws of the queensmoot are sacrosanct. No murder. No bloodshed. Any disputes must be brought before the alliance and the Council of Queens. If I am caught—fuck, if I actually kill the girl—then this doesn’t just threaten the alliance, it shatters it. There will never be another queensmoot again.” He holds up a finger when she moves to protest. “No, Adaia.”
My mother leans forward, resting both hands on the daybed as she stares into his face. “What did you just say?”
“No,” he repeats, loudly and firmly.
I don’t dare move. I don’t even dare breathe. Nobody tells her no, but Edain…. The way he’s looking at her….
“Get out,” she whispers, not bothering to look at us. “Both of you. I can see my little pet needs some convincing.”
Edain’s eyes smolder. He hates that nickname.
Andraste and I share a look.
I don’t hesitate. I bolt for the tent opening.
Someone is going to die.
And the choices are: Lucere. Or Edain.
I have to see Thiago and I have to see him now.
It’s no longer a matter of demanding to know what he meant by the Mistmere play—it’s no longer important. Etan’s the threat looming at my throat. And then there’s Lucere, a princess with no idea what is even coming her way.
Mother will convince Edain to take a tilt at her. I’m certain of it. The Queen of Asturia doesn’t know what “no” means.
I have to stop this.
I have to stop Edain from getting close to Thiago and seeing war blow up in our faces.
And I owe Thiago a promise. I gave him my word that I would marry him if he gave my mother Mistmere.
It’s all coming at me with the speed of a runaway carriage and I stuff my things into a bag, before grabbing my cloak and turning toward the door of the tent.
Too late. Andraste stands there, her gaze raking over the cloak, the knife and my dress. She draws her own conclusions. “Where are you going?”
“This is the last night of the queensmoot. I thought we were supposed to celebrate?”
She captures my wrist, searching my face. “Vi?”
“What if I told you there was a way I could… escape Etan?” I don’t even know why I’m confiding in her, except for the fact that she’s been kinder to me these past three days than she’s been in years.
“I would say that you’re a fool,” she says gently. “Mother will never let you break the marriage contract.”
“I have to believe, Andi. I have to have hope.”
Andraste sighs. “Go,” she whispers, holding the tent flap open. “Enjoy one last night of freedom.”
I stare at her incredulously.
She shrugs. “I know you’re not going to dance, Vi. You’re going to go find your handsome stranger and you’re going to spend the night in his arms. One of us may as well enjoy ourselves.”
She thinks it’s the last chance I have to enjoy another’s pleasures. I can see it in her face.
“I’m not going to stop fighting her,” I tell her.
“I know.” She grimaces. “You never do.”
And then she pauses. “Do you remember the night you set fire to the castle?”
I wince as I draw my hood over my face. “I keep trying to forget it. I can barely look at a candle without flinching.”
“It wasn’t a candle, Vi.” She says it so softly I can barely hear the words.
But a strange stillness seeps through me.
It feel
s like something inside me is holding its breath.
“She locked your magic away from you, made you forget it.” Andraste fixes the hood of my cloak, even as her gentle words destroy me. Our eyes meet. “She’s afraid of you. She’s afraid of what you could achieve if you were ever to come into your power. You were nearly twelve and you burned half the castle down, Vi. I couldn’t do that. Mother…. Mother could barely even quash the flames and her magic is strong. The only thing that stopped you was Nanny. Even broken and bleeding, she reached for your hand and she begged you to stop before you burned all of us alive.”
The heat drains from my face.
I have magic.
Strong magic.
But no…. I can barely even light a candle. I can barely….
A single memory hammers itself through my brain: Screaming, heat, fire, a gnarled old hand squeezing mine as Nanny spat blood around a mangled, “Stop.”
I flinch away from Andraste, clutching my head. It hurts.
It’s like an ice prick to the brain.
“I… I remember.” I can barely breathe.
My magic has always been weak and intractable, and my mother’s made no secret of the fact she despises me for it.
But what does this mean?
Because if she took those memories away from me, if she took my magic, then why delight in sneering at me for it?
“Mother is going to name me heir once we return from the queensmoot,” Andraste finally says. “Because she’s afraid of you. She’s afraid of what you could do if you ever come into your own. She mocks you and she locks you away, and she makes you believe you’re weak. It’s the same reason she’s shipping you off to Aska.”
“But I…. You….”
“I don’t know if you can break the marriage contract,” she says, “but don’t you ever forget that you don’t have to be afraid of Etan. He should be afraid of you. Enjoy this one last night, Vi, but don’t be afraid of the future. If you’re in Aska, then you have a chance to learn your magic without her watching over your shoulder. Learn it. Burn that fucking little creep alive, if you need to. Become friends with Maren—she’d love a chance to help tear Mother down. Start playing your own game, start making the moves. You don’t have to be the pawn anymore, Vi.”