Page 3 of A Queen’s Betrayal (Legends of Worldbinders #1)
Arenna sighed and turned to the mirror for a final look at the gown that reminded her too much of blood. Her eyes landed on the purple, blotched patch of skin on her inner arm.
With a deep, unsteady breath, she adjusted the serpent band, exhaling in relief as its thickness concealed the mark.
Perfect. You have to be perfect.
Arenna left the room without another word, Faylen and her group of maidens trailing closely behind.
* * *
After two flights of stairs and endless chilled corridors, Arenna and her entourage finally reached the main halls of Brookworth, which were basked in light from the chandeliers every couple of feet.
She was thankful to be out of the darkened halls leading to her chambers, where the only source of light was from the moon and a few sparse sconces.
She felt human again, rather than a sewer rat lurking below life.
Arenna always hated the dark, except for when she gazed at the stars shimmering in the far distance through the glass windows.
Life beyond Brookworth seemed so unreal, so imaginary.
She always thought stars were beacons leading her to a future she feared she would never see outside of dreams.
Arenna’s room was in the slums , as Jaksen so kindly put it. She was sequestered to the lowest point of the fortress, where the castle had been built from the mountain. She didn’t mind it much anymore. Preferred it, actually.
Over the years of her abuse, Jaksen did not find it worth his energy to venture through the winding halls and endless stairs, which meant she was left alone more than when they shared a room.
Her chest tightened as they rounded the corner at the end of the hall, the only sound her heels clacking against polished flooring. Red walls closed in, Arenna’s pulse quickening.
Every hair on her arms rose. Although the air was cold, a familiar warmth spread throughout her body, running under her skin, heating to the point that her palms itched. It happened whenever Jaksen was near, as though her body could sense his presence and was preparing to defend itself.
Arenna’s eyes settled onto the crimson jacket he wore.
It was adorned with intricate, silver stitching on the cuffs and lapels and nearly reached his knees.
A cape made of white serpent skin fell down his back, pinned over his left shoulder by a brooch inscribed with the Brookworth crest. An identical crown sat perfectly atop his platinum hair as if it were an extension of his head.
Guards decorated in silver armor and red capes flanked his sides. Jaksen’s eyebrows wrinkled together, his teeth flashing when he spoke. He ran a hand through his short hair while viciously whispering to the soldier at his right.
Something internally locked into place, and Arenna took a deep breath as she approached. She needed to watch what she said, be mindful of how she moved, and carefully think about her actions and choices. Even when she couldn’t see his eyes, he was always watching.
Muscle memory had Arenna stiffening as her husband’s icy blue eyes slid to hers, then followed down the length of her body.
“My Little Dove,” Jaksen whispered into the space between her neck and shoulder as he stepped close to her. A shiver ran across her skin. “You look ravishing.” His hand slid down her spine, stopping at the small of her back. He kissed her then, his lips cold and wet.
“Thank you,” Arenna said between kisses.
“As do you.” Her stomach tightened. She hated how handsome he was.
Sometimes it was hard to forget there was a man before the monster, and that she had loved him fiercely for five years.
It was hard to swallow that although Jaksen looked like that same man—undeniably beautiful and regal—he was now lost.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, noting the flushed cheeks of the guards behind him. “You seem upset.”
Jaksen broke their gaze, kissing her shoulder. “There was an attack on Flatbury tonight.”
Her stomach sank. “The Fae?” Arenna whispered, careful again of listening ears. It wasn’t abnormal for Kingdom Worden to send legions to their territories, ransacking villages and murdering their people.
“Unfortunately, no. That would be easier to clean up.” Jaksen placed his hands on her arms, running them up and down. “It was another Vorgrith attack. Filthy beasts nearly killed half the town.”
Dread clawed at Arenna’s throat. She had never seen a Vorgrith with her own eyes, but the fear was there.
Stags were once mighty creatures of Pheanixios, specifically prone to House Lorfin.
It had been centuries since the original animal stalked this earth, every last one of them losing themselves to the Rot.
They doubled in size, standing on two legs rather than four.
Their hooves turned into claws, elongated and sharp, and fur dripped from their body like it was melting flesh, matted and torn.
Gooseflesh prickled her skin. Arenna tried to shut out the only image she had of the beast, found in an old text deep in Brookworth’s library. “That’s horrible,” she murmured. “May the Sisters guide the lost souls to their Realms. What can be done about it?”
“Finding a cure to the Rot would be best,” he answered. “But I imagine that isn’t something that will be seen in our lifetime.” Jaksen placed a hand to her cheek.
Arenna hid her flinch well. “I’m not sure if any lifetime will see a cleared continent again,” she argued.
The Rot began soon after the continent of Pheanixios was severed.
At first, it crept in quietly—warm lakes and oceans turned frigid, waterfalls slowed to a halt, and the once-vibrant forests began to fade.
Then came the plague, the devastation. It turned rolling hills of green to black and covered in ash, trees and grasses withered into brittle husks.
Even the soil soured, stripped of its strength, leaving the land hollow and lifeless.
But then it started infecting humans. The process was slow, like the Rot enjoyed devouring life, forcing itself into the host before changing it entirely into a ravaged creature. Their skin dripped from bone, and rounded teeth became pointed and deadly. Ferals .
Jaksen kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry yourself with political matters, Little Dove. You have no place in this.” He smiled down at Arenna, and she returned it, even though her blood was boiling.
“Of course,” she mumbled. What a cruel reminder it was, being a queen of nothing. She was nothing more than an accessory to the king. A woman with no voice, no choices.
The Serpent King glanced over his shoulder, whispering a final instruction to the soldier who scurried off. “Ready?” he asked Arenna, placing her hand in his.
“Whenever you are, my king.”
Jaksen nodded to the guards.
Massive, wooden doors swung open and he guided Arenna inside. She swallowed, gripping the hand of her abuser tightly. It was time to play a part, step into the life of someone she did not like, did not recognize. But when her survival depended on it, so be it.