Page 4 of A Queen’s Betrayal (Legends of Worldbinders #1)

The banquet hall was packed, every inch of the marbled floor filled with people. In one corner of the brightly lit room, a musical ensemble played softly. The hum of cellos, fiddles, and violins echoed off the white walls.

Hundreds had traveled to Brookworth from across Varios, eager to witness the tournament firsthand.

Jaksen had invited the nobility, primarily the lords and ladies of the three major Houses.

The rest were spectators: wealthy court members or stragglers hoping to partake in the week-long festivities before the event.

Jaksen’s cold hand slipped from hers to rest on the small of her back as he guided Arenna through the throng of people toward the lone stone throne, elevated on a platform at the front of the hall. Guards flanked them, creating a barrier between them and the crowd.

Even after all these years, Arenna had never grown used to the grim display of violence that marked the Serpent King’s throne. The oversized white-stone chair sat atop a pile of preserved bones and skulls, remnants of fallen enemies from the first attack against the crown—the First War .

Fae, Draka, and Medryds had fought against humans; magic against mortality.

Arenna avoided looking at the skull atop the throne, its delicate bones a stark reminder of the power that defined Brookworth, despite its non-magical, human origins. The skull belonged to the First Queen of Worden, slain moments before the severance of Pheanixios.

The First King of Brookworth had killed her with a dagger through her head, leaving her remains forever enshrined at the forefront of Brookworth’s throne.

Enemy or not, Arenna despised the idolization of the deceased queen’s skull. She offered a quick prayer to the Sisters, as she always did, hoping her soul was resting in the Realms and not trapped in the Sorrows.

As they approached the table at the base of the throne platform, Arenna noticed the small council seated on Jaksen’s side, while the nobles of the Houses sat on hers.

Her throat tightened when she saw who was seated directly beside her place setting: Lord Bishop, the large and lazy lord of House Nicosa.

He flashed a yellow smile.

Unfortunately for Arenna, Bishop and his wife had come into power when his father died, and ever since, he’d made his thoughts about her— and her body —disturbingly clear.

If Jaksen had seen, she would surely be punished for the lord’s wandering eyes and roaming hands, as if she were to blame for Bishop’s lack of restraint.

Arenna took a deep breath, trying to calm the roaring in her ears.

It is going to be a long night .

Jaksen nodded to the nobles, then to his council, and finally to the crowd. They all dipped at their waists, the entire room falling into a calm silence as they bowed before their king. Arenna knew better than to sit before her husband, so she waited patiently, mirroring his every move.

An eerie silence fell over the room as Jaksen’s upper lip curled into a devious smile.

“Welcome.” He had an incredible gift for commanding a room with a single word.

“In one week’s time, you will all bear witness to a tournament unlike any you have ever seen.

Enjoy our home, our food and wine, dance yourselves dead in the taverns of Tolgan, and bury yourselves deep within our brothels. ”

Loud cheers echoed, ale and wine spilling from slammed drinks as the crowd saluted their king.

Jaksen continued, “Let this week be a distraction from our enemy to the east, and the war he has created and from the decaying lands, and vile beasts. Live freely, without fear of the Red Reaper’s power, knowing you are safe within my walls.”

The crowd erupted again, banging their fists and tankards against wooden tables. Seeing her people happy and well cared for was something a queen could only hope for. Arenna hadn’t had much influence over Varios in the past few years, but in moments like this, she still burned with pride.

Jaksen may be cruel to her, but he loved their people and country, and he would do anything to protect it. She respected that about him, if nothing else.

After the chanting died down, Jaksen took his seat on the red velvet cushion.

Arenna followed, sitting in a simpler, ordinary chair.

She bit the inside of her cheek to stifle her annoyance—a tactic she had found remarkably effective over the years.

It wasn’t a glistening throne she desired, but equality with her husband, with her king.

But Jaksen, like the kings before him, seated his wife below, while he reigned above.

Arenna drained her glass of wine.

A long night indeed .

Dinner was served quickly. Large silver platters of venison and steaming vegetables were brought to the four long tables full of those in attendance, stretching from one end of the hall to the other. A dozen servants funneled in, each carrying two jugs of wine.

“We are so grateful to be here,” Lady Bishop said from the other side of her husband. Arenna’s jaw tightened as she watched Serena sip her wine, her honey-colored eyes narrowing with quiet admiration as she studied Jaksen from the side.

His adultery was no secret. Arenna had known since the first woman, but that didn’t dull the pain of his betrayals, especially when they played out right in front of her.

Arenna lifted a second glass of wine to her red-painted lips, drinking deeply in the hope that it would numb her dark thoughts. The sour taste made it easier to pretend to love Jaksen in front of the nobles and the crowd.

Thankfully, Lord Bishop interrupted the tension and finished his wife’s sentence. “Very thankful indeed. It is an honor to sit by my queen’s side at the beginning of such an exciting week, and an even greater honor to be seated near you, my king.”

Though Bishop was a lord—a wealthy one at that—Arenna knew Jaksen had his eyes on one guest in particular. Or he would, if he were here.

Lord Maven of House Forx was the crown’s greatest ally, not only for his wealth or goods Forx provided, but for his connections across the sea. The only reason Jaksen knew what was happening in Vlazias was because Maven had warned him beforehand, and losing that ally was not an option.

The war between humans and magic may have taken place over eight-thousand years ago, but in truth, it never truly ended—not even after the divide of the once-great continent. Since then, Brookworth and its kings lurked in the shadows, cowering beneath the might of Worden.

The separation of the continent, along with devastating losses to the Medryds and Draka, split the surviving species. Humans remained in Varios, while the magic-wielding Fae claimed Vlazias.

Jaksen and his ancestors did their best to stay neutral with Worden, but the Valor bloodline craves power.

The Reaper and his kin had stopped at nothing to bring havoc to this side of the ocean.

His army started wars, burned Brookworth’s villages, raided Houses, and enslaved, tortured, and killed humans—all in the name of conquest. The Fae King would not rest until everyone in Varios knelt to him and bowed to their magic, just as they did in the earliest days of the world.

It was enough to make the wine in her belly curdle.

“The honor is ours.” Jaksen grinned, bringing his glass to his lips.

“Care to give us a sneak peek of what the tournament consists of?” Lady Bishop sipped her wine, again watching Jaksen through the rim of her glass, batting her dark lashes.

“And ruin all the fun?” Jaksen countered, placing a grape in his mouth. “You’ll have to wait and see like everyone else.”

Arenna took another long drink from her glass, focusing on the room and the people nearby, hoping to distract herself from the conversation. Ignoring Jaksen’s disrespect felt impossible at times, but when forced to endure, she always found ways to keep her mind elsewhere.

Red and gold banners with the Brookworth serpent lined the walls, torches anchored between them. Crystal chandeliers hung above each table, their thick, dripping candles casting a warm glow over the room.

“Arenna?” Jaksen’s voice pulled her back to the conversation. Heat flushed her cheeks as she realized both he and the Bishops were waiting. Serena's sneer made her blood simmer, almost burning her skin.

Jaksen’s hand tightened around her thigh, a silent warning. “Lord Bishop asked you a question.”

She turned to the lord, forcing an apologetic smile. “My apologies, milord. Please, repeat it.”

Lord Bishop leaned in, the tang of wine on his breath turning her stomach. “I asked your thoughts on Worden. War is upon us.”

She felt Jaksen’s cold gaze on her, pressing against the back of her mind.

Choosing her words carefully, she replied, “A woman’s place isn’t on the battlefield, nor in the matters of politics.

My opinion offers no use.”The anger laced in her voice was hard to hide.

Being silenced was unbearable—especially by a husband she despised.

“Have the Fae not tormented your kingdom for years? Your people?” Lord Bishop pressed, holding a piece of meat between his fingers, gravy dripping down.

“They have,” Arenna admitted, shifting uncomfortably. The sight and smell of him made her stomach churn.

Lord Bishop, still chewing, added, “Then shouldn’t you have some kind of opinion? How can you live under this horror and not?”

Arenna glanced at Jaksen. He dipped his head, giving her permission to answer honestly this time.

“I think the same as everyone else,” she said with a shrug.

“The Red Reaper is malevolent, ruthless, and merciless.” Sadistic, malicious , brutal , callous .

She could describe him in a thousand different, cruel terms.

Bishop slapped his hand against the table, and Arenna flinched, her pulse racing. She was usually better at concealing her fear of raised hands, but the sudden movement caught her off guard. It stirred a sense of shame and dread she hadn’t felt in a long time.