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Chapter thirteen

Caspar

L ord Caspar Naari sighed when he finally entered the set of chambers he'd been given the night before, when first he arrived to the Drakmori court.

They were modest, but serviceable…though a little cramped, given the sheer amount of people packed into the space at present.

Passing through the sitting room, he dipped a nod to the two guards posted by the door leading into the bedchamber. In silence, he fidgeted and waited for them to let him pass.

When one finally obliged, Caspar forged on into the dark room beyond.

The velvet drapes drawn over the windows plunged the chamber into premature shadow. He blinked while adjusting to the lack of light.

But even within the inky blackness of the room, it was easy enough to see the pair of golden eyes—agleam with all the predatory interest of a feline—watching him from the bed.

The eyes of a witch.

The eyes of the Princess Mariana, eldest of the Arathian king’s daughters.

He jerked his head to the side, choosing to take an interest in the dark silhouette of the guard looming over the woman rather than the woman herself. The guard stared back, his features unreadable.

“It went well, my lord?” The princess’s question unfurled from the darkness on a smoky rasp, leaving Caspar fighting against the sudden tremble coursing down his spine.

He bowed low and offered a hasty, “Your Highness,” in greeting. The silence which followed left Caspar toying with one of his many rings. “Yes, well, it could have gone…better, I dare say. The king seems reluctant to commit one way or the other. But the dowager queen intervened and, ah…” How in the world had he gotten himself into this mess? “…yes, her interest was…a surprising stroke of luck. It will surely be our way forward.”

“Not luck,” Princess Mariana softly contradicted. “Never luck.”

Caspar took a step back as the woman pushed herself to a sitting position. It was rather unnerving, the way her eyes bored into him when she quietly declared, “We must give thanks to Our Lady Below for this gift.”

If Caspar had a death wish, he would have wrinkled his nose at those words. Instead, he pasted on one of his usual, empty smiles. “Of course, Your Highness. You’re quite right. ”

Lord. Lady. None of it made any difference to him.

It was all just superstitious nonsense concocted by those who couldn’t stand the idea that they were truly alone in the world.

“Tell me more about my future husband,” the princess demanded, earning a slow blink from Caspar. “Is he handsome?”

“By Drakmori standards, I suppose,” he conceded. But when he spotted the witch’s frown, he hastily added, “And young. Malleable. You will like him greatly, Your Highness. I have no doubt.”

“But he does not wish to meet me.”

Caspar swallowed and retreated backward when the princess suddenly jolted to her feet. She prowled toward him, sending his heart racing with each step. “Well…he…he,” Caspar stammered. “He does not know you are here, Your Highness.”

“As it should be,” she snapped.

Caspar flinched away from the heat of her words.

“If dear Edmund were to know I was already here, he would become distracted,” Princess Mariana continued, still approaching him with slow, measured steps.

Moment by moment, her approach drove him backward until he finally slammed against the far wall. Only then did Caspar realize he had run out of floor. He was trapped.

“But I still want to see him before he leaves to go toy with the Queen of Elmoria,” the princess whispered when she drew to a pause in front of him—so close, he could have reached out and touched her should he have so wished.

He didn’t wish it.

He wished he was a world away. Anywhere but there.

Wetting his lips, Caspar attempted another smile when he murmured, “I must…advise against that, Your Highness. Disguising you as a guard was enough to get you into the palace, but even through the helm, your eyes…”

The rest of his words died when he spied the dagger suddenly in her hand. A blade shrouded in darkness and crowned by a gem agleam with all the souls the witch had already collected.

Caspar’s heart threatened to beat its way straight out of his chest.

“No,” he croaked, ducking to the side and fleeing for the door.

That was never part of the agreement. Nowhere in their negotiations had he offered himself as a witchsworn.

Before he could reach his freedom, strong arms wrapped about him from behind like iron bands. “No!” Caspar screamed one last time as those arms tightened and crushed all the air from his lungs.

Darkness pricked at the edges of his vision. His head spun. The room tilted.

But those golden eyes belonging to the Princess of Arath swam toward him through that darkness, bringing with them a whisper of, “Do not be afraid, Lord Naari.”

“Please…” he gasped as the bodyguard held him fast.

Tilting her head to the side, Princess Mariana asked with all the innocence of a girl, “How else am I supposed to see the king if not through your eyes, my lord?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, though. Unfastening the front of his robe, she pushed it open to reveal his chest. “It’ll be better for us both if you don’t fight,” she whispered while positioning her witchblade directly over his heart. “Just remember your family, Naari.”

Caspar squeezed his eyes shut. His thoughts flickered, dancing between the faces of his many children and his wife. Norah . “You promised,” he reminded the princess when his eyes flashed back open to meet the burn of her golden gaze. “This was not part of the agreement.” Thrashing against the grip of the guard holding him, he whimpered, “You promised.”

“I know…” Princess Mariana whispered back, a little smile curving her lips. “I lied.”

Those two words ghosted through Caspar’s swiftly fading consciousness when she plunged her dagger into his heart, sinking the blade in deep.

And then there was only cold.

And then there was only darkness.