Page 52 of Artemysia

“I’m a fucking marquis, and I’m enjoying it.” - Riev

I ’m no dummy and immediately figured out who has access to the king. I charmed my way to the attention of his niece, Sylvi, and her twin brother, Kye. Those closest to the king try their hardest to show they’re better than everyone else, and these two, with their tiaras, were easy targets.

That’s right. I can be delightful when I want to be. As I always say, everyone likes the mysterious stranger who says clever, vulgar things. But tonight, this mysterious stranger comes with a fancy-ass title, and I plan on using it to my advantage.

I’m a fucking marquis, and I’m enjoying it.

“The Marquis of the Outer Riverlands? I’ve never been that far,” Sylvi, the sister says.

“We produce the sweetest white wine,” I say, enjoying my adopted persona. “You’d love it.”

“I need more wine if I’m going to get through this ball,” she says.

Sylvi wants to play a round of a drinking game, announcing that these functions are tedious. The next time a server passes, she grabs an entire frosted bottle of bourbon off his tray.

I spin it into a question-and-answer game. Answer a personal question, or drink if you can’t or don’t want to answer it.

“Are you the king’s favorite kin?” I ask.

“Of course. Kye and I are twenty-three, a year older than the prince. Cousin Toryl is like our baby brother. We grew up together,” Sylvi says.

“Princes are crowned at twenty-two?” Delphine’s age. Dammit, everything reminds me of her. Delphine this, Delphine that . I’d be disgusted at myself, except that thinking of her makes me happy.

I must be drunk. I’m never happy.

“Are you married?” Sylvi’s brother Kye asks, stroking the gold wedding band that the Syf lent me.

“I am.” My entire body flushes at the impossible idea of Delphine—married. To me.

“Where is your wife, then?” Sylvi pours some of her drink into mine.

I take a generous swig at the heart-twisting thought of Delphine as my wife. Would she, in her right mind, ever consider marriage? I never have. Not before.

“I have no idea.” I wipe the bourbon dripping off my chin.

They laugh at my reply.

After the easy questions, the game inevitably wanders into more intrusive places.

“How many women have you slept with?” they ask me.

I drink more. They giggle.

I better start asking harder questions, or I’ll be drunk by myself.

“Is there anyone here you’d want to be with tonight? Either of you?” I ask.

They both drink. But Sylvi, the bolder sibling, fixes her gaze on me while she swallows.

I glance away, pretending to admire the manor. “The prince’s winter manor, huh? I’ve never stayed at this estate. I’ll bet his quarters are extravagant.”

“Royalty occupies the fourth floor. The entire fourth floor,” Kye says.

“West Wing is the prince’s,” Sylvi adds. “The prettiest door is his bedroom, but he only allows his sexual conquests inside.”

“Ah.”

“If we go somewhere else, would you kiss me?” Sylvi asks pointedly, her blue-purple eyes glimmering.

“Sylvi, you’re too much,” her brother says, taking away her drink.

“I’m loyal to my wife,” I answer. Where is this wife of mine? Still dressing? She’s probably charming everyone around her and getting a lot further than I am in gathering information.

“Well, that’s sweet but boring,” Sylvi goads, turning away to catch a server with a platter of food. She swipes a few items before letting him continue.

“You’re both high-ranking and beautiful enough to fuck anyone here. Leave the married men alone.”

They eye each other and laugh shamelessly. “We don’t want any of these men,” Kye says.

“What’s fun for you then?” I ask.

Sylvi offers me a bit of cheese on herbed bread. Since I haven’t eaten all day, I let her pop it into my mouth.

“Kissing somewhere in the dark,” she says. “This ballroom smells like the sweaty old balls of the creepy barons.”

“I’ll let you take me on a tour of somewhere more fun than the ballroom, but there will be no kissing.” I’m hoping for the chance to explore the rest of the manor.

“Kye, let’s show him the trophy room!”

“But that’s private.”

“We go all the time. It’s creepy fun. We can have one more drink there—it’s the king’s special stash. Your answer breaks the tie, Marquis.”

“Trophy room. Sorry, Kye, your sister is right about these events, they’re fucking intolerable. If I have to talk to one more tiresome baron, I’m going to wring someone’s neck.”

“Your words are not fitting for a marquis,” he replies, smiling. “But that’s why we like you.”

I offer each an arm, and they lead me out the back archway through a darkened room with extra chairs and tables .

“We have to go through a secret passageway.” Sylvi presses a mirrored panel in the unused dining room, and it spins open into a stairway.

She pushes me in with her small hand on my back, and we climb up a narrow flight of stairs.

At the top, a similar mirrored panel spins us into a dark study.

Shelves of books line the walls, but when Kye flicks on a lamp, I curse loudly.

Along the walls above the shelves, all around the room, hanging on wooden plaques like mounted deer heads, are preserved Syf heads. Their ears are still pointed.

They snicker at my shock, and Sylvi skips to a bar cart and pours a glass of amber liquid from a crystal decanter.

“Uncle’s best scotch,” she says.

I quickly down it. Syf heads stare back at me. I still don’t believe what I’m seeing, and I’m speechless.

The king’s scotch is the best I’ve ever tasted, but I can’t savor it. I stammer out my next question, because the game is over, and shit just got real.

“The king hunts Syf for sport?!” Oh holy fucking hell. They kill for entertainment?

What kind of advanced weaponry do they have to do this for fun?

Sylvi laughs lightly. “No, silly. Most were found half-dead and brought here to be studied. For science. But Kye and I think Syf are beautiful. We want to meet a real one. I…want to sleep with one.”

“Sylvi!” Kye admonishes his sister.

“You do too, don’t deny it,” Sylvi argues.

Kye adjusts the collar of his charcoal shirt under his black suit. “Only if he’s as hot as the ones we’ve seen. Wings and all.”

I cut in. “You don’t think they’re…monsters?” Hearing them talk like this stirs something deep in the pit of my stomach. Perhaps here, Syf are accepted? Is it possible they’re…admired?

But around me, the mounted heads tell a different story. Something doesn’t add up.

“We don’t think they’re monsters,” Sylvi breathes. “Not at all.”

“We aren’t the only ones who think so,” Kye adds.

“You’re not afraid of being attacked? They’re dangerous…” Do they really believe that Syf aren’t beasts?

“No, they aren’t. Not normally. But some get sick and go out of their minds,” Kye says.

“Kye is an apprentice with the lead scientist here, and they’re studying them. Trying to cure them.”

“Can they be cured? What causes their illness?” I ask, not quite accepting anything I’m hearing.

Because if I do, this changes everything.

It changes everything Delphine fights for—a cure would mean the end of killing for her.

“The king ordered experiments to be done on Syf here in the estate laboratory, in an attempt to control them. But the runoff from the experiments released into the East River poisoned them all. The river water doesn’t affect humans, but it turns Syf into angry beasts,” Sylvi says, swishing her periwinkle dress that matches her wide, unblinking eyes as she shifts closer to me.

“They’re actually beautiful creatures who deserve love, like us,” Kye insists.

“And we want to help them.” Sylvi leans into me. “You look like one of them, you know. Your eyes, your features…”

“It’s why we wanted to talk to you,” Kye chimes in.

Sylvi’s hands rove at my waist, sliding under my shirt and up my back.

I flinch at her touch. Normally, I wouldn’t care, but since I met Delphine, I can’t stand the thought of anyone else touching me.

I belong to someone now. Someone who cares for me.

I step back, but Sylvi digs her fingers roughly into my skin.

She gasps.

Her hand travels further up my spine. I try to wrench myself away, but it’s too late.

“Kye,” Sylvi turns to her brother as she feels the scars across my spine, “I think we found a live one.”

My heart stops. No one in South Kingdom ever put together what the scars are. But they know so much more about Syf here in the North…are we behind because we’ve been busy fighting Syf for the last two decades?

The room spins, and my vision blurs.

I’ve only just noticed there are no windows or doors in the trophy room, and Kye is sliding an armchair against the mirrored panel, blocking the passageway we came through earlier .

My tongue goes numb, the pins and needles spreading down my neck and shoulders. To my alarm, my arms weaken to the point that it’s difficult to hold my glass steady. I glance down at the dram of scotch I’m sipping…

They’ve trapped and poisoned me.