Page 15 of Demon Heart: The Complete Series

But why would he be? As far as I was aware, all the witch kings and queens were united in their stalemate with the demons. What would King Basile have to gain by making deals? In fact, he abstained from a lot of the talks. The queen often called him weak for burying his head in the sand.

A smoke screen to cover his shady machinations?

“He craves power, Roman,” the queen said, walking over to the window. “This is his chance to seize it, to shape a new world under one throne.”

This didn’t sound right either. How could deals with demons make that happen? And since when did Basile want to be King of the World?

“We cannot let this go ahead.” She caressed the net curtains.

Should I say something?

“If you have to kill him, then so be it.”

Okay, time to apply the brakes. “Your Majesty. May I?—”

Her head snapped around. “May you what, Roman?” Rage crinkled her eyes.

Oh, shit. “I…” What could I say?

“Do you doubt me, My Shadow?”

Pretty much. “The assassination of a witch king is?—”

“Necessary if he threatens the system.”

It had to be her grief talking. This wasn’t right. Unless it was. I wasn’t exactly swimming in the political pools.

Giving myself a mental slap, I got my shit together. I served her, not myself. I’d already dabbled in enough selfish behavior, allowed too many dissenting thoughts to attack me.

“But it must be your cleanest kill,” she said, striding over to the fireplace.

Four figurines sat on top of the oak mantel piece—ballerinas in different poses. She tapped the head of the ballerina in the plié pose and the flames snuffed out. Seconds later, the wall moved inward, sliding off to the left to reveal a secret room.

“Impressed?” she asked.

“Very, Your Majesty.”

She beckoned me to follow.

Secret rooms. Potential royal assassination. Certainly an interesting start to the Sunday.

A windowless room of granite-like décor greeted me, a cauldron on a low flame at its center. Books were cramped together across two shelves on the left wall. A glass cabinet filled with row upon row of full and empty Synth potion vials gleamed on the opposite wall, Synth Orbs on its button shelf.

Of course, the queen had Synth Orbs. Those in powerful positions often did.

“If you are to kill a king without getting his blood on your hands, you have to be clever.” Queen Margarite sent a stream of Synth from her fingers to a huge iron ladle on a table beside the cauldron.

A sweeping flourish of her hand summoned the ladle to stir the liquid inside the iron cauldron.

A click of her fingers sent red sparks to feed the fire beneath it, flames licking up its sides seconds later.

Liquid Synth bubbled, releasing curls of red mist into the air.

“This,” she pointed at the liquid, “is a special brew of death. I call it Sneaky End, which is a terrible name.” She actually smiled, more animated than I’d seen her since King Lawrence’s death.

I folded my hands behind my back, being a good, attentive Shadow.

“It can be administered with a simple touch, though the killer must ingest it first.”

Ingest a potion called Sneaky End? Didn’t sound fun.

“It is a clever potion,” she continued, heels clicking on the stone floor as she circled the cauldron.

“It recognizes the first person who touches it as its host. Upon this action, you are immune to the effects, allowing you to drink it. The potion will leave your system when you make contact with your target, transferring the deadliness into them.” She snapped her fingers.

No magic followed, the action more of a statement snap.

“All it takes is the tip of your little finger, or even theirs on you, if you like. The slightest touch brings their end.” A terrifying grin stretched her face.

“Say a prayer for the rats and the humans who gave their lives for Sneaky End.”

Humans?

“Scum,” she added. “The humans, not the rats. So save your prayers for the rodents only.” She laughed at herself.

I thought of Darcy, how it could’ve been him in a testing chamber. Were any of those other rats humans trapped in a rat’s body?

My faith in my queen waivered again. I shot it down, putting all my trust in her.

The queen stopped circling, stroking the rim of the cauldron with her index finger. “This is how you will kill King Basile. If you must kill him, of course.”

Translation: She really would prefer him dead.

“No trace of you will be left behind.” The red liquid reflected in her gaze, her attention so locked onto it I wondered if she’d climb in. “His death will forever remain a mystery, no evidence to prove any foul play from me.”

That was one scary potion. “Very good, Your Majesty.”

“Six months of work has finally come to fruition,” she said, circling again. “It cannot fail.”

I hope not!

“It cannot fall into the wrong hands either,” she added. “Not even Piper knows of this room, of my work.”

I nodded.

“I would like to keep it that way.”

“Absolutely, Your Majesty.”

She came to me, arms outstretched. “My constant.” To my surprise, she cupped my face, her long nails lightly scratching my cheeks. “As much as I adore my daughter, there is only one I trust in this world. You. My Shadow.” The Queen kissed my forehead. “I know you will take my secrets to the grave.”

I suppressed a gulp. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I know you never meant to fail me last night.”

I tensed, afraid to speak but did anyway. “I will fix it, My Queen.”

“In good time,” she said, kissing me again. “Your focus is King Basile for the next few days.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

She drew a fingernail down my left cheek. “So handsome. You remind me of Lawrence in his youth.” Closing her eyes, her lips trembled. “I miss him terribly.”

I went to offer comfort, but she turned away and began circling the cauldron again. “If my son had not been murdered by demons, Lawrence and he would be here for me to hold, to love. Not this sorrow, this grief. Where is the fairness in it? Why my son? Why my husband?”

Why my grandma? Why my dad? Why did my mum step out in front of that train a week after Dad’s death? What about me? Wasn’t I worth staying for?

Shit. These were thoughts I couldn’t be having in this secret room. They were for moments in my armchair with a cup of tea. Creeping in, wrangled into submission before they took over.

I steadied myself, here for my queen, nothing else.

“Are you in pain?” she asked.

For a moment, I thought she meant emotionally.

“Your hands,” she clarified.

“I’m fine now, thank you.”

“Good to hear.” Wriggling her fingers, she generated more Synth. It fizzed on her fingertips, the cabinet doors swinging open. An empty potion vial floated from the cabinet into her hand.

How did you tell a queen she was using magic unnecessarily?

She continued to light up the room with scarlet energy, stirring her potion, the vial hovering like a hummingbird.

“I think that is enough.” The flames dimmed, a funnel designed to fit inside the vial’s spout doing just that. The ladle scooped up potion, pouring it in, the queen’s hands moving like a puppet master.

A cork drove itself into the vial, a black velvet bag scooping it up, the ends pulled tight by invisible fingers.

“It is yours now,” she said. “Only touch the glass when the time is right.” It floated toward me. “When you know you can kill King Basile.” A soft chuckle. “ If you have to.”

I plucked the bag from the air, hiding it within my inside jacket pocket.

“Now listen,” she said. “While the post-birthday dinner is underway tomorrow night, I want you to make your way to Ashford International station. According to Basile’s itinerary, which I will send you a copy of, the king is due to leave by train after he eats my food and guzzles his wine.”

King Basile was famous for hating planes. He traveled across Europe by train and sailed everywhere else.

“The midnight service,” the queen added.

Keith tonight, King Basile tomorrow. I could do this.

“Noted, Your Majesty.”

“In the meantime, rest your magic further. Watch today’s services.”

“Will you be okay?”

She smiled, clasping her hands over her heart. “You are such a caring man, My Shadow. I wish I could have you by my side.”

“Me too, Your Majesty.”

The queen ushered me out of her secret room. “But I have my daughter for that.” The way she said it sent a slight chill to my bones.

Did she mean to sound so resentful? Was I reading too much into things? Probably. It was an emotional day for the royal family.

The fireplace slid back into place.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, My Queen?”

A light shake of her head.

I waited for her to dismiss me.

Queen Margarite returned to her seat by the fire, her head bowed. “My darling Lawrence. My darling Wilfred.” She looked up at me. “Until next time, My Shadow.”

I bowed. “My eternal condolences, Your Majesty.” I remembered Mark’s diary, handing it to her.

“What is that?”

“Mark Shar’s diary.”

“Leave it on the floor,” she said dismissively.

And we were done, no more words exchanged.

A royal guard in his red-and-gold outfit escorted me back down to the car waiting for me.

The reality of my new mission sank in as the driver took me home. In just over twenty-four hours, the world might witness another royal death. And what would that mean for the world, especially if I found evidence of demonic dealings?

Man, what a mess.