Page 2 of Disillusioned (A Lay of Ruinous Reign #2)

“Please,” he croaked, pressing his throbbing hand against the cold wall of the carriage. “I have—I can give you whatever you want.” He shivered against the pain shooting up his arm, brain working on overdrive to forestall the inevitable. “We both served under the crown.”

The vampire laughed, the sound of a death curse whispered into the night. “When I said we are alike, I only meant that we are both not opposed to bloodshed for the ones we love.” Its head cocked in consideration. “I’m actually never opposed to bloodshed, but my point remains.”

“I have not touched a hair on your queen’s head.”

The vampire grabbed both sides of the doorway with such force as it leaned in that the frame splintered.

“Let’s not pretend you haven’t tried. And the same lack of success does not apply to your wife .

She sent a forged letter to Eleanor to tempt her into the woods just after she murdered Laurent.

” Its eyes were glinting, and its voice shook.

“She sent the princess into Brocéliande knowing I would be out for blood after our leader’s murder. ”

“Ridiculous,” Armand stuttered, blinking through the unfamiliar details. “Vivien would never do such a thing, nor could she have killed a vampire. You speak impossibilities.”

Unmistakable humor flashed across the vampire’s face. Its nostrils flared. “Surely you knew.” There was a madness in its words. “ Surely .”

Armand shook his head mutely; the weight under its ruby gaze was too much. He’d be crushed under it soon, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

“Do not lie to me.” So quickly that Armand felt it before he saw it, the vampire ground the end of the cane into his foot, pinning his ankle to the floorboard and snapping the tendon behind it. Bright heat seared up his leg.

“She couldn’t have!”

The pressure on his ankle was gone. “I have proof from the Fair Folk.”

The duke shook his head. His whole body trembled.

How could she? How would she? Vivien had never gone on any of their hunts, had never wielded a weapon in her dainty, curated life as an earl’s daughter.

Not once since they’d been introduced and paired together all those years ago, although…

Her temper alone was a force to be reckoned with.

Certainly, she’d envied his friend’s family’s power, always had some scorned remark to make in private about Henri’s wife or their troubled daughter, but Vivien had done that with anyone she felt remotely threatened by.

“How?” Armand whispered, his voice barely a croak. “How did she do it?”

“That’s what you’re going to tell me.”

“I have nothing to tell you.”

The vampire scowled, its calm gone. There was nothing left of the convincing mask it had worn atop the ramparts for its wicked queen.

“Lie to me again, and I’ll drain you right there.”

Armand gripped the seat, his hand pounding. “I didn’t know she was responsible, that she’d done anything.” He snorted, a bitter sound. “If I’d known, I’d never have returned to my property.”

The vampire considered him. The cane flicked up and rested under his chin, against his throat. “Are you saying she acted alone?”

To say that he did not think it was possible for her to pull it off was true, but her intent did not surprise him. Either way, she had acted without telling him or thinking of what might follow. Perhaps she hadn’t cared. Armand was telling the truth, and he and their son would pay with their lives.

Perhaps the vampire could tell, either by his pulse or that he was seconds away from shitting himself, that this was the case. He exhaled, and his rage deflated. “Look at me.”

Armand groaned and closed his eyes, one last gesture of defiance. If there was no one around to witness a heroic death, he could at least maintain his grip on his mind until he died. His breathing grew ragged as the vampire waited patiently.

When a minute passed, the duke looked up to find the brute smirking. It gripped his jaw, eyes boring into Armand’s. “Forget what you saw; refrain from speaking of it for now. Go to the castle.”

Armand scoffed and tugged against its vice-like grasp. Forget what ?

“You will not move, will not attempt to escape. You won’t stop for anyone—not for passersby, not for children or beggars. Not for your friend group at that pub in town. Your little militia cannot help you.”

With each word, the dread filling Armand became stifled under a blanket of calm. The vampire was generous in letting him live. The carriage suddenly smelled of flora, ale, sweat, and sex. The fond imagery of the clean, bustling streets of Rennes at dusk filled his senses. “Yes.”

“Seek an audience from Her Majesty.”

He was meaning to do that. “What should I tell her?” His own voice sounded far away. He could use a nap about now. A long nap on a ride to the queen.

The grip on his face loosened.

“Your memories will return upon your hearing, and you can tell her whatever you like.” The vampire’s voice was like melted chocolate.

“Tell her why you’ve fled your residence in the dead of night.

Tell her about the unfortunate mess you’ve discovered.

Tell her about Sinclair—but only after they know you’re there to give her this . ”

The sting of his son’s name was a distant lash on his cheek compared to the throb in his hand and chest. The sack was deposited on the seat next to Armand.

“This is your gift for her. Don’t ,” it added when Armand shifted to peer down at it.

“It is only proper if you open it in front of her and her court. This is what will gain her your sympathy.” It paused and lifted its brows at Armand.

“You will have her open it, or you’ll impale yourself on your blade. Is that clear?”

He nodded, unable to look away despite the chill that ran down his spine. This vampire wasn’t only sparing his life, it had given him a gift to present to the queen. It was kind. Why had he spent all those years in his father’s shadow, trying to maim the poor boy for sport?

Moisture filled the duke’s eyes. He nodded in gratitude.

The vampire pulled away, once again leaning against the doorframe, and dusted its hands on its robes. The aromas swelling around the carriage dissipated as it reached into its robe pocket and procured a handkerchief.

“In times of war,” it said, taking each of Armand’s hands in its cool fingers and cleaning the blood off. “We only bore the same crest, bloodied the same fields under the guise of monarchy. Today we, under the same crown, are bleeding for entirely different causes.”

Armand’s breath hitched as the vampire wiped his broken hand, the pain not entirely numbed.

Was he… being lectured? It felt like it.

There was a wave of something unpleasant that never quite broke the surface.

“Henri is my friend,” he said, defiant. “He is my family. I love him. I-I am faithful to Henri, I would never—” He stumbled over his words as the vampire regarded him coldly.

“And therein lies the difference between you and I, Armand.” It picked up the cane, examining the blunt head of the silver stoat at the handle.

“You and your late wife—gods rest her soul, she was beautiful, but her blood tasted like shit—were bent on convincing others of your fealty.” It extended the cane so that the sharp tail of the animal rested under the duke’s chin.

“Your patriotism is meaningless. You love your own flawed idea of what this country should be as you actively hunt your own countrymen. You command bloodshed to defend borders, yet the people and creatures within them mean nothing to you.”

“I’m—”

“You are pathetic, human. You have no sense of purpose.”

Armand sniffled. “And you do?”

The vampire twisted the stoat’s tail against his shirt, nicking his skin. As Armand grunted against the sting, the Daemon’s eyes flashed ravenously.

“I do.”

Rage—rage was the feeling he couldn’t place. It was a distant swell of anger that rose in Armand, but it remained caged within his ribs. He was stuck under this monster’s spell, even when his muscles yearned to jolt into motion. “Is it her?”

The vampire paused his torture, considering the duke.

Armand held his breath. With each exhale, the tip of the stoat’s tail dug farther into his flesh. “Is it Lilac?” If he died, he would not do it pandering to a queen so undeserving of her title and her pet of a knight.

The corner of the vampire’s mouth lifted in a way that was neither wholly sneer nor smile. “You’ll keep her name out of your mouth.”

The duke glanced back at the empty manor, a shell of the vibrance that once filled it.

“Everyone has a home, Armand, and it appears you’ve done a bloody poor job at protecting yours.”

Then, it pushed up the sleeves of its robes and swung the glistening stoat directly into Armand’s temple.