Page 5 of Disillusioned (A Lay of Ruinous Reign #2)

The hall erupted with noise—the councilors asking what he meant, what she knew, her father demanding the duke be shut up, Kemble losing all her normal decorum and shrieking about the vampire, retreating against the southern wall.

It all seemed to fade into the background as Armand stared at Lilac, a sick grin that felt all too familiar on his sweat and grime-slicked face.

A grin she’d seen on his son’s face—one that told her the man she thought could be trusted was about to violate her.

One she’d never cower before again.

In one motion, she drew her dagger from her skirts and slammed its pommel on the desk. She cleared her throat in the moment of silence that followed.

“I will ignore your blatant accusation against the crown without a speck of evidence—for now,” Lilac said from behind her desk, glad she had it to hide her hands against. Her nails were picked to nubs.

“You expect us to believe that a vampire got past you, your entire guard and staff, and killed your wife? And you escaped to tell the tale? What of Sinclair?”

The duke’s smile turned into a snarl. “My servants are useless, and my guards just stood there and watched! And my son was hiding under the stairs, clutching a bloody ax, likely from trying to defend his mother. Don’t pretend to not know the wiles of vampires, girl…”

A collective gasp was heard around the room.

“You will address me as Your Majesty .” She met his petulant glare with one of her own, even as her mind spun. Had it been Garin? “And where were you as this was occurring, Your Grace?”

For the first time, Armand’s accusatory hysteria faltered. “I—I had been for a walk around the garden and only discovered the scene after it had occurred. The vampire was waiting to gloat.”

Lilac’s gut eased as understanding dawned, only to be quickly replaced with an echo of dread. “Ah, yes. I’m sure the air is refreshing so late at night.”

Henri spoke next. “I’m not understanding, or perhaps you take us for idiots. You found your son bloodied and with an ax, yet your blame is on the vampires?”

Armand leaned forward. “I know what I saw. I know what I heard, Henri. The devil spoke to me. He urged me to come here, to give her that .” His eyes flickered from the package on the desk to Lilac. “She knows of him!”

Lilac kept her face straight as she could. This was a simple game of words. “If you wanted to accuse my family of sending a vampire to assassinate Vivien, you could have at least granted us a private audience.”

Armand’s grimace turned into a scowl. He combed Lilac’s face for some buried truth—for the smallest trace of the guilt.

There was none, she felt absolutely no guilt besides the shock. In fact, she couldn’t help the small smirk that arose.

And that was when he lunged.

With his damaged foot and hand, he didn’t get far, but she still fell back against her desk in shock. There were screams, but they faded into the background as the guards piled on top of him.

“You did this!” he snarled as they tugged him away, wrestling his arms behind him and snapping them into handcuffs.

Next to her, Henri was shakily returning his blade to its sheath.

You did this . If only. She could name several kings who would’ve had the whole Le Tallec family executed for interrupting an accession with a fit of hysteria, and no one would blink an eye.

Everyone waited for her order, but she could only stagger to her feet, shrugging off her father’s offered hand.

Her skin crawled under the weight of the duke’s stare.

Even after everything, the hatred in his eyes somehow still surprised her.

Long ago, before she knew anything about how their politics worked, she had seen him and Vivien as an aunt and uncle, close friends and confidantes of her parents’ court who had sworn to protect her and her family.

Now she saw in his eyes the same look of loathing Vivien had given Lilac as she passed her on the way to the keep at her accession. It was the same bitter astonishment from Sinclair from atop the ramparts just before he’d noticed Garin.

How did you succeed when I planned your downfall so carefully?

“Armand, it is a shame Sinclair was found holding the ax, but you have done the right thing in reporting him. What a commendable act of loyalty to your wife.”

The guards held him in place beside the chairs. A puddle had formed beneath him as he trembled on one leg. It had been his good foot that was smashed in. “You think my son was capable of that ?”

She pushed herself off the desk and approached him, ignoring Henri’s warning grumble.

“You don’t want to know the things your boy is capable of.

” She looked down on him, and it felt good to watch his face drain.

“As for this vampire, I think it reasonable to assume it was drawn by the scent of blood.”

“ He was the one who murdered Vivien. Cut her up and situated her like a Sunday roast.”

“And yet you admit to not being there to see him in the act. The treaty states that bloodshed and murder are outlawed on both ends, unless in self-defense. What reason would a vampire have to attack a noble family, unprovoked? The raid was the last instance of vampiric violence recorded.” She peered at him.

“And why would he kill Vivien? What vendetta would he have against your wife, Armand?”

“I was—” He stopped, realizing what he would reveal. An unspoken recognition flashed in his glare.

“You were what? Where were you before discovering Sinclair and Vivien?” No answer came. She turned to her father and his councilmen. “I have decided he will remain detained for now. Meanwhile, please send a carriage of guards to their estate to assess the scene and arrest Sinclair.”

“Have it leave after Lilac does,” Henri grunted to the councilmen, to her surprise. “An investigation in town should not coincide with her visit.”

They exchanged glances, but a cry of outrage from Armand brought their attention back to the duke.

“Such cruelty,” he ground out as they wrenched him to his knees. “To arrest the one who came to you for help, who was your father’s charge all these years. What law have I broken?”

“Where should I begin? You said you found her body upon returning to your home.” Her temper swelled with each word.

It was preferable to the anxiety building behind it.

She refused to look at her father. He must be breaking to see his friend that way.

“This means you were out of your home, does it not? Before the terms of your house arrest were lifted? This was before you falsely blamed me for Vivien’s death and tried to put your hands on me. ”

“Your Majesty.” He scuffled forward, the chains on his arms clunking taut.

“You cannot bargain for your freedom!” Her voice cracked across the room. “You didn’t come to me for help.” There was no room for mercy. It was strange, raising her voice at him. It should have been liberating, but cold unease filled her. “You came to accuse me.”

“He ordered me to come here. To tell you of the scene I came home to, and to give you that.” He nudged both shackled hands toward her. Past her.

The bag he’d brought lay untouched on the desk where she’d deposited it.

“I would have run far and never looked back,” he choked out. “You would have never heard from me again, but he said I needed to deliver this gift to you. He en—” Armand’s face twisted, the veins at his temple throbbing. “He made me.”

Armand looked down, horrified at the memory.

“What is it?” Her ears were ringing. “What is it you wish to give me?”

“He did not tell me.”

Something told her he was telling the truth. She reached for it, but Henri and his advisors grunted their alarmed disapproval.

“Lilac,” Henri growled.

She ignored him and grabbed the drawstring corner of the bag, heart pounding. Knowing Garin, if any of this was true, it was probably a sword or relic of some kind. Surely it couldn’t be worse than Kestrel’s unopened letter awaiting her upstairs, tucked deep into her drawer.

Henri moved for the desk, but Lilac was quicker. She snatched it away from him.

“It’s mine.” There was no reason—none Henri or anyone else knew of— that she should feel so possessive over the unknown item. She reddened. “He said it was for me.”

“But if this is truly a gift from the vampires…” He passed a hand over his face as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying. “I must ensure it is not meant to harm you.”

Armand, whose hysterical demeanor had calmed into sudden relief, abruptly tried to get up. His eyes bulged when his friend took the bag from her. “N-no. It must be her. It must be Lilac.”

“I won’t look,” Henri said quietly, doing his best to ignore the shouts of his friend. “We’ll do it together.”

In her absence, Sinclair had told everyone she’d run off with the vampires by choice. Did Henri believe any of it? Or was he just grateful she’d been returned alive and mostly unscathed?

Lilac exhaled sharply. “Fine.”

Henri shifted closer, his hands on the lip of the bag. She nodded at him, then he tugged it open and tipped it out over the desk.

Something limp slid out, landing with a plop .

Her heart nearly stopped.

At first she couldn’t tell what it was. For a second, she wondered if Garin had given her a large parsnip, but then her vision focused on the glinting materials that adorned one pale end and the nub of rot and filth at the other.

The stench made her gag immediately. “It’s—oh my?—”

It was an arm. A bruised forearm, chopped clean at the elbow.

She stumbled backward and nearly fell over Henri, who was already bent at the hip, vomiting.

The councilmen had scuttled into the far corner of the room, one of them fumbling over what appeared to be his rosary.

Madame Kemble was wide-eyed and entranced by the limb, not seeming as jarred as the others.

Her face twisted in a mixture of disbelief and disgust as she made her way to the desk.

Armand had turned white as a ghost and was moaning loudly into a handkerchief one of the guards had pressed against his mouth. He was shaking violently again; suddenly he lurched away from the guards and his hands slowly raised—on their own accord.

“What’s happening?” Armand shrieked. An invisible force lifted him as the guards retreated in panic, stumbling over each other .

The duke suddenly quieted, his groans reduced to whimpering as his shoulders shifted and the guards at his side began backing away. He was supporting himself, kneeling.

Everyone was distracted by the limb on the desk and the putrid aroma lifting from it. No one, and certainly not the spooked guards, anticipated the duke reaching into his shirt. Only Lilac seemed to register the rusted blade he pulled out.

Armand looked around the room one last time before he pointed the blade inward, on himself.

She choked out in anguish when he muttered something under his breath—a prayer, a last plea—before he looked up at her, eyes filled with terror, and cried, “Save me, Your Maj—” before cutting himself short, sinking the blade halfway into his own chest.