Page 8

The Knife at her Throat

N iko

I’ve faced death in battle. I’ve seen it sweep across the battlefield like fog, silent, suffocating, absolute. But this is worse. Death is here, in my halls, wearing a familiar face—and I can’t do a damn thing about it.

Not until I know, conclusively, who is plotting against her, me, and the entire fucking realm.

This morning, while enjoying a cup of tea on the balcony of our chambers, someone tried to assassinate my witch.

The blade missed Cassandra by mere inches.

Had she leaned forward a heartbeat sooner, she’d be gone.

I keep replaying it over in my mind, her laugh as she sat beside me after enjoying our breakfast, her cheeks still flushed from our bout of earlier lovemaking, the way she finally looked like she belonged.

Until the teacup shattered in her hand and the dagger embedded itself in the chair’s back.

Now she’s locked behind three wards in the queen’s quarters, and I’m standing over the body of the man who tried to kill her.

He’s a kitchen servant. Or rather, he was.

His throat is slit open, magik-smoked from the inside, a Quietus kill mark.

They always destroy their puppets after the performance. No loose ends.

Josef arrives late, of course. He’s always late when there’s blood.

“What happened?” he asks, glancing briefly at the corpse like it’s an inconvenience. I don’t answer him, choosing to keep my thoughts to myself.

“Another enemy at the gates?” he prods, smirking. “Or perhaps your Consort draws trouble the way others draw breath.”

I grip him by the throat before he sees me move. I slam him against the stone wall of the corridor.

“You’ll watch your mouth,” I growl. “Or I’ll rip it off your face.”

He chuckles. “You should be more concerned about who’s whispering in your queen’s ear. Not everyone in Runic wants a human-born witch sitting on our throne.”

I shove him back. “And some don’t want you breathing our air.”

He pushes my hand away and I allow it. He straightens his robes, glaring and unfazed. “All I’m saying is, if someone wants her dead badly enough to try it right here in the palace, in your quarters no less, what do you think will happen the day she’s crowned?”

I don’t answer him. Because I’m already asking myself the same thing.

****

I find Cassandra pacing our room, the hem of her azure blue robe trailing behind her like a comet’s tail. She’s barefoot, her hair wild from too many frustrated hands running through it as her eyes burn with fury.

She’s alive but it’s not enough.

“I’m going to kill them,” she says, before I even speak. “Whoever did it. Whoever ordered it.”

“You can’t.”

“I will,” she counters, her voice flat with her building rage.

Her magik crackles in the air. Books flutter on the shelves and the curtains lift and flutter like they’re caught in a storm. I move to her slowly, carefully, until I’m close enough to take her hands.

“You are allowed to be angry,” I say gently. “But not reckless. They want you off balance. Scared. Loud.”

“I’m not scared,” she snaps. “I’m pissed off.”

I lift her chin. “Then don’t be loud. Be smart.”

Her chest heaves. “I hate being a target.”

“Then we turn the blade around,” I say. “Let’s draw them out.”

“Meaning?”

“I mean, let’s use the thing they want the most against them. We’re going to trap them by using you as bait.”