Page 87 of Lord of Ruin (The Age of Blood #2)

Chapter Forty-Eight

Shan

S han lay on the settee in the Eternal King’s office, her hand hanging off the side, fingers twitching even though the injuries had been long healed.

It was just an echo in her mind, she knew that, a bit of trauma that lingered even hours later, but she swore she could still feel the crunch of her spine, the shattered bones that had splintered inside her skin, the way her blood spilled and pooled around her organs.

It could have killed her—it would have killed her, if she hadn’t been surrounded by Blood Workers, the Guard swarming her as soon as Samuel had been carried off.

None of them were Healers, of course, but they had enough basic training to stabilize her.

To ensure she lived long enough to be taken to one who could help.

To the Eternal King, who had taken one look at her before tearing his own flesh with his teeth, pressing his bleeding wrist to her mouth so that she could lap him up.

He had pulled her into his lap, head dipped low to brush his mouth against hers, laving against the dried blood on her lips, his tongue soft and warm as the bridge sizzled to life between them.

Then, the magic had begun, tearing her through as he wrenched her body back into place. As he made her whole and strong once more.

She had only realized it after, once the pain and delirium had dulled, that his teeth had glittered in the light before he tore his skin open, that they had been just a hair too sharp and long to be natural.

That he too was changing, the slow and inexorable shift to vampire already begun.

He had wrapped her in a blanket afterwards, placed her on the settee by the roaring fire.

He entreated her to rest, brushing her hair away from her face, murmured sweet words that were so at odds with the persona he showed the rest of the world.

But he was right—the body might have been fixed, the Blood Working swift and efficient, but the mental and emotional scars remained.

Every time Shan closed her eyes, she still saw it—Isaac’s face as he relaxed his grip, following her plan, committing to letting her drop.

The pain and sorrow in his eyes, his expression so still clear to her, despite the monstrous fangs and the teeth like daggers.

The way he had reached for her, regrets unspooling between them, but there had been no other option.

It had been the only way to end it—Isaac had to hurt her to make it believable, to make it so the King wouldn’t doubt her loyalty. If she was going to be of any use to them going forward, she had to play her part perfectly.

And what was a little pain in the light of that?

Shan pushed herself to her feet, glancing towards the clock ticking away above the mantle.

It had been hours since she had seen anyone, trapped alone in one of the many unused spaces that the King had claimed for himself.

She was at the Parliament House, but this office was his, an empty but precise shrine to their liege who spent so little time among those tasked with ruling the nation.

She did not know why the King was here, why she had been brought here to recover, but whatever was happening, it could not be good news.

The blanket slipped from her shoulders, and she glanced down at the underthings she still wore.

The healers had removed her dress and her corset, leaving her in a state that she should have been embarrassed by.

But she was too tired to care. Shame and regret would come soon enough, but for now, she needed a plan.

And first among that was some proper clothes.

Grabbing the cloak that she had worn this morning, still streaked through with her blood, she tossed it around her shoulders and approached the door. It wasn’t locked, and Shan knew that she wasn’t a prisoner here. Still, it felt dangerous to try to slip out from under the King’s care.

The Guards outside turned towards the door as it opened. A pair of them, both older than her by at least a decade, strong men with thick arms, harsh claws on their fingers and blades at their waists. The best that the King had to offer, left to protect her as she recovered.

Shan knew she should be touched, but that creeping fear returned, the sense that there was something she was missing. A piece of the plot slipping through her fingers.

“Good afternoon,” the one on the left said, “my lady. Are you well? Shall I send for some refreshments?”

Her throat was terribly dry, and her stomach ached with emptiness that came from a day without food. Blood and steel, she hadn’t even had breakfast this morning, too nervous to eat anything before the morning’s events.

“Yes, that would be much appreciated,” Shan said, glancing down demurely. She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, making herself small and unthreatening. “And I do not know if this is within your capabilities, but a fresh set of clothes would be much appreciated.”

The Guard sputtered, a flush creeping up his cheeks, but the other man simply cleared his throat. “Of course, my lady. We will also inform His Majesty that you are up and about. He has been quite worried about you.”

“That is kind of him,” Shan replied. “Thank you both.” They bowed before her, a mechanical bit of respect thrown her way, but she slipped back into the office.

Now, there was little to do but wait.

It didn’t take long for the Guard to summon what they promised—opening the door not ten minutes later, holding a tray with a steaming pot of tea and a plate of warm, buttery scones.

It wasn’t a proper meal, but it was enough to quell the ache within and steady her nerves.

A serving girl arrived not long after, her cheeks still flushed and ruddy from the cold, suggesting that she had come from elsewhere.

Perhaps the palace or one of the many boutiques in Dameral?

Regardless, she carried with her a garment bag nearly as tall as she was and a box of toiletries.

Depositing the box on the desk, she hung the garment bag on the back of the door, unzipping it to reveal a deep red dress, just a few shades lighter than the color of her robes of state.

Despite its clearly fine make and the luscious fall of silk that made up the skirts, it was clearly off the rack, designed so that it could be laced up the back, allowing it to be tightened to fit snug against the corset of whomever bought it.

Shan couldn’t remember the last time she wore an outfit that wasn’t expressly tailored to her. But as needs must.

The maid was excellent, helping Shan first into the corset that came along with the dress, then the gown itself.

It was a little loose on her, but the maid tightened the laces, pinning the excess material with pins cleverly hidden in the fall of the silk.

It would be a pain to get out of later, but that was something Shan could handle with her own girls back home.

For what it was, the maid tucked her and made her look not only presentable, but wondrous.

Makeup and hair came next, and Shan perched on a stool, accepting the work done to her.

The maid tutted to herself, one eye on the clock as she braided Shan’s hair into an elaborate crown around her head, a quick and easy way to hide the uneven waves that they didn’t have the time to properly tame.

A dash of kohl around the eyes, vibrant red paint on her lips, and the maid was holding her by the chin, turning to study her face in the light.

It was more than Shan had anticipated when she had asked for a change of clothes. She had merely wished to leave the Parliament House with dignity, but this was more than that. The King needed her primped and perfect for something, but she hadn’t the foggiest idea what.

“It will have to do,” the maid muttered, stepping back with a decisive nod. “I apologize for the hasty work, but you are needed soon.”

Shan melted, just a little, laying her hand on the woman’s wrist before she pulled away. “You did a marvelous job,” Shan said, with sincerity.

The maid blinked, then dropped into a sudden curtsy, thrown by just the small drop of kindness. “Thank you, my lady. But the King has requested your presence with the rest of the House of Lords at the top of the hour.”

Shan glanced at the clock—she had a little under ten minutes. “I see. Well, I shall sing your praises to the King, Miss…”

“Miss Jane,” the woman said, with another curtsy. “You are too kind.”

She really wasn’t, but Shan didn’t have the time or inclination to correct that assumption. Not when she had so little time.

Shan saw herself out of the office, striding towards the grand chamber where the House of Lords met to debate legislation and policy.

The Guards peeled off from their posts, falling into place behind her.

An honor guard that she did not ask for.

But they stalked behind her, silent guardians following her through the halls as she moved ever closer to her goal.

She could feel him as she drew close, the Eternal King, the power radiating off him in waves.

It was an unsubtle display of power, one meant to intimidate, but she held her head high as she stepped through the doors to the chambers and stared down into the pit below.

The benches were filled with her compatriots, a good two-thirds of the spots filled, enough to reach a majority vote, should it be needed.

Though Shan didn’t think that would be the case, not after the announcement he had made to the Royal Council the day before.

Not after how he had thrown aside all structures and rules the last time he had been here.

But it was different. Then she was but one of the many left in the dark.

A pawn in a carefully planned game of chess.