Page 31

I observe Vae fawn over Atlas, her ice blue gown that matches her soulless eyes a shimmering beacon as she laughs, flirts, and whispers into the Overprince’s ear. Her every gesture is designed, her closeness manufactured. She radiates a triumphant malice that makes me grin.

Mother hasn’t said anything to me yet about the princess of Sarn’s obvious celebratory attitude, though it’s coming. Brewing under her scowl and in her dark eyes. I meet Altar’s and try not to give away the little surprise we have coming for everyone.

Just a few of our closest family and enemies.

The Overprince tolerates Vae’s attention for once, playing his part.

He’ll make an excellent ruler, I realize, like that matters now, though it does, at least to me.

I’m now prepared to rule as Mother expects, whether supported by the nobility or not.

But knowing I won’t have to do it alone, that I’ll have not just a figurehead at my side, but a partner, makes all the difference.

And all of this is worth it. Or so I’m telling myself.

Why then do my thoughts keep drifting to Zenthris?

I can’t afford weakness, and he is mine, I suppose. But I will not be weak or think of him tonight. I will be my mother’s daughter and heir, and I will do what I must for the glory and safety of Heald.

Altar stands from his place beside his father abruptly.

Has he finally had enough of Vae? She seems as startled as everyone else that the Overprince has drawn such obvious attention to himself.

Everyone falls silent, the seemingly endless chatter gone still as the assembled nobles and even the Overking himself, give Altar their full attention.

I know he’s nervous. Am I the only one to see the shake in his hand when he lifts his glass?

Surely, my mother does, and Aunt. Amber is seated on the other side of them both, the ambassador glancing my way with an eyebrow raised.

I only have focus for the man who’s about to defy his father and make my mother very happy.

“I have an announcement,” he says in his lovely voice, though it’s harder and tighter than usual. “Though my father, in his wisdom, has made a selection he believes to be of benefit to me and our realm, the bride he’s chosen is not of my making.”

Oh, the look on Vae’s face. I wish I had a portrait of it, the complete shock, as though he slapped her instead of using his courtesy to tell her to fuck off.

Kindly and sweetly just fuck right off, bitch.

So satisfying.

Gyster’s face hasn’t changed expression, so if Altar’s moment of assertion takes him by surprise, he doesn’t show it. He’s as much a man of politics as anyone here. Perhaps it was his plan to push his son into making his own decision that Gyster pushed Vae upon him?

Whatever the case, the Overking waits for his son to go on while Altar’s beautiful, blue eyes turn to me.

“I know who I will marry,” he says. “Who will be the next Overqueen of Protoris, when the time comes that I take that throne.” He salutes me with his cup. “Princess Remalla of Heald has already agreed to be my—”

He doesn’t get to finish, though he doesn’t need to. His meaning is out and plainly spoken, of his own free will. I rise amid the shouting, the furious denials, the rage that erupts as almost every single soul in the dining hall surges to their feet to protest.

All but my mother, who smiles at me. My aunt. Amber.

And the Overking of Protoris.

Who stares me down like he’d rather I were dead. If the outburst of the voices of the rest of the attendees means anything, and they get their way, he might have his wish. But I’m ready for an assassin to jab a blade at me.

Not, however, for the tiny, blonde one whose weapon has nothing to do with physical harm.

“DRAKONKIN!” She screams that word, pointing at me. I’m on my feet, heading forward to Altar, to join him and face the protest together. I pause, startled by her accusation. How does she know?

And when I see the Overprince’s face, his shock and horror, and then his fear, I realize my mother was wrong.

I do need to know. I needed to know long before now. She’s hamstrung me in the midst of what should be victory, and I see that in the face of the sweet, caring man I will never marry now.

The fury of the others goes still as Vae, shaking and vile in her spite, screams that word again. “Drakonkin! Remalla cannot marry him. She is drakonkin and I can prove it.”

The Overking is on his feet, jerking Altar aside, confronting Vae. “Present your proof,” he snarls at her.

She seems to realize she’s triggered something, set a fire she may not survive. I’m too stunned to react, to comprehend. What don’t I know? What is so wrong about my father being one of the dragon’s progeny?

There are gaping holes in my education that might just get me killed.

Vae trembles but speaks up, voice clear and sharp. “Ask her,” she says. “Ask her mother who her father was.” She tips her chin up as she meets my gaze with her icy eyes narrowed. “Your own Chancellor knows the truth.”

Hallick flinches but recovers quickly. “Your Overmajesty,” he says, “I’m afraid that information has come to light. Indeed, Queen Jhanette broke the pact agreed to by all monarchs of the realm, and her child is the result of that. Her heir is drakonkin.”

Gyster stares my mother down. Why am I so proud of her that she just smiles back?

She doesn’t rise. In fact, she reaches for more meat, a slab hitting her plate with a spray of blood as the rare slice she’s chosen impacts the smooth surface. Her knife grates loudly, and I’m reminded of my own show of defiance with the princesses that first dinner and many after.

I learned so much from my mother that I take for granted.

“It’s true,” she says. “I took to mate a drakonkin and bore of him the princess you see before you now.” Mother sips her wine, her sister rigid beside her, my aunt’s eyes rising to meet mine.

She’s afraid, furious. Guilty again. “None of you cared about Heald, not when we bled for you to bring you together.” The queen shrugs.

“Not when you picked us apart like a fallen giant after the battle that we won to make you whole.” She pushes back finally from the table, standing slowly, unhurried, unconcerned.

“The blood of the dragons will live in my daughter, just as their power sustains this lie of a—”

The Overking roars over her, the first person I’ve ever heard to silence my mother.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” He shakes with his rage, hands fisting at his sides while Altar—sweet, lovely Altar—bows his head, face a mask I cannot read.

“What you would not do for us,” Mother hisses at him. They might as well be alone in the room. “What was promised but never given. I took power back for Heald, and she will wield it.”

“She,” the Overking pants, “will die. And you with her. Take them.”

This is happening too fast. I don’t know what’s going on, but I do know my life and my mother’s are in danger. I’ve been trained to act without information, to do my best in situations where the odds are against me, to assess in the instant, to fight and to win at all costs.

But the Overking is dragging Altar away, the rest of the gathering fleeing as guards flood the dining hall, and I’m without a sword, my armor, Gorgon.

I do have my mother, my aunt, Amber. The three of us face the approaching soldiers, shoulder-to-shoulder. I eye the blade in the hands of the nearest guard, my second task is to liberate him of it.

My first is to kill him.

“For Heald!” Mother leaps into the line of guards as though she’s dressed in full metal, moving like a mountain of violence and inevitability, and I’m right beside her.

I catch peripheral glimpses of Aunt and Amber joining us, the four of Heald against all of the courage and might the Overking can muster here in this place.

The dining hall will be our battlefield, my attention tightening, focusing down even as it expands outward.

I see and feel and taste and hear everything like I’ve stepped into a bubble, the men attacking moving in slow motion, hardly a contest despite their numbers.

The man I’ve chosen to die first does with the blade from my wrist pocket in his throat, spitting his blood over my face, baptizing me in his ending.

But it’s just the beginning. His sword is a fine one, balanced and the edge true, strong even if he was weak, and the next in line proves it, cut through the neck in a single slice I deliver as I pivot and snatch his sword as he, too, falls, catching it before it touches the ground.

They keep coming and we keep killing them. They will run out of guards before we fail, I swear it to myself. Mother is laughing next to me, her own stolen swords a blur, and she spins and meets my eyes as I take down a towering guard who tries to pierce me through, the fool.

She’s full of joy and the monster when the first crossbow bolt strikes her in the throat, still laughing as she gurgles around the shaft. The second crushes through her right eye, spinning her away from me.

I’m screaming. Lunging forward toward her, dropping the swords in my hands and falling to my knees beside her, drawing her to me. She’s already gone, one single glorious eye unblinking, staring far off into wherever it is a warrior like her goes at the end.

My mother.

They drag me off her, throw me down, kick and punch me, but they don’t kill me.

Not yet.

I don’t fight back. There’s no point now. Her plans, our hopes, are dead with her.

It’s a blessing when a boot impacts my cheek and the darkness comes.