Such fragile skin. Such a pitiful creature. Weak.
“Oh, it is for the good of some of us, all right,” he said, his grin turning feral. His fingers curled around the woman’s neck. She squirmed, her smile dimming. Leaning closer, he brushed his lips along her cheek and across her lips. He squeezed his fingers, and she gasped, the sound music to his ears. “You know the difference between you and a queen? It’s all in the fight. Queens are vicious and rare, you, however—” He lifted his head to stare down into her panicked gaze. “You are expendable, easy to break.”
“Y-Your Majesty!” she choked. “I c-can’t breathe.”
He gave her a tender smile. “I know. My spies have told me you’re not careful with information. You were warned, love.”
“I shall remain silent, I swear!” she wheezed.
“Silent, you shall be,” he murmured, admiring the way her face changed color, “though not through any choice of your own.”
He watched with sickening glee as the woman clawed at his hands, fruitlessly fighting for a life she was no longer in control of. God, it was a heady feeling, holding another’s life in his hands. After a minute or two, however, her attempts lost their strength, and her mouth grew slack. A few seconds later, there was nothing left in her pretty blue eyes but glassy, empty nothingness.
“Thank you for the satisfying evening,” he murmured, releasing the woman’s neck and getting up from the bed. “You took the edge off.”
He shook out his robe and returned to his fire whiskey without a second glance at the dead body he had left in his wake. He had more pressing matters to think about.
Like how to conquer his new queen.
Twenty-Two
Tempest
Tempest spent several days largely keeping to herself. Mostly, she slept; the last few weeks had been physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausting. Not to mention all the injuries she’d sustained. Her arm had now completely healed, though the snake-like pattern from Mal’s whip on her arm had not faded. It looked as if it was going to scar—something that bothered her. Life involved scars—serving as a Hound ensured it. But a visual reminder of Pyre on her skin wasn’t something she wanted. It was bad enough she had the memory of it, let alone having to look at it.
Tempest snuck across the icy roofs of the slums, her feet slipping here and there. Thoughts of her engagement and of the Jester had driven her from the barracks. The announcement hadn’t been made yet, but she could already feel the noose tightening around her neck. While thoughts of Pyre inspired rage and hurt, she needed his allies—the good ones—which meant she could not cut all her ties with the Jester just yet. She had to hold out a little longer, and then she could pretend she had never met the twisted man, forever.
She dropped to the street and ghosted around the corners, looking out for anyone causing mischief. Maybe a good old-fashioned fist fight would calm her. Something snagged her cloak, and she paused, spotting a small child no older than eight years old.
She bent low and cocked her head. “What is it, sweetheart?” she asked the boy, a gentle smile on her face. Children knew her in this area.
The young one eyed her and then lifted Tempest’s hood. His eyes examined her hair. “I have a message for you.”
Tempest stilled. “Oh?”
“A dance with masks on the eve of the next full moon,” the boy said, a frown of concentration creasing his brow. “Your presence is required.”
It was difficult, but the smile on her face remained firmly in place, though she no longer meant it. She ruffled the boy’s hair. “Who told you to say that to me?”
“Jeb did. He hangs around the docks. Someone else told him, though, and someone else before them.” The wee one shrugged.
Disgust filled her. Of course, that’s how Pyre had decided to contact her. Even after how she’d left everything, he still had the gall to command her back to the Dark Court, to expect her to play his good little Hound while he paraded her among his followers.
The little boy shifted on his feet, his boots a little too worn to be warm. Riffling through her pockets, she pulled out two silver coins and handed them to the boy. His eyes grew wide, and his mouth gaped, revealing his missing front two teeth.
“For… me?” he asked, entirely uncertain, his gaze flicking from her to the coins and back again.
“Of course!” she replied, ruffling his hair again. “You delivered the message perfectly. Now, put those away, and don’t brag about them. That’s a sure way to lose them.”
“Promise!”
“You have somewhere warm to sleep tonight?” she asked, standing.
He nodded. “Yeah. Old Harry lets me sleep in the back of his bakery.”
“Then off with you. It’s too late to be out.”
“Of course,” the boy called as he scampered off, clearly delighted with the coins. “Thank you, pretty lady!”
“I’m not a—” Tempest began, but then stopped. Of all the people who considered her a lady when she was not one, the children were the only ones she could tolerate doing so. After all, technically she was a lady to them—she was an adult. They did not say it to make fun or demean her. It was genuine. It was rare that she met anyone who was genuine these days.
She kicked at an empty glass bottle before turning tail and heading back to the barracks. The next full moon was in under a week. It had taken her and Brine and Swiftly four days—that she was actually conscious for—to reach the mountain palace. It would take less time if she went there directly, although the snow would slow her down somewhat.
In truth, she did not want to go to the masquerade, especially not after the message she had just received. It was a summons through and through. Another order from Pyre that he obviously expected Tempest to follow. Her jaw flexed. It was painfully clear that he never meant for her to be his equal.
You have no choice but to attend.
For her plan to succeed, she had to gain his allies. The masquerade was the right place to convince as many of them as possible to follow her instead. It was her best shot.
She reached the barracks and entered. Immediately, she frowned. The energy in the room was off. Some of the Hounds were sleeping, but the others weren’t speaking or looking in her direction. On edge, she slowly moved through the silent room. Her lips thinned as her gaze rested on her bed.
A gilded box sat atop her pillow, an elaborately handwritten note lying beside it. The Jester? But he wouldn’t be so bold, would he? Then again, she wouldn’t put anything past him.
Tempest picked up the note and read it, intrigued.
To my future queen,
May these tokens of my regard for you find you well.
Yours, Destin
Her shoulders stiffened. The Hounds were known as gossips, and she was sure they’d already seen the note. Her fingers tightened on the card. Destin had done this on purpose. She’d wanted the announcement postponed. He was already playing games.
“I suppose I should have known,” she muttered, putting down the note to open the golden box. Inside were a wide array of heavy, glittering gems and beautifully crafted necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. A small fortune. Although, she had never been one for feminine decorations, they did have their appeal. How many families could she feed with this?