Wicked hell. She was going to be sick.
Tempest risked a glance at her uncles, who had already worked out who he was talking about. She avoided their accusing gazes
Madrid stood stock-still, his gaze searing.
She looked away before he could catch her eye, but it was a pointless endeavor; King Destin was literally announcing her as his future queen. All of her uncles would know what Tempest had done within mere seconds.
Sweat beaded between her breasts, and the air seemed too thin.
“This is one of your own women,” Destin called out. “One who refused to allow her social standing and gender to get in the way of what she wanted. The first female Hound: Tempest Madrid!”
A pause. And then: riotous cheering and applause. The crowd went wild, their roar of approval echoing inside the chamber. A roiling sickness tore through her stomach. She felt every pair of eyes on her keenly. Especially her uncles’ eyes. She pinned her gaze to the balcony railing and kept her chin up, even though whispers among the Hounds had already begun. This was where she lost their respect—where she went from a warrior to another female to be sold like chattel.
Destin continued. “Tempest has worked tirelessly, fighting against prejudice and the expectations of her status as a woman, to become an exemplary member of the Hounds. She won a position on my war council fair and square, and, in the process, won my heart.”
The room wavered, and bile burned the back of her throat. What would the king think if she puked all over his pristine floor? The crowd outside ate up every word he said. The king had missed his calling. He should have been an actor. Although nauseated, she plastered an equally actor-worthy smile to her face when a member of the king’s royal guard made it clear that she should step forward and take her position beside Destin. She couldn’t move though—her feet were rooted to the floor. Grimly, she thought of how lousy an actor she’d been when she’d met Pyre. If only he could see her now. The stinging in her heart told Tempest to bury said thought deep, deep down.
He has no place here.
Someone nudged her shoulder, and she found herself taking wooden steps to Destin’s side. A smile frozen to her face, she gazed over the crowd, knowing what kind of monster she looked like, covered in the blood of their enemies and his son. Her clothing was ripped and disheveled. She looked as if she had come straight from a massacre—which she had. She supposed that was the point.
The king glanced down at her lovingly and wrapped an arm around her waist, giving her a glowing smile as if her current state of dress was nothing. He’d announced her as his bride. His warrior queen. His equal. She kept her own careful smile plastered to her face as the crowd went wild. She had to look the part. Otherwise people would see through her ruse.
The king hauled her against his side, her breasts pressing to his ribs and the people’s cheers grew even louder. Her heart beat in her ears, and she lay one hand lightly on his chest. He continued to address the people of Dotae, but she didn’t hear the words he spoke, entirely focused on the way his thumb had slid between the edges of her skirt and corset, brushing her skin. What should have been a caress felt like he was running blades against her side. The urge to vomit emerged again. What had she signed up for? Had she signed her own death warrant in agreeing to marry the monster? Would she be the next victim in his war? The king had deemed his eldest son, the crown prince, as worthless, so how much more worth did she have?
No. Your worth isn’t dependent on him.
Tempest glanced up at the king, studying his jawline. Destin had plans for her, she was sure. She’d play the part of being happily betrothed for now, but when he came for her, and he would, she’d cut his heart out.
The king’s announcement came to an end, and she gently extricated herself from the king’s arms before he could think to hold on to her for any longer. She strode back into the room. The Hounds’ silence was louder than the crowd’s cheers could ever be. Maxim broke the quiet and muttered out a garbled congratulations that he clearly did not mean at all.
Madrid shook his head ever-so-slightly, eyes infinitely sad, and Dima said nothing at all. Aleks stood at the end of the line as she moved for the exit. She’d been avoiding him for weeks, and he knew it. He locked gazes with her and squeezed her hand once before she shook him off and fled the announcement room. Her steps were measured until she rounded the corner, where she burst into a sprint, simply trying to find somewhere—anywhere—she could hide in a dark corner by herself and cry.
A child’s sob broke through her panic.
Tempest slowed and frowned. At first, she thought she must’ve imagined it because that was exactly what she wanted to do, but no. The crying grew louder as she moved deeper into the castle, the sound full of genuine grief and sadness.
She rounded the next corner and spotted a small form leaning heavily against the wall, gasping for air, barely able to stand.
Princess Ansette.
Her face was puffy and red, though beneath that, her pallor was pale and sickly. Her shoulders were shaking.
“Ansette,” Tempest said gently, taking careful steps toward the princess with a hand slightly outstretched. “Oh, lass, what can I do?”
The girl hiccupped and waved a hand at her but said nothing, tears streaming down her face.
Tempest approached her like a corner animal and placed a hesitant hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I was with your brother when he died, though I was too late to save him. I am so, so sorry. I tried my best.” The last part was a whisper.
Ansette’s sobs slowed to hiccups and then, finally, to long deep breaths. The silence was drawn-out, but it was better than the heartbreaking sobs. Eventually, the girl turned her turbulent gaze on Tempest and spoke.
“I suppose one member of the family dies, and another takes their place,” Ansette said, her voice cold and hard. She glared at Tempest. “Welcome to the family, I guess.”
Tempest seized the royal’s hand, trying to make the princess feel like she wasn’t so alone. “And family we shall be. Your grief is mine. Your happiness, mine as well.”
Ansette’s eyes widened, and a fresh wave of tears ran down her face. She shook her head. “Run, Tempest.” She spoke so softly Tempest hardly heard her. “Run,” she repeated. “You need to get out of here. If you stay, you’ll die just like my mother did, and all of my father’s mistresses. You shouldn’t die for him. You’re too good for that.”
Tempest stiffened. The string of deaths had been suspicious, but the murder of the queen… if that were proved true… “I can't just leave,” she replied, her smile wobbly. “I have too much to do.” There wasn’t any other choice. And, looking at Ansette, she knew she couldn’t leave the girl alone with the devil ruling the throne. Who knew what he’d do with his mouthy, opinionated daughter?
Ansette wiped her face with the skirt of her dress. She looked so pitiful that Tempest wanted to hug her, but something told her that she shouldn’t. The girl wasn’t ready for it. Perhaps not ever.
“I will do what I can for the people of Heimserya,” Tempest murmured instead, “and for those who live farther out. I’ve never had any aspirations to become queen, but at least it will afford me this much.”
“I hope you live long enough to see that come to fruition.”