“Tempest did such a wonderful job at infiltrating the rebels before,” Destin said. “And nobody on their side apparently knows that she was the one responsible for separating the Jester’s head from his body.” His smile grew wider. “Therefore, I have decided that Tempest will reintegrate herself into the rebel group and set about destroying them from within.”
Her breath froze in her lungs. He wasn’t going to kill her? She blinked slowly. He wanted her to do what? Destin’s smile turned into a predatory smirk. Tempest knew she would not like what he said next. She braced herself.
“I expect you to do anything to get into the graces of the rebel leaders.” His gaze wandered up and down Tempest’s figure, lecherous and shiver-inducing. “Anything.”
For a moment, Tempest was too shocked to respond. Her jaw clenched, and her blood began to boil at Destin’s blatant insinuation. The men of the war council grinned and guffawed with their king while she tried not to curse them to the darkest pits of hell. Despite her place on the war council, they held no respect for her. She was just a toy for the king to meddle with. But she wasn’t a whore.
Let them believe they are better than you, even that you’re willing to do anything to serve your king. They won’t expect intelligence and strategy from someone they deem a whore.
This is good. Let go of your pride.
What would their faces look like if she informed them that the leader of the rebellion was in fact a woman? Her lips twitched in a ghost of a smile. Surely, several of the pompous windbags would have a heart attack. Tempest held her tongue and bowed gracefully—if a little stiffly—to King Destin.
“As you command, Your Majesty,” she said, fighting to keep her tone polite. She bowed low. In reality, Destin’s plan was exactly what Tempest needed. It was the perfect cover to allow her to work with the rebels rather than against them, all without drawing any suspicion from her liege and her uncles. The hint of a smile graced her lips for a second, before she straightened from her bow. “If I may be excused to prepare myself for my new mission?”
Destin waved her off without saying another word, turning almost immediately to converse with two elderly members of the war council. Clearly, their scheming was more important than the king’s active pursual of Tempest. Relief filled her body. Perhaps he was over his infatuation with her. She nodded at Madrid before making a quick exit from the room, her silk dress rustling as she exited the palace in its entirety. It would make her year if the king had tired of her already.
Somehow, she didn’t think it would be that easy.
Tempest took a deep breath of the bracing, night-time air as she bounded out of the palace grounds, heedless of her fine garments. Her breath formed a freezing cloud in front of her face. The cold air cut through the thin fabric, but she embraced the chilly sting. It meant she was alive. Savoring the dark silence, she slowed her pace as her thoughts turned back to the children of Dotae.
More innocents.
She grabbed the trailing length of her dress and hopped onto the top of a low stone wall, traipsing gracefully along its narrow surface. She didn’t want to believe that anyone would be capable of spiriting away or murdering children. She shuddered, but not from the cold, as she remembered the small bodies lining the forest village. Children had already been victims of their king. Why should she believe him incapable of this new crime?
But… the Dark Court wasn’t blameless. They caused all sorts of mischief and mayhem. She’d better not be too hasty in her conclusions. Pyre, for all his charm and easy manner and obvious love of the children in the rebel villages, was responsible for trafficking all kinds of people, in his role as the Jester. It was not just King Destin who had two sides to him.
Do not think of bloody Pyre. Why was her mind stuck on him?
Tempest pulled up the hood of her cloak to protect her ears from the cold. A piece of parchment came fluttering out of it, and Tempest grabbed it on instinct. Intriguing.
She peered at the spidery letters scrawled across the surface, struggling to make out what was written in the darkness.
Her lips thinned and her eyes turned to slits.
A bloody summons.
Your presence is requested, it said. Head to the back wall of the orphanage.
That bastard. To call her to him like a dog. She didn’t serve the Jester. The paper crumpled in her fist. She gazed in the direction of the barracks. It would be easy to ignore him and go to bed. She sighed. Easy, but not smart. She had a duty to perform and people to protect.
“To think he would actually come into the capital,” she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. His pride knew no bounds. For Dotae’s sake, she didn’t have the patience to deal with his shenanigans tonight. In any case, her new mission would see her headed to the forest to ‘infiltrate’ their ranks on the morrow. She might as well begin now, but she’d let him stew.
Temp smirked. “Let him wait,” she grumbled. He wasn’t her king. She jumped down from the wall and made for the barracks when a pair of arms grabbed her from behind and a hand covered her mouth. She yanked her knives from the sheaths at her wrists.
“I’d suggest against it,” a low voice growled into her ear as she stabbed at her attacker.
The brute deftly knocked her blades away and tossed a rough, linen bag over her head. She growled, twisting around, trying to fight him and—
Pain exploded across the back of her head. Then there was nothing.
Four
Tempest
Tempest woke as the bag was pulled from her head. Stars ran across her vision as the light from a hundred candles stunned her for a few moments. She winced and reached for the back of her head. Whatever devil had knocked her on the head would regret it. She scowled and blinked repeatedly until her eyes grew accustomed to the light.
“Always so difficult,” a painfully familiar voice said. The Jester chuckled, the deep sound caressing her skin, causing goosebumps to run down her arms. He stood in front of a floor-to-ceiling gilded mirror, primping his clothes, of all things he could be doing.
Her lips curled in distaste. “I am not your underling to summon whenever you’d like,” Tempest muttered. “What do you want?”
He snorted. “Underlings are obedient, and you, my dear—” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “You are woefully disobedient.”
She ignored his comment and glanced around the room. If one could call it such a thing. It was a cave, although decorated more lavishly than even King Destin’s chambers. Her brows rose as she absorbed it all. Large, thick tapestries hung all around her. A plush, midnight-blue rug covered half of the stone floor beneath Tempest’s feet. In one corner, half-hidden by shadows, was an enormous four-poster bed, its heavy curtains currently pulled shut all around it.
Her eyes shied away from the monstrosity. No need for her attention to linger there.
Elaborately carved candelabras stood around the room, their candles standing like proud sentinels. Tiny glass votives sat on almost every available surface. The light flickered in soft blues, greens, and purples, among the oranges and yellows of the normal candles. Clearly, the place was expensively furnished. What kind of crimes paid for all of this?
She ran the toe of her boot over the rug, eyeing the rich color. Taseri wool. That was impossible to import. Her brows rose. How in the bloody hell had he gotten his hands on the rug? Tempest lifted her head and glanced in the mirror.