Fae Champion (Royals of Embermere #2)

16. Den of Iniquity, Where No Fantasy is Too Great

16. DEN OF INIQUITY, WHERE NO FANTASY IS TOO GREAT

Ivar and Braque were the first to join in on the queen’s amusement. Though both men could hardly be more different—the one thin, the other rotund—together they shook in identical mirth. They clutched their stomachs and bent forward, as if pained by how funny Sandor’s torment was.

The men took on a whole new level of eerie in my mind. Whatever darkness infected the queen must have rubbed off on them long ago.

Next, like a wounded seal, the king laughed too, and finally, most of the courtiers.

The bunch of them sounded like deranged hyenas.

Disgust rolled through me, but I schooled my features not to reveal it. My earlier bravado, when I’d yelled across the arena at the queen, calling her out for some of her injustice, failed me. With evidence of how easily the woman would inflict horrific pain on me—or anyone else I cared about—fear stayed my objections .

I despised myself for it. If I didn’t speak up for the man at my right, still on his knees, still whimpering, who would?

Rush, Hiroshi, West, and Ryder were silent as well.

I had no particular sympathy for Sandor, who’d subdued me in Nightguard and delivered me to this den of iniquity. The man had been, however, following orders, and even if he hadn’t been, I didn’t suppose anyone deserved this kind of treatment.

A notably stocky feethle, when they were usually dangerously lithe, emerged from among the revelers to trot over to Sandor. When the feethle rounded his body to face him, the man jerked his head back, alarmed.

From beside him, within lashing distance of that set of ferocious teeth, I held my breath. The laughter died down as we collectively waited to see what the creature would do.

The feethle’s fur was a thick, shimmering silver that glimmered beneath the overhead lighting. The changeling stretched upward … and licked the dried blood that had pooled at one side of Sandor’s mouth. Again and again, that rough tongue lapped at his mouth and cheek, before doing the same on the other side.

I couldn’t decide whether the feethle was trying to do Sandor a dubious favor or whether it was hungry for blood. When the queen chuckled, I settled on the latter.

“Come, my pet. I’ll get you proper blood,” she crooned to the feethle, and a goblin I hadn’t noticed suddenly became visible standing against the wall behind the dais and scuttled off, presumably to secure said ichor.

“I don’t want you to become tainted with the blood of a traitor,” the queen continued while the feethle trotted over to her side and wedged itself between the queen and king, sitting regally.

While the queen ran a hand along the feethle’s back, she ordered, “Bring out Finnian.”

My breath hitched noticeably in my throat, and she glanced at me. But then Finnian sauntered through an open archway and stood on the other side of Sandor.

His stance projected confidence and complicity—not with Sandor or even with me, but with the queen.

Had Finnian helped me escape only to betray me? I wasn’t the only one at risk. Finnian could point out Rush, Hiroshi, West, Ryder, Roan, and Reed—possibly even Pru. If his involvement had been a ruse to catch me in a trap of his or the queen’s making, I was done for. He’d wipe out every person willing to help me in any capacity in one fell swoop.

I risked a glance at him, and then at Rush and the other drakes, but the men appeared more at ease in front of the dais than they’d been helping me escape. The drakes, at least, were incredible actors. Had I not heard them speak of their desire to bring down the tyrant queen myself, I wouldn’t have believed it.

More dread settled in the pit of my stomach. If the men were this good at convincing the queen of their innocence, who was to say they were genuine with me? An outsider not just to this court, but to Embermere and the larger mirror world.

Every growly, seductive word from Rush’s lips might have been part of his act, nothing more than him carrying out his duty as a spy to the crown.

The goblin tiptoed around the dais and slipped a silver bowl filled with blood in front of the feethle, who snarled at the servant when he didn’t retreat fast enough before shoving its face into the bowl, lapping loudly. Face more ashen than it was moments before, the goblin tiptoed back off the dais and all but ran toward the wall, where I watched as the blank patch he stood against camouflaged his presence.

“Finnian,” the queen announced so everyone would hear, “share with the court what you told me about Sandor. Denounce him and his despicable actions.”

Finnian, the fae with eyes I’d once believed held kindness, dipped his head at her in easy agreement. “Of course, Your Majesty, whatever you desire. Earlier today I discovered that Sandor had located the prisoner Elowyn in the human dungeon and proceeded to release her from her captivity without Her Majesty’s permission. Of course, I knew it was imperative that I notify you at once, Your Highness.”

The queen smiled her approval. Meanwhile, I feared I might retch. This same man had smoothed ointment on my arrow wounds and sped up my healing.

Sandor glowered up at Finnian, decrying his blatant treachery. Finnian didn’t so much as glance his way, as if the traitor no longer deserved his attention.

“I’ll remember your loyalty, Finnian,” the queen said while I wanted to spin around, shake West, and demand he tell me if he’d been a part of this. It was West’s job to alter whatever magical traces my release left behind so it would become believable that I’d escaped on my own. Had he and Finnian concocted this plan together? Or would the queen accept Finnian’s word without proof?

“Your Majesty is both gracious and generous,” Finnian was saying.

I might truly be sick…

The queen nodded her acknowledgment before commanding him. “Take the traitor to the dungeon, the fae dungeon,” she added with a quick glare at Rush. “Exact whatever punishment on him you think is appropriate for a betrayal of your queen.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. No punishment is sufficient for that sin.”

She smiled demurely, the expression as foreign on her face as charity might have been. “Exactly.”

Finnian wouldn’t be able to stop until Sandor was a wrecked bundle of bloody pulp, sinew, and bones, and the queen damn well knew it. So did the rest of the court, I imagined.

Sandor’s whimpering had faded out, and now he slumped into himself, shoulders rounded, head hanging heavily.

“I…” The one soft word slipped out when I hadn’t me ant to say anything aloud. I hadn’t even completed the thought in my mind. The horror of this woman’s court was too great for me, and yet not for everyone else it seemed. This was, after all, supposed to be a party to celebrate all the violence the Gladius Probatio delivered for its hungry audience.

Like a hawk, the queen’s eyes pinned on me. Beside her, the king squirmed in his seat.

“Yes?” she asked. “Did you wish to say something, Elowyn?” Her voice was taunting, attempting to diminish me, and possibly succeeding.

Led by Ivar and Braque, several courtiers snickered on cue. Dashiell, who’d appeared behind the king’s throne, clutched it with white-knuckled hands bedecked in silver rings and a scowl of disapproval he dared likely only because the queen wasn’t looking.

“No, Your Majesty. I beg your pardon for my interruption,” I answered before I might risk speaking the truth. Hadn’t the guys told me the cause was more important than any of us individuals?

Even so, I couldn’t help but feel like a coward.

Disappointment flashed across the queen’s eyes, too fast for me to be sure of it, but enough to suggest she might have hoped I’d give her reason to carve out my tongue too, right then and there.

“It is wise to think before you speak in my court,” she admonished me. I took it silently.

Louder now, for all of her court, she announced, “May you all take note of how I treat my allies … and how I treat my enemies. ”

She waved a hand at Finnian, and he scooped up Sandor and led him away. Sandor didn’t even resist, already a shattered man.

“Make wisely your choice of which you wish to be.” She allowed the threat to settle into the bones of her crowd before flicking her fingers at the orchestra assembled to one side of the dais. Immediately, the many fae scrambled to pick up their instruments. Their start was slightly jumbled in their haste, but within seconds, the same haunting, oddly jaunty tune rang out, announcing that it was once more time for this strange, violent, and somehow sensual party.

However, not a single fae left for the dance floor. Not yet. Not so long as I, her disobedient subject, stood before the queen.

She studied me now for so long that I had the opportunity to return the favor, and I was once more struck by how similar our features were. With our comparable frames, dark straight hair, high cheekbones, and plump sensuous lips, we might have been mother and daughter. I’d never been more grateful for the impossibility, no matter what kind of power the close connection to her and her bloodline might have delivered.

I glanced at my father. Tall and dark-haired was where our similarities ended. His brown eyes met my gray ones, and in them I recognized fear, perhaps this time for me and whatever fate awaited me.

“My husband has pled for mercy on your behalf,” the queen said, drawing my gaze back to her. “As I can barely deny my darling a thing he wishes, I’ve agreed not to further punish you … this time.”

When I didn’t immediately respond, the king said, “The Lady Elowyn and I are most grateful for your merciful restraint, my dear. Isn’t that right, Elowyn?”

“Yes, yes,” I hastened to say. “Very grateful. Thank you.”

She narrowed her eyes at me as if I hadn’t been obsequious enough. I said no more, but tipped my head at her, regretting that I saw no way to use the icepick and walk out of here alive.

“My husband is overly fond of his relations,” she added in case I’d missed her displeasure.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I chirped.

She stared at me some more while I held completely still. She crossed her ankles in the other direction, leaning forward, and my butt clenched when she looked as if she might rise.

She didn’t, resuming her petting of the feethle at her feet, whose face was dyed red, the bowl of blood licked clean.

“Rush, as previously ordered, you’ll not leave her side. She’s now your responsibility. If she were to be foolish enough to commit any misdeeds while in your care, you’ll also suffer her fate.”

I shifted from foot to foot, ready to scream. The woman might have agreed to the illusion of my freedom, but she was cinching the invisible bars that caged me.

“I understand, Your Majesty,” Rush said, and I wanted to punch him for agreeing so easily even when I’d been doing the same.

It wasn’t fair. Nothing the queen did was.

“Don’t sound so glum,” she told Rush as the orchestra transitioned into another song, this one more upbeat than the last, its rhythm ordinarily the kind that would have my feet tapping. Now I felt rooted to the spot, the queen’s will stronger than mine.

I hated it. Hated her .

“It won’t be for long.” And though she continued addressing Rush, now she looked at me. “Tomorrow the two of you will fight. We all know you’ll emerge the winner of the Gladius Probatio, and then Elowyn will return home to the Forzantos territory, where she belongs.”

It wasn’t even a little bit where I belonged, but it didn’t much matter. I doubted the queen would let me leave here in one piece. She’d either order Rush to slice off my head in the ring, or she’d ensure I had an accident along the way. If the courtiers could so easily accept the assassination of their crown prince, and then the murder of the Lady Aleeza while standing around hobnobbing at a gathering much like this one, no one would remember me at all once I left, certainly not long enough to wonder why word of me was never heard again.

Whatever game the queen was playing, I didn’t comprehend it. She could have more easily dispatched with me right then and been done with me.

She pointed my way. “So you behave now, not just for Rush’s sake, but for the”—she rolled her lips in disgust—“revolting dragon shifter and dragonling as well. They’ve been testing my patience, so if I were you, I wouldn’t give me any more reason than I already have to dispatch with them.”

I blinked at her—once, twice. “Xeno and Saffron are alive?”

Her nose and mouth pinched together. “Don’t speak their names in my court,” she thundered. The music faltered but resumed quickly. “It’s enough that I allow their foul presence at my palace.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I said despite the absurdity of her comments. If Xeno and Saffron were indeed alive, then I had even more reason for my prudence.

Not prudence, cowardice , my thoughts corrected. But I didn’t have the current luxury of walking the moral high ground. I had friends to protect, and that was without her reminding me that Pru and her kind were also on the line.

The queen frowned at me, then glanced at the king. “The things I do for you, darling.”

I swallowed the snort of all snorts. Yeah, I’ll bet .

She pasted a pretty smile on her face and giggled, patting his hand before withdrawing hers, as if too long touching him might … taint her somehow.

“Tomorrow Rush and Elowyn will be our entertainment,” the queen sang. “We’ll admire their prowess … or at least his.” She chuckled, setting off a chain reaction of mockery at my expense. “But tonight, allow my dancers to whisk you away to thoughts of … imag ined delights. No fantasy is too great or too far out of reach at the Court of Embermere, where we faced off with the dragons and showed them who’s mightiest.”

Courtiers roared behind me. Even Dashiell celebrated the decades-old victory against dragons.

Then, on some invisible cue, the lights dimmed and smoke scented with a musk of bad decisions flooded the floor, obscuring much of the writhing snakes beneath. The orchestra shifted into a song that was pure seduction, deep bass beats and the persistent tempo of heated lovemaking.

Dancers clothed in silver, lacy scraps of fabric that valiantly attempted to conceal their erogenous zones and largely failed, swarmed out in front of the dais, crowding Rush, me, and the others out of the way. I found myself with my back pressed to Rush, his hands possessively gripping my waist. His sword was now within my reach and the queen a mere dozen feet away.

But then … most of the dancers dipped low, skimming the smoky floor with serpentine undulations that matched the constant writhing beneath their feet. They jerked left, right, then left again in a coordination so perfect it was art. They twisted, twirled, jumped up, then popped, locked, and popped again. I was mesmerized.

Five of the dancers, undoubtedly the most dauntless of the bunch, slunk toward the thrones. Ivar, Braque, and Dashiell retreated to stand with the royal guards who surrounded the dais, eyes pinned on their monarchs.

A man and woman danced on either side of the king’s throne without touching him, their movements jerky, overly revealing, and intended to provoke.

But right away, the queen’s dancers escalated their teasing to the next level. A male climbed atop her lap while another male and a female gyrated to either side of her, the one male coordinating with the man performing for the king so as not to interfere with each other.

The air grew dense with desire. A cello beat out a dum, dum, duuum, dum, dum, duuum that strings chased after. The dancers writhed over the king and queen until I decided I didn’t want to see my father like that. When the queen rubbed both hands across the crotches of the males, then encouraged them to rip away the top part of her dress, exposing a bustier that was more bust than anything else, I murmured to Rush, “Can we leave now?”

“Yes, yes we can.”

But he and I remained glued to the spot, unable to look away from the arguably depraved spectacle. The queen continued to stroke the loins of the men to either side of her—and both of them responded eagerly, if their growing erections were any indication, visible through the tight shorts they wore. They jounced until their groins were within reach of her face.

But the queen now reached for the female instead, dragging down her stretchy silver top so it exposed both breasts—save for some see-through lace—and hooked it below them. The woman’s nipples were pert, pushing against the lace.

The queen snagged my gaze then, somehow finding me through the haze separating us, licked her lips, and dipped her head toward her dancers.

I jerked my sight away only to discover that her court was following her example. Sometime during the queen’s condemnation of Sandor, the petite, tall tables for small gatherings had been pushed to the side along with the refreshments, and now love seats dotted the floor and every recessed alcove. The courtiers’ colors were muted by the dim lighting and the smoke, but nothing could disguise what they were up to, and if they weren’t up to it quite yet, they intended to be soon.

I faced Rush. “What in the dragonfire is happening right now?”

His gaze trailed slowly across my face, down my neck to my cleavage, extra tempting thanks to the mighty efforts of my bustier, and back up to my lips. In the near darkness, his eyes were glassy with his mounting desire.

“Rush,” I prompted.

His eyes—intense orbs of turned-on silver—settled on mine. “Yeah?”

“What in sunshine’s going on?”

“They’re building energy for the Gladius Probatio finale tomorrow.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be the ones doing that?”

His eyes glazed further, and his grin was wolfish. “If you insist.”

I rolled my eyes. That , of course, wasn’t what I’d meant.

Perhaps more confused than ever before, I sighed loudly and said, “Get me out of here.” Wherever he took me was guaranteed to be better than this.