Prophecy of the Faceless Queen

CHAPTER ONE

It was his cloak I noticed first. A lush green velvet, cut and trimmed to flow with ease around his body.

Though plain, the collar was elevated by its thread, a gold that brightly gleamed across the darkened room.

Far too fine a thing to wear in Geoffrey’s Tavern.

Far too fine a thing to wear in this part of town.

Which meant he was far too wealthy a man to even set foot in a place like this.

But he had.

The metal hinges of the tavern’s main door creaked as he walked inside, the outline of his shadowy silhouette illuminated beneath the torchlights.

He paused for a moment there, his body still, but his head swiveling around, taking in the scene.

But a moment later he pushed his cloak off his broad shoulders, revealing the tunic he wore beneath.

It was a crisp linen dyed to such a dark indigo it was nearly black.

But despite the low light, I could identify the true color and see just how well the material clung to his torso.

I’d bet my night’s earnings, as well as the next, that it had been tailor-made for him to wear.

It had to be. Nothing bought from a shop could have so perfectly hugged the lean muscles which he clearly carried underneath.

The kind of muscles that suggested this was a man who had trained with both sword, horse, and stag.

Trained well. A fact I confirmed as my eyes slid down the length of muscular thighs, and even further to the strong calves vanishing beneath his leather boots.

Freshly polished. He was tall, but not arrestingly so.

Certainly not when standing beside our regulars at Geoffrey’s.

We were used to big men around here. The tavern brought in a hearty mix of farmers, craftsmen, and the king’s soldiers, all looking to relax, be served, and entertained.

By me. And my friends. These were the men who spent their days consumed by hard, physical labor.

Who needed a release from their hardships. A moment to forget who they were.

This man didn’t strike me as one of them.

My gaze rose back to his waist, inspecting the quality of his leather belt and the long scabbard nestled against his hip.

The steel hilt of his sword appeared functional enough, yet far too pretty a thing, even at a distance, to convince me it had ever seen war.

Between that and the rather smooth look of his hands, I was sure he was no soldier.

Definitely not a hardened warrior. But with that physique?

My guess—he was a decorated tourney champion at best, which marked him as a nobleman.

Strong. Powerful. But most importantly, as far as my job tonight was concerned…

“Rich,” Finlay said. His palms began to beat out a quick, confident rhythm against his goatskin drum.

With a quick nod of agreement, my hips rolled, meeting the rhythm of Finlay’s drum. Sauntering to the center of the stage, I spun on my heels, turning in a full circle, and then another as the crowd cheered. This was the moment, the one where I had them ready to eat out of the palm of my hand.

They had no idea. No clue that, in reality, I fed them nothing. Because I was the one feeding off of them.

Arms raised high, I pushed my right hip seductively out to the side, knowing exactly what the curve of my waist was doing to the crowd.

Feeling like I could do even more, I sent a spark of energy down my torso, and my coin belt lowered another inch, revealing even more skin.

The crowd roared. It was working. Even if they had been silent, I’d know how captivated they were.

I could sense their energy building as my eyes moved back and forth across the tavern, taking hold of random gazes.

“Samara!” a man yelled out my name in appreciation. A few more followed suit.

Everyone whistled as I blew out a kiss. I always did love dancing.

I repositioned myself in front of Finlay, my hips lifting and dropping to each drum strike with practiced precision.

He glanced again at our newcomer, currently making his way into the chaos of the crowd.

Finlay caught my eye again, lifting a pale brow.

He could see what the rich clothing meant.

Everyone who worked for Geoffrey could. We’d all been trained to observe, trained to assess a man’s smallest of details.

The only way to survive working for a prick like Geoffrey was by honing the ability to pinpoint just how much coin a man carried.

Even more importantly, how much coin a man was willing to leave behind on his way out.

“Prince?” Finlay guessed.

I scoffed, offering a small shake of my head, something twisting deep in my belly at the mere mention of the prince.

No. That would be impossible.

King Tirian had only one acknowledged son, which meant the Kingdom of Eskalon had only one heir. Only one.

The crown prince himself had been to Geoffrey’s before, two years ago exactly. And the man in the green cloak was not him.

No other princes were present in the kingdom.

Not even for a state visit, something I had a habit of tracking since I was a girl.

Only Princess Olivay of House Kanos was rumored to be on a state trip with her family to Eskalon’s main keep, Lafir Castle.

Rumors of some alleged new treaty between Eskalon and Spartva had hit the streets.

Several citizens of Spartva had been seen frequenting restaurants in the city of Tavonia, and even on the edge of the Batron District where Geoffrey’s stood.

But that was it as far as the presence of royalty.

Most likely, Eskalon’s prince was spending the night in his castle.

Finlay shrugged his shoulders, unbothered, and unaware that my stomach had painfully tightened at the mere mention of Eskalon’s crown prince.

Finlay and I were something akin to best friends.

But he didn’t know everything about me. He couldn’t.

He could never know what I was, what I could do.

Nor did he know what had happened to me before he came here—who had walked through those doors two years ago.

Finlay didn’t know that his cloak was even more fine.

Because once upon a time, Eskalon’s prince had come to the tavern, night after night after night, to seek my pleasure. Until he didn’t.

Since then, no one dared discuss the prince. Not after what he did to me.

And not after what I did to him.

Because no one knew.

Geoffrey was the exception. And two years later, I was still paying my asshole boss and landlord for it. Still buying his silence and protection. Still repaying my debt.

It was a costly thing to lose a prince’s favor.

I glanced back at the nobleman. Unlike the prince, who’d come here alone each night of our affair, this man had brought two friends with him, both similar in height and build.

They flanked him, their stances protective, the muscles in their arms flexed and ready to fight.

They were watching out for the man’s safety, a sign that his status outranked theirs, and yet I was sure neither of them were guards.

Their cloaks and tunics were nearly equal in richness to his.

Second, their alertness to their surroundings was lacking. Embarrassingly so.

Already three thieves in the tavern’s shadows had completed the same assessment Finlay and I had.

But the nobleman and his friends were too busy watching the stage to notice.

The nobleman, in particular, had his eyes on me, following my every move, as did his friend to his left, a burly man with hair so dark it appeared black in the tavern’s shadows.

The man on his right, however, with red hair that shone beneath the torchlight, seemed to have no interest in me.

His eyes were locked on Finlay, raking my friend from head to toe.

The stage was where all three of their gazes remained focused, even as our song ended.

They remained engaged even as we performed another, and finished two more.

As the last song started up, Geoffrey finally emerged from the kitchens. Smoke billowed behind him as his shrewd eyes honed in on our guests—right to the nobleman and his friends.

No. No.

But there was nothing I could do, nothing that would stop him from noticing them, from spotting their wealth.

And there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop what he did next.

He pulled on the end of his short black beard, his equally dark eyes narrowing to snake-like slits.

Then he nodded, just once. That was it—all it took.

He’d made his decision, made the nobleman into a mark for the night. Because of course he had.

Look another way, I pleaded, look at another girl. Pick someone else. Not me. Not me.

But Geoffrey turned my way without hesitation. His eyes bored into mine. One long finger pointed at the nobleman’s head.

Fuck. My stomach dropped, dread spreading through my limbs. All the energy I’d absorbed, all the lifeforce I’d just fed off the men and devoured, was gone.

Geoffrey hadn’t just picked a mark. He’d picked my mark.

I fucking hated when he did that to me. Hated it for the last seven years I’d been stuck dancing at his establishment.

I didn’t want this. Not tonight. Not again. Never again. I suddenly felt so fucking tired. I wanted to stop dancing. I wanted to go upstairs. Alone.

But I couldn’t. Not without losing everything I’d fought for, everything I’d painstakingly earned. It had taken me years to cobble together enough resources to create something that resembled a life. And it would take seconds for my work to be undone.

Finlay whooped at the end of the verse, cueing a change in the song.

It was a sound I knew well—a sound that meant he'd also been given his silent orders from Geoffrey, which meant only one thing.

It was time to wrap it up—to start the next performance.

The one that was given in private, the one that happened upstairs.