Chapter 20
Basten
First order of business after discovering Rian Valvere is alive?
Get some damn pants on.
Second? Bind that asshole’s hands behind his back, smiling in dark satisfaction when he chokes out a pained cry, and dragging his ass to the castle infirmary.
My preference would be to let his burns rot and fester—serves him right for being dumb enough to hide in a fucking chimney. But Sabine made the point that we can’t let him succumb to his injuries before he’s able to call off the Golden Sentinels.
We exchange some heated words over his fate late into the night, it’s true. Hell, I even overheard the castle maids gossiping about us in the hallways. All is not perfect between the king and queen, they said.
Whatever. They don’t fucking know us.
While I’m dragging Rian to the infirmary, Sabine goes to wake Kendan and summon the other opposition leaders to the meeting chamber, middle of the night be damned. She moves with certainty, purpose.
Me? I’m just trying not to show that my hands are shaking.
Seeing Rian again wrecked something in me. I hate him, sure, but it wasn’t always that way. We were friends once. Almost brothers. We relied on each other in a brutal world that wanted to strip away our boyhood, forge us into unfeeling men.
He betrayed that trust…and yeah, I guess I betrayed his, too.
So now, with his weight slumped against my shoulder, I don’t know what I want more: to punch him again, or to beg him to tell me why.
Most of all, I hate that he saw Sabine exposed like that. Not just in her gauze-thin nightgown: he’s seen her far more bare than that. I mean the moment of raw vulnerability where she dropped her glamour.
A less cunning man would see a goddess in her full splendor and fall to his knees.
But Rian? I saw it in his eyes—he clocked her lack of control.
And I’m sure he’s already figuring out how to use that to his advantage.
“Go,” I bark, digging my knee into his ass to make him walk faster. “What’s the matter, your legs weak from weeks of hiding in fucking walls?”
Rian stumbles as he shuffles down the hall, leaning against one wall for support. I can tell from his breath that he’s aching down to his bones, but when he twists back toward me, he manages to flash a blood-stained smirk.
“You married her,” he says.
“I did.”
“You think she’ll ever be happy with a mere mortal,” he coughs, “when she could have a god?”
I glower back at him. “I’ve met the other gods. Trust me, they’re no prize.”
I shove him to keep him moving.
But the words lodge deep. He’s not entirely wrong. I’ve watched carefully from the sidelines as Sabine has grown and changed. Her eyes lit up like never before while studying with Woudix, slowly unlocking her power. Around them, I felt like they were speaking a language I don’t know.
At what point will I—flesh and blood—not be enough?
When there’s no more blood in my veins to satiate her?
We reach the infirmary, where a godkissed healer gives Rian a sleeping dram that shuts him up for a good hour, thank the gods. While the healer and nurses tend to his wounds, I lurk in the hallway, keeping my ears open.
The news is already starting to slither through the corridors: Rian Valvere was found hiding in the castle walls.
It hasn’t reached the masses yet, from what I can hear. Just a few night sentries whispering by torchlight. But come dawn? It’ll be everywhere.
And when it is, panic will follow. The people taking shelter here—families, soldiers, servants—will wonder what it means. If the Golden Sentinels will storm the gates to get him back. If our fragile safety within these walls will soon shatter.
Someone really needs to take the lead here, send out a clear, steady message to keep people from panicking.
They’ll look to Sabine. The savior of Old Coros. But I know my wildcat, and she isn’t ready for that kind of pressure.
So, fuck it, I guess it’s me.
I try drafting an announcement in my head as I pace the hallway.
I’ve spent enough time with the Valvere family that I know how to speak like an elite, but I’m not sure that’s the tone I want to send with my monarchy.
Kings have royally fucked up this kingdom for centuries.
I don’t want the people of Astagnon to see me as distant, aloof.
Hell, I’m one of them. I come from the streets.
I’ve barely managed to string a few thoughts together when a nurse informs me Rian is awake.
Though the godkissed healer mended the worst of his injuries, he still looks a wreck in blood-and wine-stained clothes, with a busted left eye and a nasty bruise on his jaw.
“Couldn’t have gotten the healer to fix this up?” Rian mutters, motioning with his shackled hands to his eye.
“My goal was to keep you alive, not make you pretty. Come on.” I grab him by the cuff and shove him ahead of me down the hallway.
Two of my toughest sentries trail us to the upper level of Mercy Tower, just in case Rian has another card up his sleeve. Mercy Tower is where the financiers operate, though the rooms are empty now—during a citywide war, tax disputes are hardly a priority.
At the end of the hall, a narrow set of stairs spirals upward into the attic, where the sharply pitched roof houses a single dusty old cell.
“The Coffin?” Rian scoffs out the name of the ancient cell. “Come on, Basten. The Coffin hasn’t been used for a hundred years, not since the High Quarter Uprising. At least lock me up in the city’s dungeon—I won’t be suffocated by cobwebs there.”
“The dungeon is outside the castle gates, where your sentinels still maintain power. You pushed our forces back here, so this is where you stay. Give me your hands.”
I untie the rope binds, darkly satisfied that they leave ugly red welts on his skin.
I kick open the rusted cell door and shove him inside.
The low, angled ceiling forces him to hunch forward. He looks around the meager space, kicking at an old chain.
“Is it too much to ask for a shit bucket?”
I turn to the two guards and say quietly, “Bring a bucket of water and the most flea-ridden blanket you can find in the stables.”
They leave us, and I busy myself by swinging the door shut, letting the eeeeek of the rusty hinges crawl up the back of his spine.
It shuts with a satisfying slam.
“The Castlekeep is bringing the key.” I let my hand fall on the heavy iron lock. “And then we’ll see if I leave you here to rot for all eternity, or if your gamble to save your skin pays off.”
Suddenly, his hand falls on mine. I flinch, expecting an attack, but he leaves it there as his brown eyes sear into mine.
“I never wanted her harmed,” he insists, low and urgent. I try to pull my hand away, but he tightens his hold briefly. “Tamarac.”
I jerk my hand back, stung by the word that used to bind us like brothers.
“Could have fooled me,” I mutter.
“I knew King Rachillon was coming for her,” he continues in a rush, his bandaged hand curling around the bars.
“And yes, of course, I wanted the throne for myself. Would the kingdom have been better off with that ass, Beneveto, on it? So, I struck a deal with Rachillon that I knew would benefit me—and also Sabine. I sold her out, yes, but only because I knew that if anyone could keep her safe, it was you.”
“Me?” I whirl on him, more like an animal than a king. “You had a fucking army to protect her!”
He tips his chin up, bruised eye unflinching. “And you had her trust.”
I stagger back like I’m slapped, turn away from Rian, and wipe a hand over my face. My heart can’t seem to find a steady rhythm. It’s fucked up, all of this. That I want him dead. That a part of me is glad he’s alive. That…maybe I could have done more to protect Sabine.
Rian presses closer to the bars and whispers, low and intimate like we haven’t become enemies, “What happened up there, north of the border? Did you get your memories back?”
A block of ice forms in my stomach, and I snap, “Trying to get intel, even now?”
He doesn’t skip a beat. “Intel? Of course. Just as you always are, with those ears of yours that catch everything. I have a strong interest in saving my own ass, but I swear to you, I care about you and Sabine. I want to keep us all safe. The people of Astagnon, too.”
I give a harsh laugh.
“I’m serious.” He flashes his teeth, the lantern light catching on them.
“Talk to me. I can help you. If the fae are truly awakened, then we have bigger problems. This messiness in Old Coros between my Sentinels and your royal soldiers? It’s child’s play.
You know that the real war will be between the forces of fae and those of humanity.
Who’s going to advise you then, eh? Kendan?
” He barks a laugh. “He’s good with strategy, as long as it’s something he’s studied in history books. But he lacks creativity.”
I pace deeper into the shadows, rubbing the back of my neck.
Rian’s always had a golden tongue. He knows exactly what to say, every damn time.
And the worst part?
Half the time, he’s not even lying.
That’s the thing about the Lord of Liars—something only I have ever really understood. He doesn’t need to lie when he can wield the truth like a weapon.
A growl rumbles in my chest. This old shirt of Joruun’s is so damn stiff—I seriously need to get Ferra to make me something I can move in. I might wear a crown, but the truth is, I feel like a royal ass.
I want Sabine to talk to—but she’s been so distant. Not out of malice, just stretched thin. She has challenges bigger than anything I could ever deal with.
And dammit, I’m tired of feeling alone.
Rian’s a dead man, right? I reason. Who is he going to tell my confession to?
I lean on the bars, letting my hair curtain my face. I give a gruff, “Fine,” because I don’t want him to see the loneliness in my eyes. “Give us a good strategy for dealing with the fae, and maybe you can earn yourself an upgraded shit bucket.”
Rian’s lips curl into a lopsided smile, marred by the dark bruise.