7
Jeryn
She had it coming. After the fucking chase she had put me through, the defiant little beast had asked to be brought to heel. It required a certain patience to hurt. Any longer and my grip on that tattooed throat would have suffocated her.
Indeed. Plenty of mayhem awaited her in Winter. When I got her alone and into a lab, I’d be free to exact full retribution.
Until then, my greeting had been a preview. And a necessity. Since the woman hadn’t kept her saliva to herself, I’d been obliged to retaliate. With a retinue and those pissant guards as witnesses, such defiance couldn’t have gone unpunished. Our audience had anticipated nothing short of aggression from me, and I could not be seen to play favorites.
Still. It had taken a certain amount of pressure to restrict her lungs while likewise avoiding impairment.
Pacing myself, I stalked down the tower’s coiling stairway, with the knights marching behind. Upon my descent, I flexed my fingers, my skin glazed in blood. Fucking imbecile. That warden should consider himself fortunate to still possess his hand after daring to touch my property. Acid sizzled on my tongue, yet I could not identify whether it had to do with the guard, the conditions in which the beast had been living, or her obstinance.
Outside the tower’s ground level, a colonnade stretched toward the Royal wing’s entrance. A servant waited, balancing a marble bowl. I doused my fingers in the vessel, tower scum leaching from my digits. Red water sloshed over the side and onto the tile floor.
A cloth materialized in my periphery. Wiping my hands and dispatching the textile to the servant, I strode down the walkway.
The saturated air grew thicker than a stew. Solstice, the First Knight, mopped her brow. “Curse this soggy country.”
The knights were miserable, drenched in the elements. Whereas Winter’s chill cut a clean, straight incision into its citizens, Summer’s heat punched them in the fucking face.
At the passage’s threshold, sentinels peeled open a set of double doors. I turned down my chin, brushing past them and stepping into the castle’s east wing.
The knights sighed, welcoming the mist that rained from the ceiling. One wall recess displayed an hourglass tracking the time, indoor waterfalls hissed with noise, and resident macaws stabbed their beaks into their breastbones. The retinue followed me through a hall floored in glass, with dragon fish submerged beneath our feet.
One of the knights snickered. “Some of the locals walk barefoot here. Their clothing is as skimpy as scarves too.”
Another reproached, “Not a stitch of lingerie beneath their silks—”
“Shut up,” I murmured.
They held their tongues the rest of the way, then stationed themselves at the throne room’s entrance with the Summer watchmen. A lithe female figure waited beside the arched doors, the wind buffeting her linen pants and a beaded circlet expertly threaded into her onyx hair.
Her features remained placid as I approached. “Your Highness,” Queen Giselle recited.
“Your Majesty,” I returned with an inclination of my head.
“How are your grandaunts?”
“They send their regards.”
She wavered, choosing her next words with discretion. “And the rest of your family?”
My jaw flexed. “They are well.”
The question was to be expected. Nonetheless, I did not appreciate the underlying pity in the woman’s eyes. Sympathy should be reserved for the weak and fallible. My family was neither.
This fundamental point sat on the edge of my tongue. However, I suppressed the impulse. Despite her inquiry, this queen warranted respect for more than merely tolerating her windbag of a husband. Therefore, I would save my insults for the monarch who’d actually earned them. Seasons knew that temperamental shithead would leave himself open to plenty.
In any case, my family was stable. I kept them comfortable and would not have the courts believing otherwise, much less regarding my relatives with anything less than admiration. Not unless the offenders wanted their tongues sawed off with a dull knife.
“I trust you found everything in the tower to your liking,” Giselle hinted. But when I let my silence speak for itself, she raised a pierced eyebrow. “I confess, your tactical instructions to alert sand drifter camps discreetly and in batches struck me. This prisoner must be of great medical value, to go to such lengths to obtain her.”
Nosy woman. Powerful and capable, but nosy all the same. Having been prepared for that, I sidestepped the comment like a landmine. “Winter is an advanced nation for a reason.”
Her Majesty would get no more from me. The woman was far too discerning to be trifled with. Rather like two Autumn troublemakers I had the misfortune of knowing.
Giselle contemplated the response, then tipped her head toward the doors. “You’re in for a treat. He’s feeling ornery today. Come see me after wasting your time.”
I never wasted time. True, I should be conferring only with her. By now, everyone knew who truly ruled this court. But first, I had unfinished business with the infantile king.
My head bowed as Giselle strolled past me. Her security detail and circle of ladies vacated the sidelines to trail behind.
The doors split. “His Highness, Prince Jeryn of Winter,” the sentinel announced before closing the partition and sealing me inside.
Neither of my grandaunts had exaggerated. The throne room did not have an aquarium within. Rather, it was an aquarium. Triangular, with transparent walls and floor-to-ceiling pools of seawater, the surface reaching an unseen terrace and illuminated from above. The tank engulfed the chamber, but it wasn’t so much the size of it that made an impression.
It was the sharks.
A multitude of species infested the aquarium. The glossy figures were long and tinted blue and gray, with razor teeth and gills slicing through their skin. They swarmed the entirety of the space, casting shadows on every surface, including the Summer King himself.
The outline of a fin slashed across King Rhys’s throat and vanished. He slouched in a gilded chair at the narrowest point of the room, a pair of sandals peeking from under his linen robe and an overgrown mustache tugging his face down into a mask of irritability. With such a prominent sulky exterior, it was a wonder the room did not stink of sour grapes.
The man waited for me to bow, then fought to withhold a sneer when I did no such thing. “So,” Rhys began. “Based on your rather large presence, it appears our ocean didn’t sink your ship.”
False pleasantries with a side serving of petulance. I could think of nothing more pointless.
I stared at him. “Sometimes brute force is less effective than technique, Your Majesty.”
“Is that a joke? I despise jokes.”
“I do not make them. I leave that to Spring.”
“One thing we still have in common, at least.” The juvenile swatted his digits toward the empty seat beside him. “You see this chair? It belongs to my wife. We’re quarreling, so I’ve uninvited her to this discussion.”
“Good. That means the meeting will go smoothly.”
Mistaking the comment for flattery, Rhys perked up, thus proving my point. This ignoramus provided an easy target, whereas Giselle put up a consummate fight.
My eyes ticked toward the sharks. They moved in an aimless, trancelike manner, much like born fools in a surgical lab.
“Aren’t they remarkable,” the monarch boasted. “Tell me. Which is the most vicious?”
“Those,” I said, indicating the fish skating along the bottom of the tank, their scales a gradient of red.
The king glowered. “I mean, which of the sharks? I wasn’t talking about the jester fish. Costly, flashy little blights, but …” He leered. “I use them as tank feed.”
A blasphemous waste. If Rhys insisted on defying the laws of nature by fucking with a rare species, then at least use them for progressive purposes. Research them humanely instead of sacrificing the creatures purely to nurse his wounded ego.
Seasons flay me. The amount of energy people squandered on grievances and hurt feelings. Despite how little I thought of him these days, I still would have respected the king more if he’d confessed to licking his balls whenever he was feeling insignificant.
Rhys’s motives had nothing to do with fattening the sharks and everything to do with the pathetic spoils of a grudge. Over a year had passed since the Reaper’s Fest riot, yet he hadn’t recovered from what happened with Poet and Briar.
Regardless. The black and red fish were the most vicious among the inhabitants. Herbivores, yet if threatened they used their radiant scales to restrict vision, causing victims to stagger around the ocean for hours. Plenty of time to drown or fracture one’s skull against a boulder. And while being eaten alive by a shark would hurt more, ruthlessness came in many guises. The jester fish used a methodical, prolonged tactic to defend themselves, instead of a direct and quick one. That made them superior.
Hmm. Rather impractical that Rhys should keep them in a room frequented by citizens and dignitaries.
“Try again,” the king bade. “Appease me and take a closer look at my extensive assortment of pets. Of all Summer’s sharks, point out the fiercest.”
I tapered my eyes. So be it.
Approaching the tank, I scrutinized its dwellers, reminding myself of the glass that separated us. My gaze searched for a creature striped in shades of pewter and sterling.
None to be seen. My shoulders relaxed. “It is not here.”
“What isn’t there?”
“A siren shark.”
The king cracked out a patronizing laugh. “Don’t make me doubt the expertise of Winter. You’re supposed to be the homeland of reason, yet you’d expect me to offer tank space for such a boring shark? You would label it the most ferocious? I can’t wait to hear why.”
“Because it kills you gradually,” I disclosed.
A siren shark lured its quarry. Upon which, the predator’s bite produced a foaming madness shortly before death. It did not feast on human prey but rather turned the person into a fool for three days, stripping them of sanity until blessed death came knocking.
No antidote. No cure.
I did not want to talk about the fucking siren shark.
Like every social moron, the king was only asking because he found sport in quizzing Winter’s heir. A prince on exhibit. Ask him anything. See how much he knew.
As for my answer, Rhys grunted in concession. “You’ve never been a scion of many words.”
I leaned against the aquarium. “There’s a distinction between many words and wise words.”
“I disagree. Then again, we’ve hardly seen eye to eye. Not since you saw fit to side with Autumn, for fuck knows what reason. And the list keeps getting longer. You abused my tower guard, I hear. Exactly how harshly did you punish him?”
“Had you been there, I would have cut deeper.”
“Then your reputation still precedes you. Despite our last encounter, I’m rankled that my son can’t be like you. As we sit here, he’s jamming his cock down a chamberlain’s throat.” Rhys swiped an oversized pepper from a side table, swallowed it whole, and continued his dissertation. “My offspring should be present to greet our esteemed guest, yet the lad has reached a self-indulgent, sex-induced age. When one has itches, they trump one’s sense of duty. I don’t give a shit who he fucks in his spare time, provided he doesn’t abstain from stately obligations. Any advice?”
“Beat him.”
“Anything I haven’t tried yet?”
Withdrawing my attention from the tank, I slanted my head toward Rhys. “Let me do it.”
The water’s reflection trembled through the room. “Quite the iceberg, you are,” the king complimented. “You exceed your family’s tamer inclinations. No offense, of course.”
“No offense possible.” I slit my eyes. “No one surpasses my relatives.”
“That smacks of devotion,” he criticized. “Worse yet, affection.”
It did. “We were speaking of your son.”
“I suppose we were. Your grandaunts are fine queens, but you didn’t inherit your disciplinary measures from those two doves. Anyway, I appreciate the offer, but taking your substantial physique into account, you’d kill my offspring. He’s a fraction of your size—and who isn’t, really?—not to mention, he’s currently my only heir.” Rhys shifted and grumbled, “I have no other spawn.”
I took note of his tone. He’d made an effort to stress the point about having only one child. Though, I could not see why.
In any event, the sigh I’d been withholding tripled in density. “As much as I value non sequiturs, shall we get on with it?”
It would have been precarious to travel here solely for the little beast. In the eyes of The Dark Seasons, every nation would have viewed my behavior as circumspect, particularly as the Seasons’ most impartial Royal. Yet as Giselle had implied, I’d gone to considerable trouble to snare my captive.
To prevent widespread skepticism, I had searched for the beast on the public pretense of research. I’d told everyone she had demonstrated a unique breed of madness, the likes of which I hadn’t seen before. A condition I was eager to experiment on. None had debated that fictitious narrative.
But why did I really want her?
I shook off the question. Although she’d been my primary target, this trip provided an opportunity to trade per the Fools Decree amendment. This gave the impression I hadn’t singled out the beast to the point of irrationality.
The king straightened on his throne. “Make your request, then.”
Ludicrous man. It would not be a request.
I glided my thumbs into my belt loops. “Twenty simpletons.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.” Officially denied the chance to have me kiss his ass, the Royal toddler spat in disappointment, “Done. I don’t care which.”
“Five of them, children.”
Indignation creased his face. “I take that back.”
“I do not.”
“Think again, Winter.”
“Tread carefully, Summer.” My gaze minced him into cubes. “I could take a lot more from you.”
The king blanched. Notwithstanding, his ruination in Autumn had placed Summer at a disadvantage. As intended, my alliance with Poet and Briar had contributed to Rhys’s demise. Thus, it had set negotiating power in my favor. By gaining my help, the jester and princess had inadvertently handed me the clout to strike cutthroat deals regarding fools.
That was the first point. The second had to do with the spies Rhys had installed in every Season, to keep track of his ruling neighbors. Poet, Briar, and Avalea had exposed this crime. As it turned out, Rhys had recruited a network of scholars to keep tabs on Winter.
Prior, I’d already had my suspicions about the informants. One restless soldier had let a few criminal remarks slip among his brethren. Although he hadn’t been part of the faction, he’d discovered its existence yet kept it a secret.
I hadn’t been able to confirm my misgivings until Poet and Briar had propositioned me. At which point, I’d annihilated the soldier quicker than a virus.
This amounted to one indisputable fact: Summer owed Winter. Overstep in the slightest, and conflict with my nation would demolish what was left of Rhys’s legacy.
The king recovered his spleen. “Of all Seasons, Winter must understand the rationale behind my actions. Now that you’ve had time to consider them.” But when his defense failed to impress me, he bitched, “I was being pragmatic. I had to protect my kingdom!”
What this glutton meant was, he had to suck his own cock. Which had nearly cost my family their necks. Had I not intervened in time, Rhys’s spies could have done irreparable damage. Though that much, he did not know.
What does Summer have on you?
Poet had dropped the question at my feet before I left Autumn. As vexing as I found him, the jester had guessed perceptively. Nevertheless, I’d prevented Summer from gaining a shred of crucial knowledge, having squashed the traitors like fleas before they had a chance to dig into my family.
My expression told Rhys how seriously I took his defense. This also made it plain that if not for his title, I’d have plucked out his solar plexus by now. At Reaper’s Fest, I’d have lit that bonfire and watched with relish as he cooked like a pig. Not only for endangering my family but for employing that fucking guard who’d been handling my little beast.
“Ah,” Rhys hummed with spite. “So you’ll continue to snub me like they all do. You, who should have been my staunchest ally against that cunt of a princess and her slut of a jester. What did they offer you?”
This again. He’d been trying to get the details out of me ever since I stabbed him in the neck with a syringe, back when Poet and Briar revealed his duplicity to the Royals. Like a reflex, my thoughts strayed to the beast and her inflammatory golden eyes.
“Dismiss me now, but it won’t last. I’m no lowly spy you can discard like rubbish,” the king grated while the infernal sharks coasted in the backdrop. “We’re the same creature, you and me. We have the same hatred, only with different temperatures. That’s why you showed no mercy to my spies. What did you do to seek compensation? Numb their balls with a single look? Dismember their ligaments? What did it take to vanquish the opposition?”
“Ask the wolves who mauled them,” I deadpanned.
That shut him up. Under the mustache, Rhys’s laryngeal cartilage bobbed like a cork.
We were not the same creature. For instance, if I had set out to vanquish Autumn, I would have succeeded. Because I would have done it smartly.
The king digested my reply, then flung up his arms. “Summer doesn’t trade children.”
“Summer will make an exception,” I instructed with velveteen malice.
Rhys’s protest had nothing to do with benevolence. This court valued child simpletons for their diminutive hands, which enabled them to weave nets.
However, regional diseases thrived in this kingdom. To compensate, I had developed a painstaking method of inoculation, which Winter had offered to Summer in exchange for test subjects.
The monarch scratched the living shit out of his mustache. He could not refuse vaccines over a few striplings. “I will excuse this insolence. You’re ambitious, ruthless, and hoping to set a precedent.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I’m shrewd, intelligent, and immune to trivialities such as hope.”
“I will require a greater number of doses.”
“Not attainable.”
“I warn you, Sire. I’m on the brink of fury, and I’m surrounded by sharks.”
For shit’s sake. Did this moron think those vaccines were easy to produce?
Someday, he would bring upon himself a painful and timely death. When that inevitability happened, Giselle should donate his brain to research. If only to display as an example of what happened when one’s cerebrum shrank, due to inactivity. This, assuming I did not murder Rhys myself.
“For the customary supply, I will have twenty simpletons, five of them children,” I repeated, then flicked the starving king a bone. “And ten of the mad.”
“Say that again?”
“No.”
A hypocritical grin lifted the king’s mustache. “I believe I still like you.”
I couldn’t give less of a fuck. “The little beast you caged for me. Who tattooed her neck?”
The prompt brought a fatal edge to my words. Because the beast had refused to say who’d marked her, and because the guard had changed the subject, I sought an answer from someone who lacked the intellect to question my interest.
Why would the Prince of Winter care who inked a prisoner?
Rhys was too self-involved to wonder. “Don’t expect me to recall minor details,” he scoffed. “The fool was originally captured at a fledgling age, long before I chose her for Autumn, so hell if I remember who tattooed her.” Then he gave it a second thought. “Though, a neck marking means she’s deadly. I’d advise you not to get close to such an animal.”
He was advising the wrong prince. I allowed that thought to show on my face.
Despite himself, the king’s pupils gleamed as if he’d swallowed a mood booster. “And how do you plan to break in the prisoner?”
In the same manner I broke them all. “I’m patient.”
The meeting adjourned. I would sit with Giselle later, to discuss other political matters. In the meantime, Rhys extended me an invitation to dine, then left the throne room, not noticing when his guest didn’t follow.
I lingered, glancing briefly at the aquarium. Despite the sharks’ vacant expressions, only an idiot would mistake them for harmless. They knew their powers, knew what their teeth could do, knew what they were capable of. And they saw me quite clearly.
I turned away, retreating to the exit as my First Knight appeared in the doorway. Solstice’s white hair was tied into a bun at her crown, and her skin contrasted more intensely in this dim lighting, her face divided between a pale and gray complexion.
“All is settled, my liege,” she reported. “The trade fools will be roped tomorrow night, then clamped in irons once we’re aboard.”
“No,” I murmured. “Not the beast with the collar.”
“Sire?”
“The mad female with the neck tattoo. Find out who gave her the marking, but do it quietly. Then tomorrow at midnight, bring her to me.”
“Your Highness.” Solstice’s voice grew cautious. “Interacting with the fool is a risk. The marking means she isn’t like the others.”
My lips twitched. “I know.”