Chapter 15
Fifteen
A queen’s only duty to her heirs is to have them.
And I thought my mother was a bitch.
- King Richard
Fabia’s words hit me hard, each one increasing the tension inside me as I move through my private gym in the early hours of the morning.
They roll beneath my skin, slithering across my shoulders before moving rapidly through my arms. They want out.
My left fist slams into the bag in front of me, followed by my right.
Dab is her mother.
They claw at my flesh, digging past bone and muscle, echoing out through every punch and kick aimed at the bag in front of me. The dirt-filled leather sack swings from its point on the rafters, slamming left and right, forwards and back as I work it hard, my bare knuckles bleeding.
The title of mother holds no importance to me.
My own was a callous stranger who only interacted with us during ceremonial events.
But she still protected us. She still made sure we were cared for and trained to survive in this world.
She didn’t gift us to a fucking pedophile with a smile on her face because her damn culture told her to.
“You can’t kill all of them,” Jace says, standing off to the side, acting as if he isn’t walking a very thin line by giving guidance to something I haven’t fucking asked for. “What will the other kingdoms think if you wipe out the brownies? They’ll never trust your offer of peace again.”
As if I don’t already know that. As if I didn’t already go over that entire fucking conversation with myself as we left the barracks, with a small squadron of soldiers.
And again when we flew through the night on our crows to Brownston.
And a-fucking-gain when the brownies just gave up all of their children without so much as a protest.
The whole ordeal took less than an hour, with most of that time spent on traveling. Not one drop of blood or tears was shed, and I know it’ll be the same at every other town I’ve sent my soldiers. Not all of them have come back yet, but I know that truth in my fucking soul.
I would’ve waged war for my children. They should have waged war.
I slam my fist into the bag. I want to go back for Dab and slit her from throat to navel. I want to pull out her intestines until her body resembles the pain inside me. She’s Arienna’s mother. She has no excuse for not protecting her, for not loving her enough to forsake their fucking culture.
He took her at five.
Growling, I attack the damn bag harder.
She is a victim.
Sweat pours down my back, in-between my wings.
As the restless tension travels into them, they flutter quickly.
I rotate my whole body on my next strike, power moving from my legs to my hip, to my shoulder.
Opening my fist, I flatten my fingers. A wanted pain ruptures up from my tips as I spear them into the bag.
It swallows my hand on a shudder, and still the tension doesn’t leave me.
Yanking my arm free, I spin. My leg snaps out, kicking through the waterfall of dirt spewing down the leather. The bag snaps free and flies towards Jace.
I hope for a moment it’ll hit him.
But it’s a waste of a wish.
He steps to the side. The bag flies past him, then hits the ground in an explosion of dirt.
“Feel any better after your tantrum?” he asks, cocking a brow.
I bare my teeth in a way that only Arienna would call a smile. The thought of her innocence and naivety has me spinning on my heels, heading for the weapon’s rack.
“So who do you think is on Echo’s desk?” he asks way too cheerfully.
Not in the mind to think about it, I pull a fighting staff free and throw it over my shoulder. I don’t bother looking to see if he catches it. The lack of a thump tells me enough.
My skin prickling, I shuffle onto the balls of my feet as I grab my own weapon. Jace’s speed is fucking ment–
A whoosh cuts through the air before I can fully turn to face him. Lifting my staff, I grunt as I block the blow being aimed at the side of my head. He pushes in close, his bicep flexing, testing my strength. His foot snaps out, knocking me back.
“Better yet, who do you think gave it to her?” he asks as he swings again at me.
We move around the room, trading blows. The tension in my shoulders tightens as I block out his words.
My queen was a kid…
Lunging forwards, I slide the staff through my leading hand, extending my reach. He parries, his grin widening. Rotating my weapon, I attack him with the bottom end, striking up. Then the top, striking down. I push him back just like my thoughts are pushing me. Merciless and cold.
How long have we been neighbours with the brownies? How long have we known the basics of their cult but not bothered to look further into them? I’ve been king for over twenty years, but never once have I given thought to the way of the brownies.
And because of that, my wife suffered.
Because of me.
Jace smacks me hard in the shin. “Concentrate, Dickie,” he says as I fall to my knee. “The next one’s going in your namesake.”
Fuelled by my frustration, I lurch forwards and swing hard. He dodges my first blow but not the second. As I slam my staff into his chest, the tension in my body vibrates with the need for more. It’s like a living thing, eating me alive, driving me forwards in a rush of madness and desperation.
But I can’t beat this problem away. No matter how long I spend in the gym, no matter how hard Jace works me, my problems will still be here once this spar is over.
I can’t save my queen from the life she’s already suffered.
I can’t kill all the adults who failed her without weakening our peace with the Vylians and our future talks with the Okahi, Jokeni, and Alzans.
And I can’t give her a future of peace, not without letting her go – and to hel if that’s an option.
With a feral growl, I aim for Jace’s head. He ducks low, then swoops his staff at my knees. Jumping into the air, I start to swing my weapon down onto his back, but his staff jerks up and slams into the “staff” between my legs.
Intense pain explodes up into my hips and down my thighs. I fall to the ground with a hiss, the bastard’s laughter ringing in my ears.
“If you hadn’t tried to dodge that, I would’ve tapped you in the shin.”
Tap? The fucking “tap” would’ve cleaved me in two had he done it with even the dullest of blades. As it is, I don’t think I’m ever having children. “What... fucking... dodge?” I grit out between my teeth. I barely saw the attack in time to register it, let alone react.
Too busy laughing, he doesn’t bother answering.
Groaning through the pain, I glance up to find him bent over, propped up by his staff – his real staff, not the twig that’s nestled in-between his legs. He howls into the crook of his arm as I shake with nausea.
“I warned you and everything,” he wheezes, wiping at his eyes as he finally straightens ten minutes later.
Scowling, I rise to my feet, wincing like hel. “I’m going to repay all of these acts of yours one day.”
Still laughing, Jace picks up my dropped staff and places it and his on the weapons rack.
“Did that little spar do its job, or do you want to get whacked in the balls again?” He lifts two sets of chain whips, a twinkle in his eyes.
“We can work our way through the rack left to right if you want? We have about thirty minutes until we need to get ready for the day, so there’s plenty of time for that and a cuddle after. I’ll even let you be big spoon.”
He blows a kiss at me just as the door to my private gym opens.
“Your Majesty.” Marrabel enters, her eyes haggard but dry. With just those two words, I know that Saragase hasn’t made it.
I’d hoped… For a moment, I’d let myself believe that she would pull through. “She’s a fucking person.”
Fabia’s words still haunting me, I open my mouth to give Marrabel my condolences. “I’m –”
“Arienna is awake,” she cuts in, and I press my lips closed for her sake. Sometimes, hearing someone speak of our loss, addressing it and making it real when we aren’t ready is worse than finding out about it ourselves.
A memory of Evangeline barrels into me.
I walk into our living room, having just flown back from killing Aurelia. I’m trying so hard not to cry. I don’t want her to ask me what’s wrong. All I want is to see someone I love being happy. Nicholas is crying. Jace is gone. For one more damn moment, I just want to turn back the clock.
Then I’ll tell her.
But I don’t get the chance. She takes one look at me, and that cheeky grin that used to fill me with equal parts joy and wariness whenever I saw it, falls.
Flattens.
Disappears to be replaced with pure madness.
She screams at me so violently, she makes herself sick. I try to go to her, but she won’t let me touch her. Won’t let me do anything to help her at all. Pressing one hand to her stomach, she screams.
So I give Marrabel that moment I never got. I let her pretend that her sister is still okay, that she doesn’t need to let everyone know about her loss.
Silently, I stride towards her. She turns to make her way to my wife’s chambers, and Jace follows behind us. Fabia is already outside Arienna’s door, exhaustion painting her eyes dark. It seems neither of us got any sleep after our talk.
The door opens, and I pass through it and into my wife’s chambers. The itch under my skin finally soothes just a bit. She’s sitting on the sofa, her back to us. Memories of last night, when I sat there, facing her and Jace, chases away the darker ones of my past.
Jace lets loose a little groan, and I glare at him with the urge to do more than tap his fucking staff. He grins. My scowl deepens, then immediately softens as my queen turns to face us.
“Morning!” Arienna jumps off the sofa, revealing a cup of steaming coffee in her hands. Her eyes light on me before scooting over to Jace. “Hi,” she murmurs, a blush filling her cheeks.