TWELVE
Queen Farah
The little black box was nestled in the palm of her hand, the soft velvet material gentle against her skin. Farah glared at the box as the door to her bedroom slammed shut behind her. What is this? Why did he do this?
A growl bubbled out between her lips. She hated him. She loathed him for what he had that she did not. Didn't he hate her too? Wasn't he just using her?
That's what this gift was. Some perverse attempt at persuading her into tolerating him. Farah couldn't look away from the small box. Her back pressed into the chilled wood of her door as she leaned into it. She hoped she opened the box and hated what was inside.
Maybe she shouldn't even open the box. That's right…she could probably chuck it in the fire right now.
She lifted her staff, pointing it in the direction of the dark fireplace. Water climbed up the glass globe, sloshing down in one big wave. Then the fireplace wasn't so dark anymore. Embers turned to sparks that gave way to large roaring flames. Light danced into the room and onto her cream-colored bedding.
She should throw it in the fire.
Don't open it, Farah. Don't do it, she told herself even as the desire to know rose up inside of her.
With a huff, she straightened from the door and walked the distance to her bed. Her eyes shifted between the box in her hand and the fire. Before she could think on it, before she could give in to the growing want, she growled through her teeth and threw the small box. It hit stone with a clank that made the queen press her eyes closed.
Gods, she wanted to know what he thought would win her over. But she couldn't give in. She couldn't give him that power. Never .
Gently, she laid her staff across her bed before she perched on the mattress’s edge. Flames were covering that little box now, eating away at whatever was inside. Earrings? A necklace? Some stupid little pin?
It doesn't matter, she told herself. By the time she was cradling her head in her hands, there was a short knock at the door.
"Come in," she called.
The door cracked open to reveal one of the older members of her court. A rather frail woman who'd once had honey gold hair that was now streaking with grey. She hadn't attended the event but much of her court had rooms within the castle walls and during the process of finding a king, most had chosen to stay through the events.
"Hello, Ellowen." Farah sat up, a hand drifting onto the end of the staff.
"My Queen." Ellowen dipped into a curtsey. "Would you like the rest of your guests to be dismissed for the day?"
She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. Farah supposed that meant she had more to talk about than just the fact she had left.
"They can go. I don't have much care who gets invited back." Except one person. "Though…could you make sure the man who left me a gift does return? Reed Copeland?"
Ellowen cocked her head looking rather birdlike. "Reed Copeland? The man who was beaten all black and blue?"
A faint smile turned the corners of the queen's lips up. "Yes."
Ellowen didn't move from the spot she stood. She just watched the queen with that same look she always had. It wasn't a cruel look nor was it judging, it was just as if she was trying to understand. Most had tried to understand Farah growing up and had always fallen short. Perhaps she was just an enigma.
"Well, if you're going to stay you might as well take a seat." Farah gestured to the small table with two seats that sat at the window. It had a great view over the castle walls and into the city. Most days she enjoyed her dinner in solitude at that table.
The woman was already nodding and walking that way the moment the words left Farah's mouth. Either she'd been hoping she could be offered a seat or the woman was just that scared to even hesitate to follow an order.
"Thank you." Ellowen pulled out a chair and delicately sat on the edge. "Is there really no interest in anyone specific other than Mr. Copeland? What do you think about our very own Zacharias Logan?"
Farah almost laughed but was able to keep a straight face. "I suppose I never really considered Zacharias. It's quite interesting to me that he has decided to try for my hand."
"He is well liked throughout the court."
"Does that mean you are all backing his proposal?"
Ellowen shook her head. "We have all decided not to show favoritism to any one suitor. Though I wouldn't want you to forget what Zacharias brings to the table. May I ask what has you so inclined toward Mr. Copeland?"
'So inclined.' Ha. Ha. Ha. Farah couldn't even call it that. She wasn’t ‘inclined’ toward Reed, at least not romantically. She only wanted what so many would think she could not have. Nothing was out of her reach anymore. Nothing. No matter what they told her, Farah would claw, fight, and kill until she got what she wanted. Until she got what he had.
"Mr. Copeland," she drew his name out slowly trying to gather an appropriate response, "has just put in a little bit more initiative in than the others and I suppose that should earn him to a second invitation."
"I will see that it's done."
Farah arched a brow as Ellowen remained seated instead of rising for the door. "Is there more that you wish to discuss?"
Her tawny skin flushed. "Actually yes."
The queen turned away from the fire that still picked away at that little box. The velvet green material of her dress stretched across her thighs as she pulled her legs up next to her.
"Out with it." Farah waved a demanding hand.
"I'm curious how you are fairing with the recent rumors."
Sienna. Right. Her crowning of a king and sudden retreat to the country side has certainly stirred up the gossip within her own castle walls.
Farah blinked, trying to keep her expression composed. She supposed she should be mourning her sister, they were blood after all. Yet a part of her still felt like all of her sisters had died before they took these crowns. Even her old self felt dead to Farah. They might technically be sisters now but the only thing that connected them was their joint rule over Pasia. And that meant very little more to Farah than choosing a husband. She didn't need anyone anymore. Didn't want them. The only one she could bring herself to care for was Ambrose and even she was not herself.
Ellowen continued. "People are speculating after what happened in Maipeg.”
Farah turned back to look at the fire. She didn't want to talk about Sienna.
"I just thought you'd want someone to talk to. With her marrying and leaving so quickly you must feel like you’ve lost a sister. Though I know you are undoubtedly very strong, my Queen."
Gods…she was still talking.
"You're dismissed," Farah said, her voice devoid of all emotion.
Ellowen stood quietly, pushing the chair back up to the table. From the corner of the queen's eyes, she could tell the woman had given her another curtsey before heading back to the door. She paused when her fingertips brushed the bronze knob.
"If you ever feel like you need someone to talk to, I'm around."
"Even if I did want to talk, why would I talk to you ?" It was only then that Farah looked back at the woman. And that was only because she wanted to see the look on her face, the shine of hurt in her eyes.
Ellowen stood tall. "You only talk that way because you are hurt."
Farah did laugh then. A hearty chuckle that made her bed bounce with her. The queen wasn't some injured bird in need of being nursed back to health; she was a monster hell bent on taking from the world what it had taken from her.
When the laughter at the woman's stupidity stopped, Farah picked up her staff. "Leave." There wasn’t time given for Ellowen to follow the command before the queen’s magic was running through her.
The woman's eyes widened as an invisible force pulled open the door and pushed her out the other side. Her look of shock was the last thing Farah saw before the door slammed firmly in her face. The lock clicked into place.
Queen Farah considered closing all her curtains now and shutting herself up in her bed with a book to study or to use the empty space on her floor to push her body through workouts similar to what the guards endured, but then she caught sight of that damn box and the material that had almost completely been eaten away.
She hardly noticed the tingle of power as it raced through her veins. In an instant—one whoosh of air—the fire was out without even so much as smoke rising from its ashes. Silver glinted within the soot. Farah moved closer, eyes narrowing to tiny slits.
What was it?
The pointed tip of her heels met the firepit's edge. The dust of burnt logs was still warm, the shape of the box nothing but ashen walls surrounding one spec of silver. Gray clung to her fingertips as she picked the small object up. The silver was cold. Not just cold but freezing.
Her brows pinched together as she puzzled over what sort of object could remain chilled through the effects of fire raging all around it. Or maybe her body was tricking her? Maybe it was actually burning her skin and it had crossed that line between hot and being so hot that your body suddenly recognized it as cold somehow.
A small pin sized object rolled into her palm as she straightened from her crouch. Not even the ashes clung to its form. Farah squinted. Was that…a tiny dagger?
She was able to pinch the small hilt between her fingertips. The sharpened tip bit into her other finger as she tested to see how sharp it may be. It seemed sharp enough to go right through her ear piercing.
Without thinking her hand was back in the ashes sorting through them to see if there was a second. Why give her one tiny dagger and not two? Surely, she had lost the other.
Confusion tinged with anger swelled inside the queen as her hands found nothing but the small metal hinges on the box. How absolutely absurd a gift!
The small silver dagger heated. She let it roll back to her palm as it sucked the light in from all around it then began to glow . It pulsed . It grew .
What had been no bigger than two inches stretched. Farah blinked, convinced she was losing her mind. Where the metal sat her skin tingled in that familiar way. In the way that her body recognized magic now.
Then she was holding a dagger. Not just any dagger.
Queen Farah was holding a magicborn dagger.
One that had been banned from creation even before the queens’ rule. Magicborn weapons took more than they gave. Such as all magic that came from the gods.
***
The weather outside was too hot. The day was too sticky and the sun shone with such intensity you could feel it burning your skin the moment you stepped out into it. Her staff and court had suggested that Farah move the event inside to keep her suitors from heatstroke. She'd refused.
She'd refused again, as sweat dripped down her back and soaked into the light blue day dress, making the material at her back and under her breasts a few shades darker. A sun umbrella floated over her head, no hand holding it in place. It was a silly little magic trick that her sisters would consider beneath them. Farah didn't mind the small act but what bothered her was the spectacle it made of herself as everyone was surprised to see the umbrella suspended in air.
Ten suitors had been selected to return to today's events. Farah leaned forward from her throne that had been brought outside—by no less than twenty servants—and placed upon a stand that overlooked the event. She'd heard that about eight of the twenty servants had broken fingers, toes, and even a few hands and feet when the weight of the throne had gotten too much.
Reed and Zacharias were amongst the men today. From her little perch, she was able to see that Reed's bruises had faded a bit. His cuts were small slivers of scabs, and his eyes weren't really swollen any longer. He'd stolen several glances at her from where he leaned against the wooden posts. She wasn't so sure, but she felt like that was some quick healing for someone who was supposed to be human. Maybe he had some muddled bloodlines…
The gold-plated seat under her remained cool, another little magic trick, as she came forward even more. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky, or some magical umbrella, to shade the men in the small arena. Each took their turn lifting weight set upon a metal bar over and over again until they reached a weight they could no longer lift.
Farah would clap politely for each man as they finished. A few of them had surprised her but most she thought she might be able to outlift by herself—if by herself included the fact that she'd drunk another human’s blood to take on their physical strength. Zacharias was up next and she had very little hope for him. The poor man might just snap himself in half. Now wouldn't that be a sight to see?
There were members of her court out today. The women were fanning themselves and most men had stripped down to bare linen tops, sleeves rolled up to reveal vascular forearms. Ellowen was there amongst them. Though she'd said previously that she wasn't backing Zacharias she applauded him vigorously when he stepped into the ring and gave Farah a shy smile.
He hadn't lifted anything yet, however, his shirt was still damp with sweat. White fabric clung to his torso where—even at her distance— Farah was able to make out the definition of muscles along his stomach. Honestly, that surprised the queen too.
Zacharias smiled as he lifted the first rounds of weights. All those hidden muscles tensed under his now see-through shirt. Farah propped an elbow on her leg, then her head on her fists as she admired him. Maybe he was worth being a real contender for the crown. She certainly wouldn't mind sharing a bed with him on occasion.
The next round he let out a breath, pulling the weight up to his chest then over his head. Each time the amount of weight progressed but it took a moment before Zacharias was even bothered by it. Eventually, though, it did get to the point where he grunted as he lifted the bar.
Farah was already smiling, he'd already beaten all of the men before him. This was a splendid surprise indeed.
After a few more attempts Zacharias had finally hit his max. The weights clanked against the bar as he dropped it heavily back to the ground. His broad chest lifted and fell with rapid breaths and sweat was dripping down his long nose, his glasses falling with it. He pushed the spectacles up with a single finger and met the queen's gaze again.
His voice carried up to her. "It is only by the strength of my heart that beats for you, my Queen, that I was able to do as much as I did." He pressed his fingers to his mouth and blew a kiss up to her stand.
Both her brows raised. That was awfully forward of him. She gave him a tight smile and applauded along with the court that shouted their praise. He was a clear contender in their eyes.
Behind that smile, her mind was churning with unease. She was intrigued by him, that much was clear, but she was also intrigued by Reed for entirely different reasons. What he'd said though…that his heart beat for her…that sounded like love. Or in the very least a very devoted sort of crush. Infatuation maybe?
It was probably the crown, the power, or her staff that appealed to him so much. Love had never felt real. Not the sort of love that people swear by. Couples married and then later hated each other. A person could love and die for another only to be forgotten as their other quickly swept themselves up in a new romance. Love was a show. Love was fake. And to even tease at its reality…that was a fool’s game.
She'd seen as much played out between her parents. Even now her heart ached from their death. But Farah had known a secret, one that none of her sisters had ever known. Her father, the man who danced with her mother every day to the tune of some song stuck in his head, loved another. Farah had walked in on them kissing in the dark. It had broken her heart for her mother. But she couldn't bring herself to tell a soul. So her mother had died thinking the man she was married to loved her the same as the day they got together.
Love was a lie.
Reed and Zacharias passed each other as one left the ring and the other entered. Farah could see their lips moving as they spoke in passing. What were they saying to each other? Reed's face was blank as he nodded at the man.
Farah willed her face into neutrality and Reed strode across the lawn. Servants were moving toward Zacharias’ final weight to begin taking slabs off the bar for Reed to begin his little show but he barked something Farah couldn't make out and waved them off. Sucking in the hot humid air of the day, Farah stood up from her seat as Reed lifted Zacharias’ final weight with ease.
"Fuck," Farah whispered under her breath, both astonished and mildly attracted to the very act. Attracted in the way that she was jealous of his strength, she reminded herself.
She remained standing as the servants, with their jaws dropped into ovals, loaded up more weight. He went again.
And again.
And then fucking again.
The gold throne had been left behind, the umbrella reluctantly following, and the queen was now pressed against the edges of the platform she sat on. At first, she glared at him. Met his intense gaze as air hissed out between his teeth and the weight hoisted up. Eventually, that hatred faded.
Somewhere between him succeeding to scare off the last couple of men and him lifting what might be more than humanly possible, Farah began to smile. Not just any smile, not at all, this was a wide wicked grin that took up the entirety of her face.
She'd drank one man’s blood before; who was to say she couldn't do it again? Reed could make a good enough king…and all she'd have to do was fuck him enough to get herself an heir…and then his strength could be hers. That didn't sound too hard…
Much like Zacharias, Reed's clothing was slick against his body, clinging to every dip and curve his muscles created. Reed was much larger than Zacharias. Where Zacharias was long and lanky, Reed was thick as an ox. Farah could see more than just the muscles in his abdomen. What she really marveled at were his thighs. Thick corded muscles bulged against the fabric. It was like he'd hidden watermelons in his pant legs, Farah thought to herself.
The bar crashed back down to the earth, weight jostled on its ends. When he panted, hands settled against his hips, there wasn't cheering like there was for Zacharias. The crowd was silent.
People gawked at him. Their gazes reflected different variations of fear, amazement, and outright shock. Farah might think herself the monster but Reed looked the part.
After several long moments where the only sound was Reed's heavy breathing and the rustling of the wind in the distant trees, Bethra bustled over to lift his hand and declare him the winner.
"Mr. Reed Copeland has successfully completed today's event and beat his other opponents." Bethra looked up to Farah. "My Queen, would you like to give him his prize?"
Farah was still smiling as a rose appeared in her palm. She took her time making her way down the stairs to the dirt where Reed waited. Up close, he was even more impressive to look at. The distance had muted the sheer size of him but when they stopped eye to eye, Farah knew she had to look fragile next to him. As fragile as the flower she held.
"What strength you have, Reed ." Farah let her gaze travel from the top of his head to his toes, the sort of gaze that other people usually cowered from. Reed basked in it.
"Is this where I tell you I won for you? Or say some shit about the beating of my heart?" His words were breathy and rushed.
"I would prefer you didn't."
He smiled slightly at that.
The queen extended her arm, offering him the flower. "Your prize."
"A flower?" He ran a hand over his forehead where sweat was starting to drip into his eyes. The air around him smelled like salt. "What about a kiss?"
Farah's spine stiffened. Trying to force herself to relax, she gave him a brief laugh and a dismissive wave. "You're going to have to do more than that to earn yourself a kiss."
His attention drifted from her gaze to her ear where the dagger had been shoved through her piercing. It fit perfectly there even if it did look odd for her to only have a single earring.
"I see you got my gift." A grin broke out over his lips. "Do you like it?"
"I'd like to know where you got it."
Those silver eyes were startlingly bright. "Consider it a family heirloom." He shrugged and the material across his torso rippled.
"It was a dangerous gift. I'm not sure I approve." Farah turned to walk away, ignoring the splatter of sweat in the dirt. Her shadow stretched in front of her, the outline of her floating umbrella overhead. She resisted the urge to touch the gift she wore.
"I wasn't looking for your approval," Reed said from behind her.
Farah declined her opportunity to respond to him.