Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
Titus
Not even the morning sun can lighten the dark circles under my eyes. The definition of sleep for me was sitting next to a dying fire, as I told Tristen everything Galen ordered me to do.
Sunlight leaks in through the small window, illuminating all the dirt and dust in the air. I flex my toes, stand, dress, and then… I panic.
My feet bring me to the window. I stick my head out and breathe deep. Black surrounds me. Towers of the famous Blackthorn stone comprise the houses and shops. The crudely cut blocks cause the sunlight to be trapped in all the nooks and crannies.
Do the people feel as trapped as the sunlight?
If I were not used to the scent of decay, I’d flinch. Galen should grow his roses here to counteract the sour smell of the soldiers’ boots and the merchants’ stale goods.
My elbows slide on the lacquered window frame. Why do kings never learn their opulent lifestyle has a vicious side effect called jealousy?
If I were king…
You’re not king.
Everett thought I could be.
Thoughts like that will get you killed.
Why did he plant such thoughts if he wanted me to remain alive? Foresight sure would’ve been handy.
“I don’t know what to do,” I confess to Tristen. My breath is labored, my head dizzy. I slam the window shut.
“This isn’t bad.” Tristen rises from the creaky old chair in the corner and closes the gap between us. He claps my back as if his gesture were a cup of blood, giving me renewed hope and energy.
“It’s not good.” I stare at my boots. The leather is worn and dirty, but that’s what makes them comfortable. You have to break things before they bend for you.
Tristen flashes me his goofy smirk. I want to take that smile, bottle it up, keep it safe, and ensure it can smile again. “It’s great,” he counters.
Tristen is my life. My purpose.
Our parents were soldiers. They died in the same battle, leaving Tristen and me to the kingdom. Like other orphans, we were tossed into the army, housed and trained, taught to love it.
We do love it to an extent. It’s all we know.
Change is scary. That’s why so many warriors chose to die a familiar death in battle. Opposed to uncharted territories like old age, where we hold a lover instead of the sword that has kept us alive.
“Our definitions differ.” I turn and pace the small inn we rented for the night. I have a new room assignment, closer to Selene.
Tristen’s squadron—a team I should have been in charge of—has a month off duty. He’ll be reassigned. Maybe I can pull some strings and get him under Ryker?
“Stop being pissy. You need the queen’s help.” Tristen’s hands spread open. “You have it now.”
“Did you forget last night when she tried to kill me?” I retort.
“No.” He shrugs. “I call it the evening’s entertainment.”
I rest my palm on my sword.
He snorts a laugh and raises his hands high. “Joking. But seriously, use this to your advantage.”
“I see an uphill battle in front of me, Tris. No shortcuts.”
“So climb it,” he says, giving me a pointed look. “Obviously, Queen Selene cared about her brother. If not, she wouldn’t have tried to kill you. What do you think will happen when you tell her that her dear, sweet brother gave you his magic?”
I lick my lips and wipe the sweat off my brow.
“Remember,” Tristen stresses, “we can’t steal magic, Titus. Everett gave it to you. Gave it. That has to mean something. That’s the weapon that will save you, so I suggest you figure out how to wield it and use it against Selene or Sable. We still haven’t met Sable.”
“Nothing makes sense now.” I hang my head and rub my neck.
“What do you mean?”
“You have another good idea; the world is coming to an end.”
I glance at my dirty boots in shame. “You don’t belong here,” I whisper to myself.
Selene’s wing of the castle is a separate tower. A gilded birdcage, Galen must admire as he peers at it through his window.
I advanced toward the tower’s base. It’s a skeleton-like structure. Like a rib cage holding a heart inside. The frame’s design mimics the vines from Galen’s famous roses. It wraps and weaves, enclosing the primary structure.
I wonder if I could climb this? Curiosity pulls me to the stone wall. I wedge my boot into the small opening with ease.
An assassin could use this to climb and kill Selene in her room. Why would Galen design her tower like this? If it’s so easy to sneak in, then how many times has Selene snuck out?
The main door is blocked by four guards who are chatting. I can see my reflection perfectly in the flawlessly polished black door. Dirty boots and all.
Their chat stops, their eyes widen as if I’m their sung hero.
One hurries to open the door; the others lower their eyes as I pass.
Upon entering, I’m met with a spiral staircase.
Tapestries depicting Blackthorn adorn the entire upstairs path.
I pay them no mind. It’s a pretty picture of Blackthorn, but I know the truth.
I have endured the hardships so the kingdom can be painted in such colorful lies.
I reach the landing, feeling like a fish out of water. I rub the heels of my boots together. That’s as good of a polish as they’ll get.
The black stone walls are so shiny, I can’t resist poking it with my finger. Wow, it’s been ages since obsidian walls caged me. My inhale isn’t filled with the wild wind of the war camps.
How can I adjust to this?
My face is reflected in the stone, dark shades of gritty grays and inky blacks. “Who are you? How did you manage to survive and become a men?” I mutter.
I avert my eyes, focusing on the black roses that create a pattern on the carpet.
Is that…? Yep, that is silver thread in the rug.
Tiny footsteps inch closer from the opposite end, barely heard since the carpet mutes them. The carpet should be removed. It makes an assassin’s job easy as it swallows their footsteps.
I pause and brush the grime on my armor. Here it comes—the shitshow.
Will the queen be armed with her bow?
My chest widens. With practiced ease, my palm slips to my sword, ready to slice another arrow out of the air. But in order to stop an arrow, I need to slow time down.
Cotton fabric swirls around the corner first. That’s too simple a dress for the queen. One of her lady’s maids turns the corner. She stumbles when she sees me, then dips her chin. “General Titus.”
General? I guess I am.
“Your name?” I ask as I approach her.
“Mary. I am the Queen’s first hand. I…” She looks over her shoulder, down the hall, which I was told leads to the queen’s bedroom. “I should warn you, she’s in a mood.”
When is she not?
“I’m sure my presence has upset her.”
Mary steps closer and whispers, “Galen ordered me not to tell the queen she was assigned a personal guard. So be prepared.”
My fingers curl around my sword. It’s cruel to both Selene and me.
Mary reaches up and pulls at the collar of her dress. I spot a fresh bite mark. The skin is healed, but it still retains a light pink tone.
You’re no friend of the queen. You’re a spy.
I need to watch myself with this one. “Thanks for the warning, Mary.”
She smiles. “Once you untie her, I’ll bring up her breakfast.”
“Untie her?” My brows furrow.
Mary clears her throat. “Yes,” she replies as she scurries past me. I turn and watch as she heads down the hall.
Turn left. Don’t be a rat. Shit!
Why couldn’t I have been wrong about you, Mary?
She turns down the hall that leads to Galen’s wing.
I scratch my jaw. “Untie?” I mutter. What the hell does that mean?
Wait, what’s that? I spot the queen’s door, only it’s not a door.
I stop in front of a wall of vines and lean closer. They’re so thick I can see nothing through the thin gaps.
Shit. Here goes nothing. I grab a vine and pull. These aren’t your normal garden weeds. I flex my biceps and yank, but they don’t budge.
I grab my sword. What if Selene is behind this wall?
Is this a trick?
My inhale scrapes up my throat, which feels like stale bread left out in the kitchen. “Queen Selene? Are you in there?”
An intake of breath reaches my ears. “Unfortunately.” Her deep exhale almost shakes the vines. “Who are you?”
That’s a nice voice—sweet yet firm, like unmelted chocolate. Too bad Selene wants to kill me.
I sink my fangs into my bottom lip. “I’m your new personal guard.”
“That fucking prick,” she growls.
I agree.
“Did he give you irons and chains?”
I look left and right. “No, my queen. Why?”
Was it out of place to question her?
“Because clearly, he wants you chained to my feet, so why not make a show of it?” she murmurs more curses before she shouts, “What are you waiting for? Get me out. I’ve got things to do and people to kill.”
She’s… a fucking tyrant. Typical fae.
“I was joking, guard. Come on, hurry up and untie me. No sense of humor, eh?”
This is so bizarre. Is this a kink they like to play?
I crack my neck. I don’t belong within palace walls, where every action is a new move on a chess board.
“If I may be so bold, which part was the joke, your heavy schedule or the killing?”
“Good, you don’t overlook the details. I would appreciate it if you could release me. I do need to use the bathroom and attend to the issues for today.”
“Do the issues involve killing?”
“Tell Galen to come for a chat if he’s curious. The last thing I need is another meager mouse, scampering to report every blink my eyes make to Galen.”
I press my palm against the door of vines. “That sounds unbearable.”
Her hesitation reveals her sorrow. “It is.”
“Are you behind the… door, this wall of vines?”
“Clearly.”
Her walls are back up, but they’re cracked. Tristen would tell me this is good. I can make her feel some empathy for my situation.
“I mean, if I swing my sword into it, will I cut you? I value my neck and would like to keep my head attached to it.” An impossible task.
Was that the sound of a smile? I start to pull my sword out.
“Swing away, guard.”
I don’t trust her. I put my sword back. Fire covers my fingers. I grab the vines. First, they smoke; the green waxy shine weathers away, like water wrung from a wet towel. It weakens them just enough for me to snap them in half.
Damp, mossy notes clash with cinder.
Once the hole is big enough, I slip through it.
I wish I hadn’t.
As soon as I enter, I’m directly in her bed chambers. Another bad design in the castle. To protect the queen, a buffer zone—a waiting room—should separate her bed from potential entry points.
Shit! My boot catches on a vine. I shake it free as I stumble, almost twisting my ankle. Vines cover the room from floor to ceiling.
King Galen is skilled. It’s a bird’s nest, layers of vines to keep an egg safe. I should look away. Instead, my eyes remain locked ahead on the queen, bound by vines.
Our eyes lock. Selene’s lips part, then pull into a tight snarl. “You!” she seethes, a sound hotter than the fire on my fingertips.
Oh shit! Here it comes.