Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
Selene
Oh, husband, you are next level.
You want to play dirty?
I’m not scared to break a nail.
My new guard enters. The control of his fire magic is impressive. The way he burned Galen’s precious vines could come in handy.
His eyes take in the mess, particularly me, trapped in my bed.
It’s not my best moment, certainly a first impression that will linger, though.
Will I beg to be cut free? No, I’ve mastered conspiring when trapped in a cage. Everyone thinks I want freedom. I’d rather show them what being caged feels like.
Pushing my spine into the mattress, I do my best to relax and ignore the tingling aches and pains groaning throughout my body.
Wait… tall, strong build, wide shoulders. That face wearing the mask of humble innocence, just like he wore when he received his new title!
Titus! The man who killed my brother is to be my new personal guard.
I push against the vines, fresh thorns cutting me as I do.
Oh, look, the murderer is concerned. He stumbles forward, tripping again. His eyes glare at the thorns cutting me.
“How can you protect me? You can’t put one foot in front of the other,” I bristle. He shifts from foot to foot, finding his balance on the foliage.
Suddenly, my body falls limp. My mind plots all the scenarios Galen must have calculated when he assigned Titus.
Galen expects me to kill Titus. He’s handing him over to me on a silver platter.
Why? So he can declare war again? Or worse?
You know what Galen won’t expect? Accepting my brother’s killer as my guard.
That’s what I’ll do, but I intend to take it further. Galen, like any man, thinks with his cock. I never had a guard because Galen doesn’t like men near me. I’m all his. It’s only a matter of time before Galen starts to grow jealous of Titus’s presence.
You see, I’m not going to be the one who kills Titus.
My dear, lovely husband will.
It’s splendid!
How will Galen’s people react when their beloved king slays their hero?
Trust will be broken. It will fracture the crown on Galen’s head. Fear sickens everything from commoners to kings. His people will suspect he’s a tyrant. His army will plot against him. Galen will fear, too. He’ll sense the knife coming for his spine.
I never imagined this game with Galen would bring down an entire empire, but that’s the price I demand for retribution against the man who killed my brother.
“I… I um…” Titus struggles to find words. At least watching him struggle brings a small bit of joy.
“General Titus.” Uttering his name leaves a bitter stain on my tongue I don’t think I’ll ever get off.
Actually, I will once I stand over his dead body.
I paint on a mocking sneer. “It’s such an honor that my husband named you as my guard.” I press my body back into my mattress.
I expect his head to bow. What I don’t expect is his glare. He looks back over his shoulder at the door, then walks back to it.
Great, he’s going to leave me here.
Instead, he pokes his head out and looks down the hall. When he turns, the energy shifts. Each step he takes is measured; no more stumbling. His hand rests on his hilt, knuckles white.
Did I read this wrong? Did Galen send him to kill me?
We all know the truce between fae and vampires is like water; one toe dipped in, no matter how small, will cause a ripple.
Peace allows recuperation and preparation.
I should feel no guilt about using Galen to kill Titus, then turning his people against him.
No guilt.
But I do. Unlike my husband, who plotted behind his walls. I was there in the tents, witnessing the cost the soldiers paid. We all bled for the crown on Galen’s head.
Every single one of us, except Galen and my father.
Stop; feel no guilt.
“Are you going to kill me?” I inquire. I press my fingers into the warm sheets.
“Why would I do that when you’re so eager to kill me instead? What kind of soldier would I be to deny my queen pleasure?”
That deep rasp in his voice has a powerful effect on me. Why is my magic humming? My forehead wrinkles, my thighs clench.
He killed your brother!
I steer my chin up as high as my pillow allows. “A wise person would say Galen is punishing us both.”
“I agree.”
That’s interesting. I almost believe he loathes my husband as much as I do. “Bold words for a king’s guard.”
He steps closer. His eyes are a deep shade of brown, but there is a sheen in them, an ember that draws you in as it tries to burn you. “I’m not his guard.” He wavers. His voice dips so deep it touches my toes. “I am yours.”
His eyes sweep over me, leveling me like a baker’s hands flatten flour.
My lips part on my inhale.
A volatile intensity, a thirst for vengeance and answers, darkens in his eyes.
Answers to what?
There is also a hint of sorrow, an apology that has yet to be spoken.
My dry mouth snaps shut. I run my tongue over my teeth as I glare at his audacity. “You expect me to believe you’re loyal to me?” I snort. “You’re no more loyal than my lady’s maid.”
“I expect the queen to be wise enough to form her own opinions based on my actions.”
Why can’t he be a daft, humble doll like the maid is?
“Kings can form opinions. Not queens.”
His head tilt highlights his unshaven jawline. Galen always has a clean face. I heard that beards can enhance sexual pleasure. The tickling sensation of their steel-like hairs can… stop!
What the hell is happening?
Yes, I enjoy sex, but I have control.
Yet in Titus’s presence, I keep circling back to sex. The deep rasp of his voice; his vigilant eyes are not shovels tearing away at me—they are nets, catching me.
Just let me fall into the abyss of my yearning for retribution.
My toes curl. I need a mage tonic to assuage my mind.
My forearms stiffen. Did Galen slip something into my wine last night?
“That’s funny.” Titus breaks my train of thought. “The queen I protect has no problem voicing her opinions. I don’t blame her.” He peers over his shoulder again.
Now I understand; he was checking the hall to ensure no one was spying on us.
“I… we should talk,” he whispers.
His aura shifts. Are you scared, Titus? You look like a beggar. What’s got your tongue twisted?
The hair on my body rises, brushing against the hard, relentless vines holding me down. “Oh, trust me, Titus, the last thing we should do is talk. You killed my brother!” I shove my chest against the vines.
“It was an accident.”
“An accident?”
“A reaction.”
“Reaction?” My blood boils. “Don’t insult my brother by declaring that murdering him was such an elementary task.”
His eyes pinch shut. “I didn’t mean that. I…” He looks at the vines. “Let me untie you so we can talk to one another with respect.”
“You want my respect?” My eyes target his sword. “Take your sword and drive it into your heart.” I glance away, pressing my cheek into the vine Galen used to push my face towards him. A tear slips free. “Leave me alone,” I whisper.
I… let him see me cry.
Titus gulps. “I can’t do that.” The sound of metal scraping turns my neck to the threat.
Titus moves, sword in hand. Tenderly, he slips it under a vine next to my ankle and jerks up; the vine gives way, the dark brown green of it snapping open to reveal a lime green center.
“Why are you helping me?”
“It’s the right thing to do.”
“And if Galen ordered you to kill me, would you do that too?”
His blade freezes, caught between freeing itself from the greenery or keeping me trapped. “What do you think?”
I roll my lips. “I don’t know,” I admit. You confuse me.
I choke. Titus jostles the knife, slicing through the vine.
My raging heart skips a beat. Words turn to pebbles, weighing down my tongue.
He glides his fingers along my ankle. The rawness of the vine left its mark. Rage paints his face into a mask, a seasoned one would waver to fight.
Instead of removing his hand, he slides his fingers under my ankle and gently rubs a soothing touch to it. The sting from the vine dulls.
What is he doing?
Why am I not stopping it?
“Why do I get the feeling you are full of games and lies?” I mutter.
His touch is a tight line that is severed. He glares at his hand with a traitorous accusation.
He begins to cut my other ankle free. “I could say the same, Queen Selene.” He turns and looks at me. The gleam is back in his eyes.
What secret are you hiding from me? I see it on your tongue, begging to be set free.
Titus’s confidence falters. “I mean no disrespect, but I could say the same about your brother.”
My blood runs cold. What does that mean?
“How dare you act like you knew my brother, beyond clashing blades with him!”
Titus’s next inhale is so deep, it steals all the oxygen in the room. “I didn’t.” He replies. Our eyes connect, slowly, like a moon being pushed down, unwillingly, by the fiery sun. “But Everett knew me.” His brow lifts.
Is he questioning me?
Certainly, he is. That’s why he’s watching as my chest rises and falls. Studying my pupils dilate—as if he can catch me in a lie!
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I spit.
His sigh is full of despair. Disappointment breaks our glare. He continues to carefully cut the vines away from my legs. His hands glide to my hips, removing the last of Galen’s green chains. The thick skin on his knuckles and the calluses on his palms are evident.
I compare his touch to Galen’s.
You should mistrust a king with smooth hands. The ruler should fight beside his soldiers, knowing the cost of their suffering.
I feel… so dirty. I liked Galen’s smooth hands because they felt like velvet against my body.
It was all a lie. Snakes are smooth. They need to slip in, strike, and then slither away.
How many deaths shaped those hands, Titus?
How many have you saved?
Warriors did both, didn’t they? Killed an enemy. Saved a crown. A crown makes a king, but it embodies the kingdom, those who cannot fight and need others to save them.
Soldiers resemble clouds. They evoke a sense of security, but they also harbor lightning. They shade us, but blind us. Some are thunderous; others feather apart until they dissolve. They’re a contradiction; they kill so we can live.
Titus continues to perplex me. He moves his sword with such talent and gentleness, it feels like a breeze wiping away the sweat from my brow.
My vision blurs. “Was it quick like some of the tavern songs suggest, or did you really carve out my brother’s heart and hold it as it still beat?”
His knife slips for the first time, cutting my hip. “Fuck! I’m sorry!” His face pales with panic over the tiny cut.
Rapidly, I blink away the emotions and put my mask back on. “It’s hard to believe you killed my brother. I think you’d cry over killing a bird,” I retort. “It’s merely a cut. Galen’s thorns cut me deeper last night.”
“I do cry over the death of innocents,” he spits. “Maybe you should step out of the castle walls and witness it yourself, Queen Selene, or does the shadow from your fine-tipped fae ears stop you from seeing how people suffer?”
Deep, long breaths. That’s all it takes for Titus to realize I could have his tongue for his insults.
His sword shakes in his hands; then he grabs the back of his neck. Sweat beads on his brow like morning dew.
What is wrong with him?
He drops the sword on my bed, steps back, and rubs his eyes. “I can’t… you can. For him, you will,” he whispers to himself. He hugs his hands to his chest, like they're a weapon.
My fingers claw the sheets. I try to drag the blade closer to me, but shit! It’s too far to grasp.
“Are you ill from the effects of war? Do you have voices in your head?” I soften my tone.
He shakes his hands out. I expect to see his fire magic. All I see in his eyes is fear, as though something beyond his control is emerging from his fingertips. He scans the room as if he senses something I don’t.
I’ve seen soldiers afflicted with this madness. If I can’t talk him out of his visions, he might truly see me as the enemy.
If Galen cared, he wouldn’t celebrate his men’s return with a feast; he’d offer them compassionate ears and helpful hands.
He’d offer them a place to dream. Being wild and angry is sometimes necessary; other times, we need a blank wall, a plain mattress, and a thick blanket.
We need something rather than ignorance.
Sometimes, I feel like we lose more soldiers from the madness after the war than from the battle itself.
“You’re not on the battlefield,” I declare.
Why did I ask him about my brother? It triggered him. “You are here in my room. Observe your surroundings. You’re not there, Titus. Titus, are you listening to me? Breathe in. That’s it. Notice the scent. You’re here, not there.”
His chest sinks. “I know where I am.” Violent eyes pin me down.
“I wish I weren’t here… I… fuck it.” He comes closer and glares at me with a rage far greater than Galen has ever possessed.
“I wish it were me! I didn’t lie when I told you killing Everett was an accident. It was! And I wish he had killed me!”
My heart skips a beat. I lose another tear.
“It was a reaction! No, I didn’t carve out his heart; how dare you compare me to a beast of the night!
I’m a soldier; I did as I was ordered, but I still feel and react.
” He pounds his chest as if his heart had died the day my brother did.
He’s desperate to revive it. “I’d do anything to turn back time. ”
His lungs heave with an untold pain that has my ribs clenching.
“Time, Queen Selene.” He grabs his sword, no longer moving gently, as he hacks away the vines holding me down. One by one, he slices and tosses them away in a fit of rage.
I’m free, but I’m too bewildered to move.
Titus moves around my room, grabbing vines and pouring his fire magic into them. The stone walls only allow the fire to spread so far.
He’s… so broken; filled with agony that, I dare say, matches mine.
Stomp! Stomp! Someone’s coming.
Titus and I look towards my door. His temper fizzles out. He sweeps his hand, extinguishing the flames, leaving charred vines scattered across my floor.
As the footsteps grow closer, Titus’s eyes widen with sheer panic. “Not now,” he growls at his hands, scolding them, like a father would punish a toddler.
Pressing my palms into my mattress, I push up with caution. Ugh. My spine aches in places I didn’t know could hurt.
I know who is coming. Unlike Titus, she would have slain me in my bed when she had the chance.
“You bitch!”