Chapter 35
Chapter
Thirty-Five
Selene
Aheavy scent of roses engulfs my senses as we enter my tower in the castle. “I think you’re losing your touch, Galen. These roses have an old lady smell about them,” I jab.
No reply. That’s unlike Galen. What’s he plotting now? To cage me in my room?
Two of his guards follow us; the rest remain stationed like dolls outside. I’m still holding my breath from when I pleaded with Titus to stand down.
His enraged eyes were directed at me, not just Galen. The clench of his jaw told me that letting me leave with Galen had broken something in his mind. It damaged his confidence. He took it as rejection, my lack of faith that he could not win me in battle.
My footsteps drag. The hallway stretches long and endless, like the wars we continue to wage against one another. “When will it stop, Galen?” I blurt out. I lean against the wall to catch my breath.
Galen turns like a tide, his robes sweeping around him in a measured grace. “What?” he replies. His gaze narrows, spotting all the dirt and stains on my clothes. He lingers on the dirt under my fingernails. “You need rest,” he mutters to himself.
I sink into the wall, allowing my cheek to press into the cold, polished stone.
I raise my chin higher. I’ll never bow to you again, Galen.
“War.” I stagger as I push off the wall.
He knows I’ll never back down; no state of exhaustion will stop me from throwing a dagger his way. “When will you have enough?”
His gaze stretches for as long as the sun rises and sets before he replies, “War is the purpose of life.” His turn is a sword’s edge—sharp, deadly. He’ll never stop.
I shake my head, “It is the antithesis. All the wars you have fought have been to claim everything.” I sway forward, taking a step to balance myself. “The enemy you battle now doesn’t care about crowns and castles. Sable fights to end it all. And she will.”
His heel digs into the floor, practically burning a hole in the carpet runner. His lack of reply shows his regret in allowing her to return home. We soon reach the staircase. The view of his kingdom forces his eyes to gaze out of the window. The smoothness of his brow crinkles like balled-up paper.
He barks to one of the guards, “Tell Adrian to call in the reserves. I want everyone who can hold a sword here.” His hand searches for the sword on his belt, as a child holds a teddy bear.
“That won’t save you,” I mutter. The hilt is so shiny it would slip from Galen's hand in battle.
He nods to himself as his lips pinch into a smirk before he ascends the staircase.
It’s time to push him over the edge. Make the self-doubts whispering in his mind scream so loud he can’t think clearly. I need you weak so I can kill you.
“I can hold a sword,” I mock.
“I’d much rather you held something else.”
The gap between us shrinks. “Your heart in my hands?” I snicker. My breath tickles his neck.
That neck is going to be so relieved once your head is freed from it.
I continue, “I know you’re not referring to your manhood, or lack thereof.
” I turn my head and shout to Jonas, Galen’s trusted bodyguard.
He’s been a loyal dog whose beady eyes are always watching me.
Galen has seen it, but does nothing. Galen likes it when other men drool over me.
It makes him think I’m a bigger trophy than I am.
“By all means,” I halt. “Drop your trousers and hand me a knife. Consider it a two-for-one special; you get to witness my sword skills and see your cock in my hands again.”
Galen angles his head; the light from one of the stained-glass windows glints off his crown, casting small rainbows all over the path.
“Oh, Selene,” he shakes his head slowly, but underneath his banter is genuine fear.
My comments about how foolish he was to trust Sable have sunk deep, piled with the rumors of the blood being poisoned.
“Is that gray hair?” I nudge my eyes to his treasured mane. ‘Bad hair day’ has never left his lips. “I see your fingers itching to pluck it out.”
“You’ll pay for this.”
"Me?" I raise my bound wrist to my heart, feigning innocence.
"A queen doesn’t pay, Galen, her king does.
Or have you lost all chivalry?" I laugh in his face.
"You need to choose your queen: the ornament who lets her husband fix her mistakes, or the fighter who points out his faults so he can fix them.
Tick tock, Galen. Sable approaches with the army you gave her. "
“You will pay,” he repeats, voice dragging low and dark, thick with threat. Is that meant to scare me? My heart hammers, but I refuse to let him see it.
“Don’t you mean Sable? You’ve been fucking her for so long, don’t tell me you can’t tell us apart by now.
I’ll give you a clue; all those times she seduced you were because she was plotting to steal your kingdom, and all the times I seduced you were simply to make you shut up so I could sleep soundly. ”
“Keep lying to yourself. You wanted me.”
“Let me embody an echo.” I clear my throat. “Keep lying to yourself. You. Wanted. Me. Galen.”
Oh, yes. I won this round.
I need to make him feel less and less, to question every turn in this castle. The news of his paranoia and madness will reach the inner gates by nightfall.
Now it’s time to make Jonas start to doubt Galen’s control over his kingdom.
Turning, I say, “How do you feel, Jonas? Stomach aching from the poisoned blood? It will start soon.”
His worry is a worm that digs lines into his forehead. “You’ve been guarded. It wasn’t you. It…” His eyes glance at Galen. “It was the twin, wasn’t it? Sable poisoned us, then left. She planned this.”
It’s an assumption that works in my favor.
I sell the fear, knowing it will keep Titus’s true reason for spitting the blood out secret. “I warned Galen that Sable was conniving. But he was too busy fucking her to listen to me.”
Galen’s eyes sharpen like fangs ready to tear into my neck.
I continue, “Your king traded your lives for sex. He let a snake in. She poisoned you all, and then he allowed her to slither away.” I twist my wrist, still bound by his vines. I refuse to let him see my irritation, so I’ve been wearing it like bracelets.
“It was a failed attempt.” Galen’s reply is water on fire. He thinks it quells Jonas’s fears, but smoke has a strong scent. It will spread to every nook and cranny of the kingdom.
Galen’s hand drifts up like a kite searching for a cloud, only he seeks the comfort of his crown.
“Jonas,” he barks, “I want a feast planned for tonight. I want them all to see I am not scared of idle threats.”
“Did you hear that, Jonas? The poisoning of his men is idle. My father would have considered it a personal attack,” I taunt.
The space between Galen and me vanishes. He grazes his lips over mine, allowing the tip of his fang to touch my skin. “Careful, dearest wife. In times of war, morals grow thin. If I have to sew your mouth shut, I will.” He attempts to kiss me, but I jerk back.
“You forget how razor-edged my tongue is.” I trace my tongue across my bottom lip. “Stitch me shut. I. Dare. You.”
His throat bobs as he gulps. The tension in the air is so thick I forgo inhaling and continue till the last drop of air has fled from my lungs.
“I shall free myself,” I continue. “Cut free everything you have done. Then what will you do? I’ll tell you,” I lift my chin higher. “You will stand in a corner with nothing but a needle and no more thread as a pair of sharp scissors comes for you.”
My gaze drops to his hands. I shake my head in disappointment. “You forget your hands are those of a child; children shouldn't play with scissors, Galen,” I mock. “Did mommy and daddy dearest never tell you that? One might think they wanted you to get hurt.”
He pushes back without replying, turning like a door on oiled hinges, then climbs the stairs.
“Your Majesty, if I may,” Jonas interrupts the silence of our climb, “word has spread to the nobles about the poison. A feast might not be wise.” He states once we reach the third-floor landing.
I spot my door, and the ache in my feet internally screams for my bed.
The rhythm of Galen’s footsteps turns into a sharp violin. He reaches for his crown, then turns. Darkness flies past my face. I gasp, jerking back just in time to avoid being caught in the crosshairs. Galen’s vines fly forward, grabbing Jonas as a gardener does a weed.
“You forget, Jonas, that you do not deserve an opinion.” The vines grow, wrapping, binding, and squeezing until Jonas can’t help but yelp in agony.
I twist the vines binding my wrist; each twist is a protest from my throbbing bones. I lean into the pain, using it as fuel until my binds snap free.
Air rushes between my lips when I peer at Galen. A thick vine curls around Jonas’s neck, digging into his skin so tight I can see his pulse throbbing, beating against it. That’s when Jonas and I realize Galen isn’t stopping.
Killing his most trusted guard works in my favor. I won’t have to sell Galen’s madness; he’s doing it himself.
Jonas’s magic erupts in an angry explosion of wind. The floor rushes to meet me; a sharp bang sinks into my skull from the impact. Any stars I would have seen are blown away as Jonas continues to fight.
Howling cries echo through the hall as his wind finds no escape, so it swirls in circular currents, churning my balance into tidal waves I can’t stand against. A burning sensation spreads over any exposed skin. I curl into myself until I can see a break to fight.
Clatter! Metal hits stones. The winds stop.
Galen’s crown, his most prized possession, falls to the ground.
A small symbol of how easily a king can be pushed over.
Roar!
Jonas uses our shock as his opening. The impact sends me rolling down the hall like an apple along a table. Galen remains connected to Jonas by the thick vines. His grunts reach my ears, but he holds firm to his magic like reins of a horse.