43. Astraea
Chapter forty-three
Astraea
Kyros becomes as rigid as one of the stone pillars lining the lavish room.
Every eye that had been on us now veers to the woman who strides through the throne room doors.
Her gold hair is twisted up in intricate braids, much like the style my father always preferred mine to be.
Tight and merciless. But it’s her excessively extravagant dress that marks her for what she wants the kingdom to see her as.
A bold and relentless Queen, just as relentless as the dark of night.
She enters with her chin held high, a glittering, royal blue and sheer lace bodice with matching skirts that cling to her skin and ripple with her every movement; the night sky draped along her curvy frame like a churning storm.
The gown sweeps out along the floor behind her in a long translucent train, and a matching dark velvet cloak now lies limply across the arms of the commander Nolan.
While her face brandishes a smile, she is clearly without amusement as she slowly begins to clap.
Her ringed hands rhythmically and sarcastically slam together, and the metal on her fingers chimes like symbols with every slap of her palms. Each step she takes toward our table parts the sea of people we’ve gathered in the throne room that is her stage.
People begin to gasp, and the room erupts into a buzzing of whispers as the sudden revelation of the woman’s identity becomes apparent, and I too instantly recognize her.
Those twisted scars on one side of her face are clearly visible, and the beauty she radiates is deceiving.
Phaedra.
“Oh, please, do continue—it was becoming so interesting.” Her lip curls up as she addresses me with derision dripping from every word.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cole’s face pull into a grimace as she eyes the false queen with malice, and Kyros somehow stands even taller than usual as Phaedra approaches.
I can feel the stiffness of the way he pulls his shoulders back, and every muscle coils—like a snake poised to strike—ready for whatever threat she may throw our way.
But he’s not the only one; I stand taller too.
“This is what we wanted.” Kyros says under his breath.
I’m not as defenseless as I was the last time we met.
My magick thrums in my veins and along my back, reinforcing the thought.
I am less shocked by things that seem impossible, having been able to experience the world outside of the palace grounds for the first time in my life.
And for once I am in on the plan Kyros has crafted.
Even if the plan is not entirely thought out, it’s better than being completely unprepared, like when we were attacked in the dunes. This is at least halfway on our terms.
Across the room, I spot Viltarin slowly ushering Cole toward the doors, his hand ready to pull the sword at his hip.
I also catch the slight shake of Kyros’ head, subtle though it is, as his friend makes eye contact with him.
The command to stand down is silent, but the order is followed nonetheless.
Viltarin slows his advance, instead standing ready to fight if the need arises, and judging by the guards that begin filing in after Phaedra, it may be a real possibility that it may come to that.
Colette is just as determined. I’ve never been more grateful for the magick I feel thrumming through my veins and the humming metal strapped to my waist. Grateful that my best friend has had some sort of training in combat and is more likely to keep herself alive if it comes to a fight.
“After everything I’ve offered you? You choose this sniveling brat?
” Phaedra snarls, eyes almost mirroring the darkness of Kyros as she addresses him next.
Kyros leans forward, and the whole room flinches as he slams both of his fists down hard on the table.
All of the glassware and plates of food jump from the impact.
The sound crashes into her last word, and his reverberating growl bleeds into his next.
“Speak to me how you will, but you will not talk of her like that.” He seethes, chest heaving, but he stays bent over the table, arms extended and knuckles white.
I can see the tension building in his muscles, the way his hands are hard-pressed into the wood, ready to lunge over the offending oak like an animal stalking prey.
I press my hand to the center of his back.
The moment I do, I feel that familiar heat rippling through my chest and wrapping me in its warmth.
His head turns, dipping his chin toward his shoulder as he closes his eyes in a slow blink. It’s an acknowledgment. Graditude.
My eyes flick up to meet Phaedra’s; the deep blue is depthless as they meet mine.
However, it’s not until they glide down my arm toward the connection of my hand on Kyros’ back that true emotion crosses over her face.
For the first time, the curtain of beauty is lifted as pure and ugly jealousy rots in the darkness of her blown out pupils.
“Considering this is my kingdom—I believe what Kyros is trying to say is—” I look her dead in the eyes, showing no emotion but the seething wrath I feel rising in my chest. I mirror the darkness she has chosen to fill the world with.
This woman stole everything from me, and for whatever reason, left me in the hands of a man like Connard to raise.
Killed my mother. I was a child; her fucking niece.
My teeth grind as the next words come from a place buried deep within my soul.
A dark place in my chest I never knew existed before today.
“You will speak to your Queen with respect, or you will lose your ability to speak at all.” The threat comes out of me slow and menacing and my shadows vibrate along my spine with every word.
A scraping sound like that of metal along stone suddenly tears at my eardrums, piercing and painful.
Everyone in the crowd quickly covers their ears with their hands, eyes scrunching up in pain as the noise assaults the room and halts any hushed conversation remaining.
As much as my ears feel as though they might bleed at any moment, the familiar lasso of heat coiling around my center steals my attention.
I catch the corner of Phaedra’s mouth tilting up at the corner as she watches my reaction.
She too clearly knows what is to come. Before I see him come into view, I can hear her give a shrieking laugh, and the realization hits me hard.
I blink once, as my eyes train on Phaedra, where she tilts her head back in a cackling fit.
Her laughter slams into me like a punch in the gut.
It’s one I’ve heard so many times, but never once knew who it belonged to.
The horrifying realization makes the shadows at my back vibrate with a need to be released.
I assumed that the nightmare creature was the cause of the horrors that plagued me for years, but that laugh…
It was always present. It solidifies what I now know is fact: Phaedra is at the core of everything horrible that I and everyone else have had to endure since she was crowned Queen of a kingdom that was never meant to be hers. It turns my blood molten in my veins.
Snakes of shadow twine around my arms, reaching over my shoulders and slide down my skin like veins of black, but they don’t attack.
Just as I am about to put an end to her madness, she snaps her fingers, and a figure steps from the shadows, followed closely by the leering darkness that has plagued my sleep for over a decade.
I know now what lurks beyond those shadows.
My eyes drag over the scene playing out in front of me in slow motion.
The moment those ice-blue eyes lift from where he watches his feet move into the room, I see the guarded expression within them as his gaze meets mine.
It’s a brief connection, though, as Kyros finally stands upright, his hands sliding from the wood and falling to his sides in disbelief.
His expression asking every question that screams through the heads of everyone in this room.
But all I can think is: Our plan is fucked.
“Mavros?” Consternation bleeds into Kyros’ voice as he takes a side step to move around the table, but I grab at the hook of his arm. His eyes cut to me with anger brimming in them. I don’t blame him. I see what he sees, but there has to be an explanation. There has to be.
“Brother.” Mavros replies, coldly. Nothing about Mavros feels right.
His warm radiance and confidence are replaced with an icy chill and malevolence.
I thought perhaps he was a prisoner, but confusion slams into me as I see no visible chains keeping Mavros where he strides into the room and at Phaedra’s side.
“What have you done?” Kyros growls, not at his brother, but at Phaedra.
The magick along his arms vibrating with each frantic pump of his blood.
I feel his pulse hammering beneath his skin where I still have his arm.
I feel the power gathering within him; it stokes the flame we share, and my own magick stirs in response.
Like the coming of a storm, the whole room aches with the pressure of what is to come.
“Oh, I sense some pain in this brotherly betrayal.” Phaedra laughs again.
She smiles wickedly as she runs a painted nail down the exposed skin of Mavros’ arm.
Mavros’ muscles tense with the drag of it, and he takes a deep breath as he endures the torture of her touch.
“What have you done, my radiant one?” She mocks.