CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR #2
Carefully, I reached deep into the vase, pushing through the scraps of ripped parchment, the discarded art of Alyra, and pulled out my mother’s locket.
I ran my fingers reverently over the finely detailed eagle wings, tracing the shapes of the sun and moon etched into the gold.
With a flick of the clasp, I unlocked it and stared at my mother’s art of Orsete—her wings of fire, the wisdom and intuition that pierced through her eyes.
Give me strength, help me get through this. Brennan’s green eyes flashed in my mind, and I closed mine, willing away the image, willing away the twinge of pain it brought.
My throat tight, I closed the locket and tucked it back into its hiding place, shifting the vase back out of sight into its corner.
And through shallow, exhausted breaths, I approached the door and threw it open.
A sour-faced Abigail, angry and bitter, stared back at me. My body wobbled as I walked back into my room. I was growing even more tired with every step.
And all at once, the Azete stirred, uncoiling in my belly, rising to wrap around my heart. It knew what I needed, what it wanted. And there was someone right there, someone who could offer a meal.
Abigail was terribly annoyed that I’d yelled at her for doing her job. And she wasn’t even attempting to hide the incredibly bitter feelings she felt toward me.
Perhaps I just needed to annoy her a little more. Bring her bitterness to the next level, raise her nerves until there was a stream connecting us, and lifeforce for me to devour …
I glared. “Have you not been trained to wait for a princess to grant permission before entering a room?” I asked, satisfied that I was once more speaking fully in Olivay’s voice. “Have you never once learned the meaning of patience?”
“Your Highness.” She bit her lip. “I have, yes. I mean, I’m sorry.”
“You should be,” I snapped. “I understand the King has a schedule to keep. But I am to be his daughter, and one day, queen. I cannot be rushed from my bed on the demands of a servant. If the King wishes me to hurry, he will send word himself. Do you understand?”
A trickle of her bitterness and anger emerged from her body, like a cloud of dust, and then ever so slowly it began to stream toward me, until the sensation of it went taut.
I had my claws in her. The Azete swallowed, gulping down hours, then days of her lifeforce.
It was hungry and greedy—nearly starving.
My dizziness subsided. I no longer felt as if I might fall over if I didn’t take a seat.
But despite what I was taking from Abigail, it wasn’t enough, not even close to what I needed.
I’d survived my years at Geoffrey’s by feeding on men’s lust. But back then I could command the attention of an entire room.
Draw upon the lust and desires and dreams of dozens of men at once.
I hadn’t realized until now just how much I was able to take in that way.
And the difference between that and the feedings I was managing as Olivay was like night and day.
I needed the real thing. I needed to seduce someone. I needed physical contact. Skin to skin.
“Abigail, do you understand me?” I asked again, raising my voice, desperate to eke out just a little more, something to tide me over.
“I do. I’m sorry, and I apologize for any offense.” Abigail curtsied low. “I should have been patient and remembered my training as a lady-in-waiting, even with the King’s orders. It won’t happen again. May I start your bath?”
“Go,” I commanded. “Now.”
Alittle while later I was bathed, dressed in my gown, and my trunk packed for days.
We were setting out for a tour of Eskalon, a parade that would have us wrapping around the city.
We were to stay at the king’s private house in the city, a sprawling estate that remained empty save for those who maintained the house.
And then it was full of activity a handful of times a year when he wanted to be seen by his people.
I remembered seeing the pomp and circumstance of his arrival from Geoffrey’s and feeding particularly viciously those nights, hoping it was his men I preyed upon.
After that, we would parade again and then head out to the wilds, toward the border leading to the Dark Woods for the hunt.
There we would stay at King Tirian’s hunting lodge.
Half of the party, myself included, would be staying inside the lodge’s rooms. The other half, including Brennan, Kienan, Rowan, and Jaron, along with any other knights in attendance, would be camping on the grounds and hunting wild boar during the day.
All for some ridiculous Eskalonian tradition that was no doubt steeped in some ancient idea of manliness that no woman actually gave a shit about.
Other than the few moments I was going to spend with Brennan, I wasn’t looking forward to any of it.
I took one final look in the mirror, assuring everything was in place, including a golden bracelet and a set of earrings I’d tucked under my sleeve for fucking Geoffrey.
The vase with my mother’s necklace and the pieces of parchment with Alyra’s image on them were hidden inside a small bag I’d tucked into my pocket.
I couldn’t risk anyone finding those. Then I stepped into the hall.
I was greeted by King Dairen and Queen Noemay as usual.
Lord Brandon arrived soon after, looking as if he’d just come from a noble’s bed.
To my horror, Queen Noemay was feeling emotional toward her daughter again and pulled me into a tight hug.
“You looked so beautiful last night,” she said. “I didn’t get to tell you. And you’re dancing. You were stunning.” She rubbed my back. “I’ve never seen you move like that before, my love.”
I stiffened, my pulse racing.
Olivay wasn’t a dancer. Not like I was. She danced.
She was trained in the steps of every courtly song performed at these events, but Gods if I knew how she moved through each piece of choreography, or if anyone had ever noted such a thing.
The Hermit certainly hadn’t—I’d asked. But her parents had.
I’d tried to dance as uniformly as possible the last few nights, keeping to the official choreographies, avoiding moving freely or spontaneously.
Something Jaron had noted more than once.
Last night, he’d told me I seemed stiff and asked what had happened to me. I ignored him, grabbing Kienan’s hands, and dancing with him until the song ended. But Jaron’s eyes remained on me the rest of the night.
Slowly, I pulled back from Noemay, unable to look away as her eyes searched mine. She smiled as King Dairen watched me, his face filling with nearly as much warmth in his expression as his wife’s.
“You know,” the queen said quietly, “I shared my concerns with you when we arrived.”
My throat went dry. “Concerns?” I glanced at the Hermit–I had no idea what conversation she was referring to.
“About whether we were doing the right thing,” she continued. “About arranging this treaty, this marriage with Eskalon, instead of keeping you safe in Spartva.”
I frowned, unsure of where she was going.
The King’s eyebrows furrowed.
“But over the last week,” she said, “I see now that something’s different about you. You’ve changed into a brand-new person.”
Brand-new person?
What the fuck was I supposed to do or say?
Why wasn’t Lord Fucking Brandon causing a distraction, or hacking up his lungs to force a change in conversation?
I managed to turn my head just enough to catch him again in my peripheral vision and discovered he was laughing.
The Godsdamned bastard was laughing instead of helping me.
The next thing I knew, the King’s eyebrows unfurrowed as he began to laugh. “I knew I was right,” he said. “Look how she blushes. How defensive she looks. Our little girl is in love.”
“What?” I blurted out.
“The way you danced with the prince these last few nights,” he grinned. “The way you looked into his eyes. You never did that before. It takes someone who’s been in love,” he winked, “to see it in another.”
Before I could register his words, Olivay’s mother wrapped me in her arms again, and this time, pure motherly love and care began to flow freely from her, directly from her heart into mine. Just like my mother’s love used to.
My chest tightened, sweat beading at the nape of my neck as the Azete stirred, fully awake, and ready to feed. To devour.
I was so close to empty, and the thing inside of me knew it. Before my mind had any chance of catching up to the instinct inside me, I was gripping her in return, holding onto her like a child. Like I needed my mother.
I did need my mother.
But that wasn’t what was happening.
This wasn’t a daughter’s hold. It was vice-like. It was that of a predator who caught its prey.
The exhaustion I felt all morning began to fade, and a feeling of strength and fresh energy burst inside of me. I stood up straighter, the dizziness finally washing away.
“My daughter,” she whispered in my ear. Her voice shook. “My beautiful daughter.”
“Mom,” I said, my voice raspy. The voice of the Azete feeding.
Then, and only then, the Hermit coughed. Loudly.
“As beautiful as this display is,” he said, inching toward us, “and as much as I love the topic of love, we are on a very tight schedule this morning. The streets of Eskalon in demand of a parade will wait for no prince.”
King Dairen harumphed. “No. But King Tirian may discover for once that waiting, on occasion, helps to build one’s royal qualities.”
“Only a king would know. Your Majesty, has waiting ever improved upon your qualities?” Lord Brandon asked.
“Well, no,” King Dairen admitted. “But,” he said with a wink, “The realm knows I already have so many.”
Everyone in the hall burst into laughter.
“Come,” Lord Brandon said. He took Queen Noemay’s hand, placing it over his arm. “Let me escort the beautiful Queen of Spartva to breakfast, and King Dairen, you shall escort the beautiful princess, lest the hearts in her eyes cause her to stumble.”