The King’s List (The Never List #2)

Chapter 1

Jax

“There are several critical arteries in the body . . .” My voice is low, rough, scraped raw.

I spin the knife in my hand, the blade winking in the silver moonlight streaming in through the narrow window near the ceiling of the storeroom.

“But the two femoral are my favorites.” I lean down, hovering the blade right over said artery.

No longer straining against the ropes binding him to a chair, the steward lets out a whimper. “I told you,” he says through his tears. “I didn’t touch it. I swear on the goddesses above, your highness, I didn’t touch it.”

He’s trembling with fear. Not that it has anything to do with my power. I have none.

That vacant spot inside me practically weeps at the loss of something I’ve possessed my entire life. It feels like one of my limbs has ceased functioning. I keep reaching for the phantom power, but more than anything, the emptiness inside me comes from grief.

Rylee. My mate.

I swipe down with my blade, just enough to cut through his cotton pants and nick his skin.

“I swear!” he yelps, eyes widening as he looks down at the shallow cut.

He’s lucky that’s all it is with what I suspect. I’m desperate for answers. For someone to blame. To punish. Someone other than myself.

“You had access to the Choosing elixir that poisoned her,” I snap, smacking him with the back of my hand hard enough to knock the blubbering out of him. “You were charged with caring for the room it was kept in.”

“I didn’t touch it!” he fires back, pain making him bold with his tone.

I smile. Slow. Deadly.

He goes pale.

“Your highness,” he says, tone adjusted. “I would never touch the elixir. What need would I have to harm any potential—”

“My mate,” I cut him off. “She’s my mate.”

“I celebrate your mate. I want nothing but to serve the kings and princes of Lumathyst,” he says, chest heaving. “I pledged my life into service years ago, knowing the Legends would one day ascend the thrones and I would be serving you. I would never do anything to interrupt that progress.”

I draw away from him in an instant. I spin around, running my free hand through my hair as I try to catch my breath.

Without my power, I can’t be certain he’s not lying, but . . .

I know he’s telling the truth. Call it a side effect of watching people lie all my life, but, even without my power, I know when someone is being honest.

Fuck.

Despair is a living, breathing thing beneath my skin.

I crane my neck, looking down at him over my shoulder, and take one last shot. “Did you see anyone near it? Were you approached with inquiries regarding it? Were you asked to poison it?” The questions spill out of me at a rapid pace.

Someone tampered with the elixir crafted to send Rylee to meet the goddesses. The key to her becoming immortal.

Someone tried to kill her before she had the chance.

And I will fucking find out who.

Anger erupts inside me, hot as flames, whispering, begging me to burn everything around me to ash.

“No, your highness,” the man says. “Why would anyone ask me to do that?”

I turn around again, studying him.

Why indeed?

As much as I want to blame my ruthless prick of a father, King Baydel, for my mate’s death, I don’t think I can.

My fellow Legends and I went around in circles about it for days.

The motivation behind the attack doesn’t make sense.

Sure, Baydel may sense that something’s off about Rylee—just like Pierce’s father did—and not want her as queen of Lumathyst, but he’d gain nothing from killing her.

He only makes moves if he has something to gain.

I haven’t eliminated the possibility that he’s somehow involved, but without our powers, it’s not like the other princes and I can interrogate him. And if he didn’t do it . . .

That means someone else wanted her dead.

Everything went wrong in the Athanry, the last phase of the Choosing ceremony.

Instead of Rylee gaining immortality, we lost her.

I felt her death. Our bond severed like a sword shoved through my heart.

A pain I can’t soothe—not when my mate lies in a bed in the palace, yet to wake up.

We sacrificed our powers, giving them to her in order to bring her back, but maybe they were too much for her to handle.

Maybe they’re the very thing keeping her from waking.

Her voice echoes in the hollow pieces of my soul. I still choose you . . .

I rub my aching chest. I can’t go back. I can’t sit in my room in the royal palace anymore. Can’t watch Rylee sleep for one more second. Not when we need answers.

I return my attention to the steward. “Did anyone else have access to the room?”

“A handful of people, your highness,” he answers. “The kings, you and the other princes, myself, your mate’s handmaiden, and the kings’ personal Occuli.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

Too many people had access to a room that should’ve been sealed.

Why the fuck did the kings allow for such exposure?

I rub my palm over my face.

“Go over it again,” I say, waving my hand at him in a circular motion. “Your duties.”

He wets his lips but nods, pride overtaking the fear in his eyes.

“Daily cleanings of the room, your highness. Each morning, the enforcer on guard would allow me entry. I’d go in and clean the space, taking great care with each artifact in the room.

The kings . . . they’re adamant I never disturb the treasures, merely keep them clean.

One speck of dust would be an insult to the goddesses who entrusted the items to their care. ”

I close my eyes, trying to breathe around the ache in my chest. I can see the artifact chamber as clearly as I can see him. A room in the palace under constant guard, filled with everything our goddess mothers left behind.

Not just the Choosing elixir for the Athanry, but other treasures—a crown with the finest jewels in Lumathyst, representing each of our cities, for our queen to commemorate achieving immortality. I blink hard, pushing away the image of Rylee unconscious in her bed, far from immortal.

The room also contains tonics and parchments and a few well-loved teacups.

I used to visit the room often as a child, right after my mother chose to go to sleep and act as a ward to protect Lumathyst. I’d sit next to the knife she’d left behind, admiring it, feeling closer to her—as if she’d left a piece of herself in the blade.

Once I got old enough to wield the thing, I stole it from the room.

My father, Baydel, punished me for it. Demanded I cut myself with it. But no matter how many cuts he forced me to make, I never let go of that knife.

He gave up, eventually.

I’ve never gone a day without the blade since.

The same one Rylee so boldly plucked from my harness weeks ago on Axl’s boat. The same one I hold now.

Longing streaks through me, tightening my airways.

The steward takes a shuddering breath, head down. He’s completely defeated. And so am I. I slip my knife back into the holster at my chest.

What I hoped would be a valid reason for leaving Rylee’s bedside has only left me with more unanswered questions. The kings were careless in their limited protection of the elixirs, but could a Fader have possibly slipped by every palace guard and magical ward? Or was it someone on the inside?

Too many possibilities.

And none of them help me with my greatest problem.

My mate still sleeps and shows no signs of waking up.

I’m afraid of who I’ll become if she doesn’t return.