Chapter 21
Pierce
Damn.
I knew the stipulations stated the Royal Authority Council would suggest certain tasks for the Kings’ List, but seeing it in real time is the ultimate test to my patience.
Margreet may look kind enough, sitting next to her parents with a soft smile, her hands folded demurely before her, but underneath that facade is a vicious mind and twisted soul.
Regret rakes along my brain. She was my choice four years ago.
She’d been lovely at the Choosing—there hadn’t been that instant connection I felt with Rylee, but Margreet knew what she was doing.
She engaged in conversation that piqued my curiosity and seemed genuinely interested in the four of us, so I selected her number.
I knew she wasn’t the one before I even went into her mind.
When I did, it was by accident. A slip in my power as my nerves grew tense.
And in that brief slip, I saw an endless well of greed—a desire for more wealth, more power, more status.
That’s all she wanted. And that would be fair, I suppose, had she stated that up front.
She hadn’t.
And the more I got to know her, the more I couldn’t stand her.
She enjoys stepping on those she views beneath her, which to her is everyone.
Margreet is the type of woman who lives to bring others down—it inflates her ego, makes her feel big.
That would never sit right with me, and we did our best that first month to ensure, in the politest way possible, that she would not elect to continue in the Choosing process.
She couldn’t argue with our own vehement rejection and left after the first month, taking her earnings and newfound connections with her.
And now she’d suggested a test for my Rylee?
This wouldn’t end well, regardless of what the challenge held.
“Margreet Loredana,” Rylee says, giving the previous potential all her attention. “Lovely to officially meet you.”
Margreet’s thin lips curl. Her dark-blond hair is slicked back so tightly, it pulls at her skin, making her cheekbones look like they might burst through at the slightest smile. She narrows her brown eyes at Rylee, the look a mixture of intrigue and jealousy.
“I’ve been dying to meet you since the last Choosing,” Margreet replies, her tone sugary sweet. “And I’m honored the kings took my suggestion to heart, to ensure you truly deserve the crown.”
I cast my gaze down the table at my mate, silently supporting her, wishing I could slip into her mind. I can’t. She holds my power. I can feel it like a weight on the other end of our bond. Still, I send love down our connection, hoping she can feel it.
Rylee sits up a bit straighter, giving the kings a once-over before returning her full attention to Margreet. “I’m grateful the kings care so deeply about Lumathyst and wish to ensure it’s in good hands.”
Margreet tips her chin a bit.
“Your test?” Rylee asks, her tone soft, kind, no hint of the irritation that mine would surely hold if I spoke.
This is taxing, to say the least. Rylee endured the Athanry. The goddesses made her immortal. She is our Chosen. These tests are unnecessary.
I cut a cold glare at my father, silently demanding that we speak more on this matter privately. As it is, there’s nothing I can do to stop this now. Not with the vote being up to the kings and the Royal Authority Council combined.
“Should be simple for you, really,” Margreet says almost casually. “Important, though.”
Rylee raises her eyebrows.
“History is the best place for any future ruler to start,” Margreet says, glancing toward Baydel, almost like she’s seeking his approval. He gives a slight dip of his head that wouldn’t have been noticeable had I not been looking.
Interesting.
“History,” Rylee repeats, visibly swallowing.
Shit.
We haven’t had enough time to properly go over what she does and doesn’t know about Lumathyst, our allies, our enemies.
Ashlanders aren’t given the same education as higher-class citizens—something we will remedy immediately upon ascending the thrones.
If I had my power, I could feed her the answers.
I reach for it, desperate to take it back, but I hit the door Rylee’s constructed, not to keep me out, but to keep it from slipping out of her at the wrong time and overwhelming her. She’s so damn strong.
“Understanding the realm you’re trying to rule is vital,” Margreet continues. “And since you’re from one of the lower cities”—she scrunches her nose—“we’re left wondering how qualified you truly are to wear a crown.”
“Careful.” Jax’s voice is like sharp glass. He parts his lips, baring his teeth, about to say more when Rylee raises a hand in his direction, effectively stopping him.
“It’s all right, Jax,” she says.
It’s an effort not to move closer to her, to shield her from whatever will happen because she chided the Nightmare—old instincts die hard, even as I know Jax would never harm her.
“Margreet wants what’s best for Lumathyst,” Rylee says, flashing Jax an assuring look. She’s wonderful. After all she’s been through, she still has the fortitude to play this new game laid out for her. “It’s what we all want,” she continues, glancing at the kings.
Margreet nods. “Who is Lumathyst’s biggest trade resource?”
“Biggest?” Rylee tilts her head.
Margreet smirks, as if she’s won some battle. “Yes. You do understand what trade is, do you not?”
Fuck.
Jax pushes his chair back an inch like he might scoop Rylee up and take her out of such an unnecessary character assassination attempt. I shake my head, deterring the idea even though I’d be right behind him. Rylee doesn’t need us to fight her battles for her, no matter how much we want to.
Rylee’s grin is effortless. “I do,” she says. “For clarity, I’m inquiring about which trade you’re referring to? If it’s steel and wine and spirits, then Cardrayton would be the answer. If it’s agriculture products, like citrus, seeds, and grains, then it’s Vleyica.”
Margreet’s features shift to something more bitter.
“And if it’s for the minerals, jewels, and other properties the royal cities depend on, it’s the Ashlands. Minus what is carted in from other realms like Silvac,” she continues. “Though, I suppose you can’t call that trade, since the Ashlands aren’t given much in return.”
Margreet’s mouth pops open.
Baydel rests his hands on the table, locking in on Rylee so intensely, I’m terrified he’s about to snap her with his power.
When a few seconds of weighted silence go by without her flinching, I relax.
Margreet clears her throat. “And our relationship with Silvac?”
Rylee immediately looks to the Occuli at the end of their table.
Frenrick seems bored, and quite honestly, I can’t blame him.
This is ridiculous. Rylee knowing or not knowing our history will not dictate her ability to rule.
This information can and will come later.
Margreet wants to make her look ignorant in front of the RAC. Diabolical.
“Silvac and Lumathyst have a peace agreement,” Rylee answers, though the confidence in her tone wavers a bit.
We’ve only spoken about Silvac once, and that was after her first encounter with Dalfon.
There are a great many things we need to catch her up on where it comes to royal history, customs, allies, and more.
We thought we’d be able to in a more relaxed setting, not one riddled with trials and lists and prodding opposition at every turn.
“One that holds as long as no official missions from Lumathyst are launched in an attempt to steal from their Source.”
Fuck yes. Brilliant. She remembers the discussion with Dalfon where he told her about the magical element from his homeland.
Margreet flashes a worried look at Baydel, and I tilt my head. Shouldn’t she be seeking the approval of her duke father over Baydel, who is a stranger to her beyond his position as king?
Curious.
Kal breaks the silence. “Is this truly the test? Honestly, this is not indicative of her ability to rule.”
“She will continue,” Baydel says with a warning look. “If it’s such a ridiculous test, Kal, you should have no issue with your beloved completing it.”
A muscle in Kal’s jaw ticks, but Rylee lays her hand over his beneath the table in assurance. She dips her head toward Margreet to continue.
“And speaking on those missions,” Margreet says. “Can you tell me, on average, how many people make the Never List each year?”
Shit.
Rylee’s lips part, the slightest hesitation there.
Margreet’s smile twists in delight at Rylee’s pause. “Come now,” she says. “This should be an easy one. Knowing the number of traitors to the crowns among Lumathyst is incredibly important.” She shrugs. “Or would be, to someone who actually knows how to rule a kingdom.”
Rylee is silent.
“Well, for goddesses’ sake,” Margreet says, waving her hand toward Rylee. “Do say something.”
Rylee’s fists clench beneath the table. “Fifty?”
I close my eyes, my disappointment not in her guess but in Margreet and the kings’ tests. There was no reason for us to discuss anything like this beforehand. She’d have no way of knowing the number.
“Wrong.” Margreet shares another glance with Baydel before looking at Rylee with pure delight.
“Closer to five hundred,” she explains. “Growing marginally each year. I daresay the enforcers are getting better about spotting the traitors. Better for us, to ship them off in service of the kingdom rather than let them stay here and risk the kings.”
Rylee’s lips press into a firm line before she finally speaks. “I was unaware.”
“Obviously.” Margreet rolls her eyes. “You need to catch up.” She shakes her head. “One final question. Though after your last, I’m quite certain you won’t be able to manage it.”
Damn, this woman is sour. Foreboding gnaws at the back of my mind—it’s too quiet in here without my powers.
Margreet snaps her fingers, and a couple of enforcers cross the room like they’ve been instructed to do her bidding. She’s of nobility, but this is absurd.
The enforcers get to work unrolling a large piece of parchment, the size of a small dining room table, hanging it from two golden rods for all to see.
“This is a blank map of Lumathyst,” she says, pointing to the illustration. “And the surrounding realms across the seas. Fill it in.”
Oh, no.
No one—other than a few of the oldest and most privileged bloodlines in history—know the true placement of the realms. The kings have kept any real map from the lower cities, under the guise of keeping the knowledge of how and where to ally with enemies across the seas out of potential rebel hands.
Even sailors facilitating trade only know of specific routes and are sworn to secrecy on that knowledge.
Margreet’s laid a trap.
And there’s nothing we can do but watch as Rylee falls into it.