Chapter Thirty-Nine #2
Malin’s dark brows furrow so dramatically, I hope no one else recognizes his confusion is a ruse. “I do not know what you think you are sensing. However, I can assure you I would notice long before you could.”
Danor looks Malin up and down, scoffing. “And you would report him?”
“Before you could blink,” Malin says, with more malice than I knew he was capable of.
“For I take the laws of our land seriously and would never follow a leader who was so careless in regard to the same.” My eyes widen past the point I would have guessed possible as every word comes out of his mouth dripping in venom.
“As I said—it is nonsense,” Emperor Aldritch claims. “Now, move along and stop ruining everyone’s view of our dancing.”
Danor bows and does as commanded, though not before serving pointed looks in both Malin’s and Varic’s directions.
His Majesty’s thin lips grow even more so with the widening of his smile, then he screws up his face to cough over his shoulder before returning with amusement, while all I can think of is violence—
I snap and grab hold of Fray’s dagger, my movements more swift and graceful than I could ever muster.
I laugh with glee when I drive the sharp point of the weapon straight up the center of the Emperor’s jaw, reveling in the feel of the tip scraping the inside of his skull as I impale his brain.
Just what he deserves. Death and destruction wrought from so much trauma.
“The Annovian queen responded to my request.” His voice draws me back while disappointment and dread settle in my chest.
“Oh?” I ask.
“Yes.” His lips curl in satisfaction before he turns his head to cough over his shoulder.
Fuck.
“Care to guess how she responded?”
“Please, enlighten me.”
His smile deepens, and my stomach drops, souring worse than it did before.
“She has denied our request.” His lips peel back until both rows of impossibly white teeth are fully on display—looking like a predator preparing to pounce, if I’ve ever seen one.
“And we will respond by—”
“Taking the Imperial Seer’s advice in presenting ourselves before the Annovian Court.”
My blood chills, and I wish to reach inside his chest with every ounce of magic I have left—to wring out all of the hate and rage he stores, to replace with compassion, consideration, and concern for others.
To instill empathy so he might understand—and care—how another might experience an event, so that he might change his mind.
Whatever this ruse is, it cannot bode well for the rest of us.
His expression falls, and I could kick myself for failing to monitor my expression better.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Malin’s hazel eyes catch on mine in warning.
“You judge my decision?” His Majesty stumbles over my feet, and I pretend not to notice.
“No, Your Majesty.” I swallow, trying to force my voice to sound sincere, not daring to manipulate his emotional state since he’s drunk, not unaware. “I was wondering how the Queen of Annovia can refuse a generous request from you, of all rulers.”
His Majesty’s expression shifts from disappointment and disgust to one of prideful overconfidence.
“How could I ever doubt my little witch,” he slurs, grasping my chin with his grubby fingers, staring at me with his piercing gray eyes.
Yet seemingly satisfied with my facade, he releases my chin to run his hands down the sides of my arms in a motion I am unsure is meant for his benefit or mine.
The band strikes up a new song with a faster tempo I am certain will send me reeling, the accompanying dance requiring a significant amount of twirling.
I pointedly make eye contact with Cirrin, trying to communicate that his skills may be required, when His Majesty whisks me off to the side.
Each of my Guards rushes to follow as the Emperor heads away from the crowd.
The room blurs when he spins me to face him and forces my back against the cold, hard stone.
My Guards surround us, grounding me in this moment; otherwise, I’d be overcome with the need to flee. The Emperor’s possessive nature takes over with his need to remind everyone I am his to command.
Jealousy, envy, and fury slither through his gut, while a strange sense of devotion fills his chest. I funnel a mix of relief, satisfaction, and admiration into him, siphoning the angry, nervous feelings from his chest cavity.
“I did not appreciate being separated from you,” he says, low enough only I can hear him.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” I bow appropriately.
He grabs my force-shield-protected waist, wearing an expression I cannot place as Raki crawls over his shoulder, and my body reacts as if I am prey with no hope of escape—screaming at me to grab hold of my Guards and run, with regret filling me for ever returning.
“You seem distracted, my little witch,” he says, pouting.
“I apologize, Your Majesty. I am feeling a bit dizzy.” Emperor Aldritch pulls me away from the wall, inadvertently shoving my shoulder into the center of Varic’s chest, and my stomach drops as I trace my Lead Guard’s grave expression.
“Why didn’t you say so?” Emperor Aldritch asks, incredulously. “Your needs are of the utmost importance.”
I swallow down a scoff when he places a clammy palm flat across the top of my own, still held aloft by his opposite.
Then he stumbles in place, though we’ve been standing still.
My hand remains caged between his own, and I dare not show any indication I would like it back, nor do I try to slip it out of his grasp.
“Here,” he says, holding my hand out like it’s a day-old fish. “Cirrin, take her and go”—he belches, and we all pretend not to notice—“heal her.”
Cirrin does me the favor of taking my hand, while making no move to keep it when I drop it to my side without ceremony. Varic steps in, and I turn to whisper, “You shouldn’t have done that.”
He turns, eyes scanning the room around us as he responds, “I know.”
Drusilla appears, though no one here summoned her. Stark white hair and gray eyes set into her pale face make her head appear as if it hovers above her stiff black uniform, looking more apparition than attendant, even in the warm light of the dungeons.
“This way,” she says, and we follow behind as she guides us through the main room, then out to the corridor where she turns in the direction of the Emperor’s chambers.
Varic and Lars share a look, and my legs wobble with every step forward.