Chapter 26
It went without saying that Attalus was totally, utterly, incandescently enraged.
While Leita insisted otherwise, he knew for a fact that the crushed bones and spattered viscera of the traitor between his teeth would’ve made him feel a modicum better.
Instead, the former attendant and accursed assassin now sat in a dungeon cell. Alive.
Oh, she might be miserable. She might be in pain. But Attalus could make it so much worse. So bad that she pleaded for a bite to end her suffering.
When Attalus explained this to his mate, she and the other fae gathered—Charis, Tamerlan, and several healers—had looked upon him with horror.
At least Marcades nodded in approval from where he stood vigil, but Attalus didn’t give a fuck what the captain thought.
After Ondra, he blamed Marcades the most.
Why had they given in to Leita’s request for fewer guards? Why were they letting her into the city at all?
It didn’t matter now that they meant to keep him a secret—that secret was out, and Attalus was all the happier for it. Now, he could ensure Leita’s safety himself.
“This fucking city’s supposed to be safe!” he fumed, pacing back and forth across their chambers.
Leita watched on from where she sat, the healers fussing over her even though she insisted she was fine.
Every time she dismissed them, Attalus commanded them back, unsatisfied.
The wound might be closed, but a vicious scar still marred her beautiful skin.
The fabric of her bodice had been irreparably damaged, the side of her clothing drenched in her own blood.
“The city is safe,” Leita assured him after no one else dared do it.
Good. He wanted them scared.
Charis was a Meringor too and would need to be scrutinized.
Her mother had already gone into voluntary house arrest pending an investigation.
Carenza, the other attendant, was currently undergoing questioning, and Attalus would see that every single one of the palace staff and council were vetted twice over.
“Then why did this happen? It’s no mistake she waited until you were out of the palace.” Attalus’s tail lashed angrily behind him, ensuring no one came within several paces of him.
“We’ll get answers,” Charis spoke up. Brave of her.
Attalus turned his withering gaze onto the chancellor-right-now-but-that-remained-to-be-seen.
He credited her nerve; she met that gaze even while keeping her expression and body language submissive, ashamed even.
From their bent heads and downturned mouths, it seemed she and every other fae here understood that the smallest thing would set Attalus off.
He wasn’t out of control. Not yet. His rage burned inside him as blue as the hottest flames, a restrained force that grew behind a facade of calm.
But let them think that one wrong word or errant sneeze would set him to burning down the other half of the palace. Every fae alive needed to understand that Leita was his mate, and before anyone thought again to harm her, they would have to contend with him.
Attalus had spent his time in Fallorian charming the palace fae, and he didn’t think it arrogant to count some as friends and allies already.
However, it suited him just as well to have them cower, to remind them that he wasn’t a mere bauble to adorn the Queen’s bedchamber.
He was her shield and her teeth, her sword and her fire.
He wasn’t a fae, he was Savrakae, and it was well all fae should know and remember.
To trifle with a dragon’s mate was to invite disaster and ruin.
Attalus snarled in Charis’s face, uncaring that earlier in the day, they’d been friends. “She’s your cousin, is she not? How was this allowed to happen? How did you not know?”
“I want those answers even more than you do,” Charis said.
“I doubt that.”
“Attalus,” his mate entreated, “don’t blame Charis. She didn’t know.”
“We can’t know that.”
“I know.” Leita looked at him significantly. Attalus searched her gaze, trying to discover if she just meant to mollify him, but as usual, his little doe was guileless. “Charis can be trusted. Everyone here can be.”
Attalus’s jaw clenched, working hard to hold back the accusation that she’d thought that of Ondra, too. He would just have to assume that this was some sort of Queen’s knowledge and trust his mate, even if he couldn’t trust anyone around her.
Under Leita’s silent insistence, Attalus took up a spot nearby and stood with arms crossed, staring down the small party as the healers finished tending to her.
His patience was running dangerously thin, and they were all lucky it’d held out this long.
He ensured all of them knew it by each loud thwack of his tail on the carpet as it lashed behind him, a metronome of his dwindling tolerance.
His instinct was to grab Leita and fly—somewhere far away where he could keep her safe.
A small island would be ideal, one he’d already fitted with soft blankets and chests of gold.
His mother had kept such an island for her and Karik, and eventually Briseis, where the little family was safe. For a time.
Fuck, he didn’t like that thought at all.
Wherever Theron had gotten off to with Briseis seemed safe enough. No one had heard a whisper of their whereabouts in years. Maybe he should seek Theron out again, take Leita there and live simple lives, where no one knew of royalty or assassins or—
“The palace is secure and everyone is in their assigned waiting area for questioning,” Tamerlan reported.
“Ondra’s quarters are being searched as we speak,” Marcades announced from where he guarded the open chamber door.
“I will inform the relevant houses and duana-daínya. Someone will know something,” said Charis, a hardness in her voice.
Even in his anger, Attalus could agree with that. They needed answers swiftly to catch possible co-conspirators.
The idea of a wider plot against his mate set Attalus to rumbling again.
“You’re mending well,” the chief healer declared. “Please keep us informed of your pain, and don’t hesitate to drink the poppy milk should you need it.”
“Thank you.” Leita stood as the elders made to leave, and with a nod, Charis and Tamerlan followed them out.
Attalus could breathe a little easier without all the bodies crowded round Leita, but he wasn’t satisfied. Not until he slammed the chamber door shut in Marcades’s face. He could guard just as well out there.
“Was that necessary?” asked Leita.
“Yessss,” he hissed, stalking back across the chamber to her.
Leita’s brows rose when he corrected course and marched into the closet. He chose a soft nightgown and robe, bringing both out to her. With gentle hands, he helped her change, tossing aside the ruined, bloody clothes.
“I liked those,” she muttered.
“We’ll get you ten more, then.”
With her clean and comfortable again, he scooped her up and made for their bed, stepping onto it and walking up the length before settling down against the headboard. He gathered her blanket and tucked it around her, creating as much of a nest for them as he could.
With his mate secure in his arms and as comfortable as he could make her, Attalus allowed himself one deep breath.
“Are you all right, agae?” he asked, wrestling his voice into something gentler. His anger wasn’t for her and could be saved for those who deserved it. Right now, she needed reassurance, comfort.
Her sigh buffeted his scales, and his hearts ached to feel her nuzzle into his chest.
“No.”
Attalus crooned unhappily, hands running up and down her flank. He didn’t dare press on the wound-that-wasn’t yet couldn’t feel anything amiss. “Does it pain you?”
“Not like you mean. It hurts here.” She laid a hand across her chest.
“Oh, agae.” He lifted her hand to kiss the back and then the palm.
“I thought…she and I were friends. Or would be.”
Attalus’s rage only grew as fresh tears slid down his mate’s cheeks. She’d wept far too much today, yet no heads had been ripped from necks. He’d give anything to ease her suffering, to tell her she could trust still and look for the good.
But he wouldn’t tell her something he didn’t feel himself. He’d promised not to lie to her.
“She fooled everyone, Leita. Whatever her reasons, I’m positive it wasn’t your fault.”
Leita nodded, although Attalus knew his words were little comfort. There wasn’t much he could say in the face of such a total betrayal.
While it was clear Leita and Carenza got on more warmly than she and Ondra had, even he hadn’t supposed the root of it might be true animosity. He looked forward to the answer, for information would likely be the one thing to give Leita real peace.
Until then, Attalus would guard her, treasure her, and give her everything she could ever need.
It was almost dusk when someone very brave or very foolish knocked at the door. Before Attalus could shout at whoever it was to fuck off, Leita called, “Yes?”
Marcades opened the door to reveal Charis bearing a tray laden with food. Attalus grumbled, deciding he’d allow it. His mate needed sustenance.
Charis’s smile was small but fond to see them cuddled up together. She set the tray on a bedside dresser. “A few of your favorites.”
“Thank you, Charis.”
“I’m told Carenza and several others have been cleared from questioning, but of course you and the faelands will have the final decision, my Queen.”
Attalus hoped that meant some sort of pact from everyone within Leita’s everyday life. Better yet, every fae in Fallorian.
Leita nodded, her expression pensive.
“There’s one last thing…”
“What?”
Attalus’s eyes narrowed on the chancellor. Don’t you dare ask something of her.
“A crowd has gathered outside the palace gates. News has spread fast, and many are concerned for you. They…worry too about the dragon.”
“Let them fucking worry,” Attalus spat.
Charis actually nodded. “Normally I’d agree, but their good will is new. To see the Queen safe, to have a word from her, would encourage many.”