Chapter 3
Isoak in the tub, steam rising in thick lavender-scented ribbons, yet it’s not hot enough to chase away the phantom stench of burning flesh.
It’s late into the night, but sleep remains elusive. Every time I close my eyes, I see the Archpriest thrash, hear his screams cut off mid-breath.
I sink lower beneath the cooling water, willing it to cleanse my mind for the hundredth time, to wash the images away. But my thoughts circle, relentless as vultures.
With the Archpriest gone, the Churches would fight for control, each vying to place their own leader in his seat.
A small, selfish part of me dares to hope that maybe, just maybe, the new Archpriest or Archpriestess would at last unseal the records that reveal the identity of the Chastity Warden who lashed my mother.
But what if Thul'Barak gained dominance?
The last time his Archpriest ruled, centuries ago, slavery was still legal, and every king who opposed Thul'Barak’s teachings mysteriously fell ill, dropping like flies, one after another.
In the end, he relieved the royals of their crown altogether and seized power for himself.
And even though the Partition Decree should protect Ryker’s position from any new Archpriest or Archpriestess, the thought still unsettles me.
A cold weight settles in my stomach as my mind races through every grim possibility.
The only thing worse than the evil we know is the uncertainty of the one yet to come, and the god they might serve.
Whoever ascended could either bolster Ryker’s reign or oppose him at every turn, especially if they shared the former Archpriest’s hatred for the cursed.
I wish I had paid more attention in my classes, when the High Priests, the heads of each Church, taught us what each god demanded.
Their rites vary. Some require physical sacrifice and flagellation, while others crave unwavering spiritual devotion.
With the last Archpriest ruling for so long, people had grown placid, unconcerned with the implications of his eventual absence. Maybe that’s what upset the gods?
How they all agreed to remove him is a mystery, but gods don’t owe us mortals explanations. They do what they will, and the people have to deal with the repercussions.
All I can hope is that, by tomorrow, the fallout overshadows the mindless girl who defied the Church and stopped a warden’s arm mid-swing.
Because Ryker and I never secured my father’s official blessing, as is custom in Calcatra, our marriage feels precarious.
If the public’s opinion of me begins to sour, the Consul may compel Ryker to renounce our union.
Fear wedges at the base of my throat. It was my pride, my foolishness, that kept me from facing my father after so many years, delaying the inevitable confrontation with the man who had dealt me only cruelties.
As much as he despises me, I doubt he would have stood in the way of a marriage that could only benefit him politically. Now, I regret clinging to my pride.
The water grows cold and I climb out, unsure how many hours had passed since Ryker sent me away. Chaos must have erupted in the Archpriest’s absence. Consuls, Church leaders, and the people of Calcatra, all reeling from what had happened.
Restlessness settles against my ribcage as I realize just how much Ryker has to mediate right now. I should be by his side, offering my support.
But of course I can’t, not until I am officially his queen.
Steam curls around me as I step into my bedroom. I yelp, startled, and come to an abrupt halt at the sight of a figure on the chaise.
My heart lurches, then sinks like a stone when I realize who it is.
“What are you doing here?” I snap, cinching the belt of my robe, a gesture that mirrors the sick feeling tightening my throat. “It’s improper for us to be alone in my chambers, as you well know.”
For twenty years, I’ve never been alone in a room with a man who isn’t my father. And now, for the second time today, I’m alone with this one, Ryker’s brother, the kingdom’s favorite misrule.
The thought sends a flurry of nerves dancing along my spine.
Eleanor should be on a bed, placed just outside my door, but she’s been missing since this afternoon and clearly is yet to return. There is no way my duenna would allow him into my chamber, prince or not.
Mael lifts a glass of wine to his smirking lips, utterly unfazed.
“You’re so insufferably saintly, I think a bit of scandal might actually improve you,” he drawls, taking a slow sip.
When I glare at him, he sighs and rolls his eyes, gesturing to the other glass already waiting on the table.
“And frankly, no one’s paying enough attention to notice whether our little queen-to-be is properly chaperoned. It’s chaos out there.”
“You should leave.” I grip my robe tighter, as if the fabric alone might shield me from the weight of impropriety.
We are both breaking etiquette by being alone in this room, but the stakes are far higher for me.
Because I am a woman. Because of the stain of scandal that still clings to my family name.
And because no matter how much I try to outrun it, the only way to truly erase it is with a wedding ring and a crown atop my head.
“Have I ever been where I was supposed to be?” Mael chuckles. “I’ll have you know I am following the orders of the king himself. Even your duenna can’t argue with that.”
I roll my eyes. He is a scandal waiting to happen, or perhaps… a reputation waiting to be rewritten. A thought coils in the back of my mind like a clever fox stretching its spine.
For better or worse, a large faction of the nobles adore him. If I can endear myself to him, it will only help my role on the throne.
Besides, if not for the curse of the Goddess of Blood and Decay, wouldn’t this be exactly how men and women were meant to behave? As equals. As humans. Without fear.
I reach for the second glass of wine. “One drink. That’s all.”
He nods, still watching me as he swirls his drink, then leans forward, holding up his glass to clink against mine.
“To family,” he says, taking another sip, eyes glinting.
“The next few days will be utter mayhem, and as you can imagine, my brother is in a delightful mood. Besides,” he says as he swirls his wine again with lazy amusement, “since we’ve already crossed the line of propriety, we might as well enjoy the view from this side. ”
The prince has come prepared. In addition to the cask of wine, a platter of bread and meats sit before us. He picks up a skewer from the platter and offers me a small piece of white meat. “You look famished. The chef made the eel at my request today.”
I eye the bite with distaste.
“The Sparkfins?” Surely, he didn’t cook his beloved pets. The long, slimy fish send shocks of power through anyone foolish enough to touch them.
Mael shrugs and pops one into his mouth. “Their properties could be used for some interesting applications, but sadly the eels have outlived their novelty. And they were far too expensive to simply let go to waste.”
He really is too ridiculous to take seriously. Just over a year ago, he vanished into the sandstorm-blown kingdom of Maraneethos for three months, stole their sacred eels, and nearly started a war.
Yet he still returned to applause, welcomed by both the crown and the crowd, all because the Consul of Trade and Commerce had been forced to reduce import taxes, among other concessions, to appease the aggrieved kingdom.
I used to think that if they could forgive him, then maybe, one day, they’d forgive the stain clinging to my family name too.
But now, watching him devour one of his beloved eels, I wonder if maybe they never needed to forgive him at all, because he never asked for their forgiveness in the first place.
It should disturb me. I’m too tired to care. My limbs ache. My thoughts drag like silt through water.
“How are things in Rust Hollow?” I say, mimicking his air of ease as I blink, the warmth of the wine tingling through my body. “I’ve heard you frequent the place on occasion.”
Everyone knows that some of the cursed women survive by taking men into their beds, careful to use every precaution, like the silken gloves issued by the Church, to keep their touch from rotting a man’s flesh. And that Mael has been seen there more than once.
“Rust Hollow? It’s a dump, of course.” He grins. “I prefer to keep my eyes closed when I visit.”
I shake my head, feeling sleepier with every moment, and wondering when he might leave. “So you use women, support the Church, and criticize the system all the same?”
“Defying the Church is a fool’s game, Ray.
” He leans back, wine in hand. “If not for the Archpriest’s untimely, but oh-so-convenient death, what do you think would’ve happened?
To you? To your future?” He pauses, watching me closely as the images flicker behind my eyes—Ryker turning away, the court’s scorn, the Archpriest’s punishing magic.
Whatever flashes across my face seems to satisfy him. His lips curl into a slow, knowing smile. “I prefer to let things play out,” he says. “They usually end in my favor anyway.”
He doesn’t even flinch at my glare. Sharp words sit on my tongue, ready to order him back to his quarters and give me some rest. Instead, I’m startled by his sudden laughter.
“You should see your face, Ray,” he chuckles. “Lighten up. A sense of humor is vital these days, especially at a time like this.”
I drain the rest of my wine and slam the glass down on the table.
“I’d rather sleep than sit through your jokes.”
“Ouch,” Mael says with a grin, reaching for the bottle. “You hurt my pride.” He leans in to refill both our glasses.
I lift my hands to stop him, but he swats them away. As much as Mael disgusts me, I can’t remember the last time I relaxed and had an honest conversation with someone—talk that wasn’t couched by propriety and privy to a small audience of duennas. It’s weirdly liberating—and intoxicating.