Chapter 22
MARIK
The urge to hurl the crown from my head is overwhelming.
Mother and Father sit on my left, beside King Katze and Queen Issa.
Both Mother and Father survey the others with cool disinterest, a gleam in their eyes.
They are proud to be here, Cora sitting on one end of the grand table in the castle’s great hall, me on the other.
On my right, Kings Torben and Conall sit next to their queens—Artis and Sasha, respectively.
All four of them sit with postures stiff as boards and gazes cold as ice.
“We’ve already agreed to house your witches,” Queen Sasha says tiredly.
“We’ve had to implement a mandatory curfew because their creatures attack our citizens at night.
Those who break the curfew are collected by guards and placed in our dungeons until first light.
Our citizens are beginning to turn against us.
And you expect us to allow more witches in and vote on them as a High House?
Even though they’re responsible for the deaths of woodland animals and injuries against our citizens? Have you lost your minds?”
The High Council meeting has only been in session for five minutes, and already the air is thick with tension.
Cora hasn’t said a single word, but that hasn’t stopped Houses Ursidae and Canis from shooting death glares at her.
I told her that Mae’s crown and the black aura wouldn’t help, but she insisted.
“I don’t think you’re understanding what I’m saying,” I say coolly. “Should you vote no today on the matter of the witches becoming a High House, there will be consequences.”
“Where is Mae?” Conall asks. Do I detect a challenge in his frosty blue eyes?
I grit my teeth. I knew this would be a problem.
Given Elle’s most recent attempt on my life, I didn’t think it particularly wise to bring her to this meeting.
Granted, I could have forced the issue. But, call me selfish, I don’t particularly like it when she gets all silent on me.
It reminds me too much of someone I used to know—a version of myself that I broke free of long ago.
“She is indisposed,” I answer. “Cora is her trusted advisor and is attending in her place.”
Conall snorts. “You really expect us to believe that? What have you done to her? There’s no way she’s behind this. Behind her.” He waves his hand at Cora dismissively.
Wrong choice.
Cora doesn’t move, but her end of the table begins to rot, black mold and mildew spreading across its expanse. It stops at Sasha, then forms into a tiny hill of mold before growing an arm and reaching for her.
The chair shrieks against the floor as Sasha shoves away from the table and stands. “You intend to threaten us? Is that why you invited us here under the guise of a High Council meeting?” she spits at Cora.
Cora’s voice is low, almost a growl. “No. I intend to threaten your children. You will vote the witches in as a High House. Or your children will succumb to the blade. Do you understand?”
I grip the edges of my armrests at the threat. Conall stands, joining his wife. They link hands, ice forming at their feet.
“No, no,” Cora’s voice has turned pleasant, as if she just told them their children will be on the receiving end of an inheritance, not the wrong end of a sword.
“There will be none of that. My witches and my creatures are on standby, black magic ready. Each of your offspring are in their sight. And if you so much as threaten me one more time, you will lose them one by one.”
“Liar,” Sasha growls.
Cora unfurls her wrist, and a hand mirror flies toward her.
She strokes the edges, then flips it toward Sasha and Conall.
An image of Princess Lola is reflected in the glass.
She walks through stone hallways, her pink dress trailing behind her, long blonde hair unbound and cascading down her back in soft waves.
Sasha’s face pales. “H-how?”
Cora sets the mirror on the table. “Magic,” she says with a grin. Magic, and the witches that we forced the Houses to allow into their homes. “Now. Sit.”
They do. The King and Queen of House Canis sit on the edges of their chairs, but every inch of them is poised to attack.
Cora smiles, and I know she thinks she won. I know she thinks that her threats are working, that everyone is going to listen to her with their children’s lives on the line. But I know better. It will only piss them off. And an angry, scared predator is a dangerous enemy to have.
“Where is Mae?” Sasha asks through gritted teeth.
Cora settles back in her chair, fingers draped over the edge of her armrest. “Since we’re being honest with each other now,” she says, luminescent smile matching the gleam of her eyes, “Mae is dead. I’m High Queen now. Your subjects are not to learn this information, or my threat will ring true.”
My mother and father smile at her words, but the rest of the High Families flinch.
It takes all my self-control to school my features.
I warned Cora not to divulge this information, and yet, here she is.
A headache begins to bloom. What the fuck is the point of giving my advice if she’s not going to listen to it?
Cora stands and leans over the table, both hands face-down on the rotten wood.
“Now. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to vote yes today, and you’re going to tell your citizens that the witches are good for the kingdom.
If you’re unable to convince them, then your children will die, and so will your citizens.
House Panthera has already executed two of their own, with a new execution scheduled every day for as long as there are dissenters.
” She smiles at Katze and Issa, who stare back at her with empty gazes.
It was their idea. The least they can do is pretend like they’re proud of it.
Artis and Torben are silent, but Conall stares at Panthera in horror. “Is this true?” he asks. Katze nods, staring straight down at the table. “You—”
Cora waves her hand, and the arm of mold grows closer to Sasha, cutting off any retort Conall had.
“They’re just doing what needs to be done. And their children will live for it, isn’t that right?” Cora asks House Panthera pleasantly.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Issa says with a soft smile.
Cora returns the smile. “That’s right. Because I would so hate for Princess Cassia to die before she’s had the chance to truly live. That would be such a shame, wouldn’t it?”
Issa’s smile fades. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she repeats in a drawl. Katze stares ahead, unwilling to look at Cora or his wife.
The last time I saw House Panthera, Issa was all for the executions, Katze nearly panting for them. I wonder what changed. Maybe it’s no longer fun to play games with the devil when what you love hangs in the balance.
Cora turns her gaze to Mother and Father next.
“Just look at the Serpent Princes. Asmo chose Mae, and he died for it.” The words are full of conviction, but there’s no evidence to suggest he’s dead.
If I know my brother, he found a way out.
He always did when we were young. “But no matter, because Marik chose the right side,” Cora continues, beaming at my parents.
As if they did the world a favor by raising me.
They return the smile, but it looks like a puppet is pulling the corners of their mouths up, one yank at a time. Asmo will always be their proudest accomplishment. And now he’s gone, leaving them with second-best—me.
Cora brings her hands together in a loud clap, and Sasha jumps in her seat. “Now, does anyone object to the forming of the witches as a High House?” She looks around the table.
Every single king and queen of the High Houses stares at the table in silence.
“Wonderful!” Cora exclaims cheerfully. “It’s official, then. The witches will be recognized as a High House. I’ll throw a ball to celebrate. And remember the warnings you were given today, won’t you?”
Murmurs of confirmation ring around the table.
Cowards.
But then again, I don’t have anything I care about enough to lose. Not even myself.
To my immense surprise, Elle doesn’t attack me when I step inside her wing. To my even greater surprise, she’s already dressed and ready for our dinner. I thought I was going to have to bring her meal to her wing.
She sits on the couch, her red hair hanging limp at her shoulders. At least it looks like it was brushed. The black necklace is clunky around her slender neck. She wears a shapeless navy-blue shift that cuts off halfway down her thighs. It looks like…
“Is that a pillowcase?”
She lifts her chin. “I refuse to wear any more of Mae’s clothes. It was this or nothing.”
I shrug. I don’t particularly care what she wears, if I’m being honest. She stands, and I can’t help but gaze at her defined legs as they work to push her to standing.
I offer her my hand, but she declines, pushing past me and throwing the front door open. She doesn’t stop to put on shoes or anything else, just walks out barefoot in the pillowcase. I follow her, trying not to watch her in wonder. She places one foot on the steps, then turns to look back at me.
“Where are we going?”
I shove down whatever the hell this feeling is and walk around her, resisting the urge to brush my hand against her as I pass. The feeling almost vanishes with her out of my sight, but the desire to turn back and look at her is too strong for my liking.
We walk in silence, guards eyeing Elle as we pass, their gazes catching on her legs. I hover a hand over the small of her back on instinct until we’re in the formal dining room.
The table is set for two, a floral arrangement of black roses and white peonies sitting in the center.
The floral scent is cloying, and I resist the urge to order a servant to remove them.
Ebony plates sit on opposite ends of the table, centered atop ivory placemats with gold branches embroidered along the edges.