Chapter 33
Standing on the snow-laden battlements of the Hub, Loren did not flinch as the war horn sounded through the cold night air, signalling his troops forward.
From his position above the fields, he made sure to witness the clash of the two armies.
He gripped the edge of the stone before him with gloved hands, the leather creaking and shifting the layer of snow there as he compared the size of each side.
With so many soldiers sent to Waer Province and Eastwood having fallen already, the sheer number of men to fight for Valenul was far slimmer than he anticipated.
At the same time, the forces that had been gathered by the dhemons were considerably larger than was previously reported, with far more magic-wielders than any of his soldiers had ever faced.
No matter. Speed, dexterity, and strength would win out as they always did.
The initial convergence of the armies was as Loren always knew it to be: brutal with the force of a tidal wave rather than the smooth, seamless integration of an estuary.
Even from a distance and with the falling snow, his keen vampire eyes could make out the crimson-clad soldiers hacking through the front lines of the monsters who threatened the cities beyond the Hub.
Death cries and the constant crash of steel rang like music from afar, lulling Loren like a content child awaiting a peaceful slumber.
Yet it was selfish to spectate such splendor alone—if he were ever truly alone with the King’s Sword as his shadow.
Turning to the nearest soldier, Loren raised his voice a bit. “Bring me Miss Dodd. She will not want to miss this.”
At first, the soldier hesitated as though unsure whether or not it was he whom Loren directed his command.
The imbecile left only after Loren pointed to the turret where the stairs would lead him to the inner workings of the wall, where he had left Camilla to observe the beginning of the battle without her constant blathering.
While he waited, Loren looked out at the battle and gestured for Nikolai to step forward. “How far out are the troops from Waer?”
“Moving such large numbers takes time.” Nikolai clasped his hands behind his back as he stepped in beside Loren to survey the turmoil before them.
“I did not ask for vague logistics,” Loren snapped, a spark igniting in his chest. It was a non-response, and the typical way for soldiers to avoid potentially reporting incorrect information.
Loren would not have such nonsense from someone he considered a friend.
“I want to know the date of their expected arrival.”
Nikolai did not bat an eye. “Three nights at best.”
“When was the missive sent out for them to join us?” Loren mentally calculated the distances. A messenger from as far as Monsumbra made it to Laeton in two days of hard riding. Surely any other soldier would move with just as much determination.
This time, Nikolai shifted from one foot to the other. The subtle motion had become a habit of his as of late and drew Loren’s attention as the King’s Sword said, “The same night we learned of the attack in Eastwood.”
The corners of Loren’s mouth tensed as he considered this. Plenty of time for the messenger to have arrived and set the troops in motion. Why, then, would they still be three nights out?
“And how long does it take a messenger to get to Armington?” Loren pressed, careful not to give Nikolai his full attention.
“At the speed of the soldier from Monsumbra?” Nikolai paused, his fingers twisting at the small of his back. He turned his brown eyes away from the battle and tilted his chin as he looked to the sky as though silently begging the gods for aid.
The fire in Loren’s chest built each second it took Nikolai to respond. Nikolai Jensen, the King’s Sword. Nikolai Jensen, hand-chosen by the King of Valenul. Nikolai Jensen, the person Loren had believed to be his best friend for as long as he could remember.
Nikolai fucking Jensen, the liar who was now attempting to cover his own traitorous tracks.
When next Nikolai spoke, his words pushed through the hum of blood pumping in Loren’s ears. “Three days and nights. Armington is considerably farther than Monsumbra from the capital, after all.”
“But from where we stand now,” Loren said, struggling to keep his tone even, “we are closer and therefore more accessible to the rest of my army.”
“Indeed.”
Loren turned away from the battle below to level his glare at the man he called friend.
When he spoke, his voice was low and smooth and filled with a precariously contained rage.
Every horrible piece of the twisted puzzle lay out before him in full clarity for the first time in weeks.
“Then, by your thinking, those men should have arrived in the Hub three nights ago.”
The color drained from Nikolai’s face that had nothing to do with the snow-laden wind. “It takes time to get so many soldiers in order. You know this from your time as—”
“Why did I wake up on the floor of the drawing room the night of Ariadne’s escape?” Loren snarled. “Where was my Sword? You were the only one with me that night. Only you knew what was happening until those beasts broke into my castle.”
To Nikolai’s credit, he did not stammer. Yet when he spoke, it was not in his typical casual cadence. No, it was in a tone and format that felt rehearsed, as though he had waited for this question since that night. “I was preventing Misses Dodd and Ives from coming to the Queen’s aid too soon.”
“Lies.” Loren shook his head and saw for the first time the truth that lay in Nikolai’s wide eyes. It had been he who prevented Loren from correcting his wife’s behavior. It had been his closest friend who betrayed him.
Something akin to sorrow gripped Loren’s gut. The only other time he had felt the same had been upon receiving the confirmation that Darien was actually dead. As much as he hated his little brother, it was difficult to cope with the idea of never seeing him again.
Now the closest person he had to Darien had not died but instead stabbed him in the back.
“That missive was never sent out, was it?” Loren asked, blinking back the heat building in his eyes. What a pitiful physiological response to such treachery. He would not let a tear fall for someone who clearly never considered him a brother.
Nikolai was saved from responding by the arrival of Camilla Dodd.
The Caersan woman wore a thick blue wool cloak that covered her long winter dress completely, the hood of which was pulled up, effectively hiding her short gold curls.
A fur muff wrapped around her hands as she stepped into the snow.
Her eyelashes fluttered half-closed to prevent the flurries from entering her eyes as she turned her attention from Loren to the distant battle.
“Why have you brought me here, Your Majesty?” Camilla asked, her voice dripping with molasses-like sweetness. “Would it not have been less trouble to keep me locked in my room back in Laeton?”
Loren’s mouth curled. Gods, he had missed her fire, and it was an excellent distraction from the urge to throw Nikolai over the icy embrasure’s edge. “Far less trouble, indeed, but then you would have missed all the fun.”
“I see nothing fun about this.” Camilla kept her face stony as she looked out at the soldiers below.
Somewhere down in the thick of the battle were the people she considered friends. Ariadne. Emillie. Revelie. Even Madan and Azriel, perhaps. More than Loren could even begin to comprehend. It appeared that everyone would be short of friends tonight.
“Ah, but that is where you are wrong,” Loren said and gestured for her to join him.
As she stepped closer, keeping a padding of distance between them, he turned to look back over the battlement.
“You see, from here we can observe precisely what is happening in real time. It would not be fair to you to have to hear about this second-hand.”
Camilla, though, did not follow his gaze. She pivoted away from the show of violence and spoke with an oddly even tone. “Displaying your war is not your intention; do not lie to me, Your Majesty.”
The way she stressed his title almost made Loren giddy.
He could take everything from her, and still she would not bend to his will.
There was nothing else to it: he had to respect her hardiness.
“You misunderstand, Miss Dodd. I wish for you to see all of it. I wish for you to watch as I crush every single one of those monsters.”
With a snort, Camilla shook her head. “The only monster here is you.”
“Hmm.” Loren’s upper lip curled in disgust. “Your friends are down there, you know.”
“And they will endure.”
Loren cocked his head to study her as she carefully avoided eye contact with him. “You had better pray to any god listening that, at the very least, Ariadne survives.”
“No need,” Camilla hissed, though her voice sounded tighter now. “Keon is already with them.”
“So confident.” Loren closed the distance between them and took Camilla’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, angling her face up to his. “If my wife dies out there, I will need a new Queen.”
Clicking her tongue, Camilla jerked her face back, but Loren held fast. Still, she glared at him as she said, “I hear Hyacinth Hooke has become something of a plaything to you. Clearly, she is desperate for the position. She would be thrilled to accept your hand, no doubt.”
A slow grin spread across Loren’s lips. “Oh, Hyacinth has been fun, it is true. But she is not nearly as fun as you.”
A green tinge took to Camilla’s cold-flushed cheeks. She swallowed hard. “I would rather die.”
“You would make a magnificent Vampire Queen,” Loren crooned, angling his head as he shifted closer so that their lips were a mere breath apart. “After I destroy these monsters, I will make all of Myridia kneel at your feet.”
Camilla’s russet eyes fluttered to meet his, her golden brows lowering. “You are revolting.”
“Then get on your fucking knees,” Loren snarled, shoving her to the ground with a cry, “and pray. Or I will put you there as my wife.”
From his periphery, Loren took note of the way Nikolai jerked forward as if to help Camilla. How had he been so blind before?
When Camilla merely glared up at him from where she knelt, Loren could no longer withhold the inferno that exploded in his veins.
The heat of pure fury for Nikolai’s betrayal and her stubbornness poured forth.
Losing all control, he bent at the waist, leveling his gaze with hers, and yelled, “Put your face in the snow and pray for your traitorous friends’ lives! ”
True to form, Camilla inhaled deep, then spat in Loren’s face. “Fuck you.”
Loren’s hand flew but never connected with his intended target. As Camilla flinched, preparing for the inevitable blow, a strong hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked him back. No longer to his surprise, he found Nikolai to be the one restraining him.
“Traitor,” Loren hissed, twisting his arm free. Looking to the soldiers who now watched the scene unfold in pure shock, he pointed to Nikolai. “Strip him of his blades, his armor, and let it be known that he has committed treason of the highest form.”
Soldiers surged forward, following the commands as they forced Nikolai to his knees and relieved him first of his sword, then began cutting free his armor.
All the while, the bastard merely glared at Loren as though it were he who did something wrong.
As though the gods-sanctioned King of Valenul could be misguided.
“To the dungeons, Your Majesty?” asked a soldier binding Nikolai’s wrists.
A long moment passed as Camilla turned her russet eyes from Loren to Nikolai and back, waiting for his response. He could have the Caersan killed then and there. Slit his throat and been done with it.
But no. Then how would Nikolai learn?
“Put him on the battlefield,” Loren declared. “Give him nothing but the clothes on his back and let that be the only mercy I allow him.”
Nikolai rose to his feet again and leaned a touch closer as he said, “Discovering me was merely the tip of the blade honed to kill you, Your Majesty.”
With that, the fallen King’s Sword walked away, head held high. Loren watched him go, then stooped back down, wrapped his fingers around Camilla’s throat, and forced her back to her feet. “You will watch with me as he dies.”
Yet even as Loren stepped up to the battlements once more to gaze down at the newest figures making their way toward the fray, he never once saw the Caersan woman follow his gaze. She merely stood at his side, glaring at him in silent defiance.
Fine.
If Camilla thought she could so openly defy Loren as well, he would use her for a singular purpose: to ensnare his wife once more and bend that horn-fucking bitch to his will.