Chapter 17 Suspicious
SEVENTEEN
SUSPICIOUS
People. They’re shit. Zero out of ten, would not recommend.
Even the good ones. The kind ones. The ones you thought you knew!
“Creatchin, you are too good to us,” Nyra lies effortlessly with a sweet smile widening her face so hard that it pulls at the pink scar that arches along the side of her pretty features.
The disdain in me dissolves as my stomach tightens at the reminder of the scar that will forever line my sister’s innocent face. Because of me. Because of Prince Ravar.
And because of fucking Queen Creatchin.
She used all of us.
Time has passed by she’s still using all of us.
My sister is just better at faking her love for our new ruler and prison keeper.
Creatchin beams at Nyra with those big black eyes of hers, eating up what she sees.
The two of them stand, admiring the newly remodeled dining hall.
Bright chandeliers dangle from long silver chains to light the room in stunning opaque brightness.
The old tables that once cluttered the room in careless rows are now replaced with glossy, elegantly carved dining tables, each one embellished with shifters and hell fae and creatures of all kinds represented in the pretty carvings of the dark wood.
“The people are going to love this,” Nyra chimes once more as her slender fingers skim delicately over the edge of a high-backed chair.
I can’t even tell if she’s faking her sincerity or if . . . Goddess, what if she truly is being sincere right now? What if she actually likes Creatchin?
Nyra spent weeks in the infirmary healing her knife wound along her cheek. It shouldn’t have taken that long. She shouldn’t have been isolated. I should have been able to see her!
But I wasn’t.
Creatchin and her hell fae nurses were her only contact then.
And now I feel like an outsider looking in at the girl I grew up with.
Why hasn’t she asked to go home? She has a husband. A child. Our family. Ravar took our mother, it’s true but we have a pack. She has people who love her!
Creatchin’s lithe frame wavers as she looks back at me. Long black hair shines in the intensity of the new lighting. Her gaggle of hell fae stop in their tracks as they watch their queen with big inky orbs, following her every move.
They’re ominous with their long animal like horns and spindly arms and legs. More so now that they seem to be as suspicious of me as their ruler is.
It’s as if she forgot I was her pawn in her plans against Ravar. It’s like we didn’t plot his downfall along.
It’s as if … I’ve used up my usefulness to her.
And you know what they say about loose ends …
“Are you feeling well, Cersia? You haven’t said a word all morning.” Creatchin is intelligent. The questions she asks are never inquisitive at all. They’re testing.
Testing indeed. Because I know she suspects me. I find myself suddenly less able to put on a fake smile and say the right words simply because of my sister already doing just that. And I’m starting to doubt if any of Creatchin is as nefarious as my mind is making her out to be.
The fae woman at her side with big black wings and even blacker teeth smiles seething at me with fake kindness dripping from her tongue. Creatchin calls her an advisor but sometimes that title slips up. And she calls her something else. She calls her … mother.
Both of them are an unnerving sight to see.
All I know of her is what Ravar told be just before Creatchin killed him. Powerful magic and dark madness are all this woman is made of. She’s conniving. And she won’t hesitate to kill me just as she did her lover, Prince Ravar.
So I have to pass these tests. Even if I don’t understand them at all.
“It’s just a headache, my queen.” My tone that was once so even and assured is quiet and pleasant when I address this deadly woman.
I fucking hate it. I just want to scream and spit and figure out what game they’re all playing at!
“Perhaps you should lie down.” Creatchin’s advisor, Seelvie reveals those sharp black teeth behind her kind smile.
“Creatchin’s smile mirror’s her mothers.
Fuck those fake smile.
I fake-smile right back. But just know that I hate doing it. The fakeness is intoxicating, though. It gets in your head, and you can’t stop the stupid, catty kindness that’s rancid on your tongue.
“Indeed, you’re very right.” I even fucking curtsey to them. I curtsey! In black pants and combat boots I’m doing that weird fucking half-ass elegant bow that looks more like I’m trying to hold in an awkward shit than sophisticatedly motioning farwell.
I. Hate. It.
But I scurry away nonetheless.
The hushed symphony of whispers follows me down every hall. The hell fae leer at me with narrowed eyes. A crimson fox shifter gives me a similar glare as I pass him by. As does the incubus. And one antlered man with long white ears who may or may not be a jackalope . . .
The stares trail around behind me like ghosts now.
The only time I can catch my breath and finally drop all the pretending is when the heavy door to our quiet bedroom closes behind me every night.
As I push it closed this time, gruff and angry voices cut short at the sight of me. Arguing halts in an instant. And the two hellhound shifters in front of me give me a look similar to the assholes I just passed in the halls.
“What!” I growl at Roman and Avian, who both have tension lining their pretty faces.
Seriously, can I just have like a single second to not slice my feet on the eggshells I’ve been trampling over all day?
“Nothing,” Roman yells, shoving his hand hard over his short black hair.
The weight of the sigh that pushes from Avian’s lungs just confirms even more that it’s not nothing.
The two of them stand shirtless in black, dirt-stained pants, facing each other with hard grimaces that feel all too similar to the sweet fuck faces I hide from every day. And just like with everyone else in this kingdom, I pretend like I don’t see it.
For maybe a second.
“What’s with you two?” I grind out, my arms folding over my short shirt so hard that I feel it ride up even higher.
Roman notices. Sure, Avian’s blind, but he does notice Roman noticing somehow.
“Stop looking at her tits and answer her, Roman,” Avian says sharply.
“I did, Avian.” He emphasizes his friend’s name in an obnoxious, hard tone. “I said it was nothing. Because it is nothing. Right?” The two of them are glaring at one another like puppies about to pounce into a tumble of sharp nipping teeth and whining growls.
For Goddess Moon’s sake, can we please be adults?
Avian shakes his head, his braid atop his head loosening a few strands of chestnut hair into his silver eyes. “Roman thinks you like me.”
A smirk pulls at the corners but my lips part hard like I should be offended . . . Should I? Why does liking him sound like an accusation?
The three of us had sex! And yet, do I admit I like him before he admits it to me? Why is sex so much easier than emotions?
“Oh no,” I whisper mockingly. “I think he’s right. I am slightly fond of you,” I say carefully. Apprehensively.
It’s another fucking test.
Oh. My. Goddess. I’m trapped in this literal hell hole and forced to admit my feelings for these two!
Wait. Just one. Only Avian cares if I actually like him. Roman . . . I don’t think Roman gives one fuck if anyone likes him. After killing his brother, Ravar, Queen of Hell doesn’t even like him so why would anyone else even try?
The sweetest smile kisses Avian’s lips. “Yeah, but . . . he thinks you like only me.”
Only. Me.
What do they want here?
Should I have brought treats for them? Reward them with little snackies every time one of them uses their words to fully express themselves?
I stare blankly. Avian stares, waiting. Roman, well, Roman ignores both of us as if the wall is the utter most enthralling thing he’s ever laid eyes on.
“He fucking thinks we should be together, Cers. Like . . . without him.” Avian says with a high lift of his palms held out at his sides.
Oh.
Um.
Huh.
“Fuck,” Roman hisses through his teeth as he thrusts his hand over his face and then down the back of his head.
Oh, my Goddess. He likes me.
Roman fucking does care if someone likes him. And he cares if I’m that someone.
Except my vagina used both of their cocks like a fantastic artisan pussy sandwich, and now neither of them knows what we are.
Fuck. What are we?
“Um.” I barely get that one word out
It’s such an unstable response that I wish I could take it back before it’s even out. Because that’s all I’m able to give them before the door swings open with a bang.
Zilo storms in on stomping hurried steps that reflect the urgency in his big green eyes. “The Night Witch—the queen. She’s gone mad again. And this time . . . it’s worse.”
It’s worse.
Everything is worse now.
And it won’t be getting better.