Chapter 2
MATTHIAS
I think we need to watch her closely. I know she looks naive, young and, well, a tad out of her depth, but mark my words, the new Queen of Carush has the potential to be a threat unlike any we’ve seen before.
Just look at how much blood she spilled to sit upon her throne.
Those who have fled suggest she’s set her sights on the rest of Vlanael. An empress in the making.
— LETTER FROM QUEEN SARUS TO THE OTHER REIGNING MONARCHS OF THE SHUTERAN NATIONS
She was half my height, but the empress had a serious right hook.
I blinked away the stars as she tutted, my chained hands rubbing the bruise blooming on my jaw.
‘You vex me, Asmar.’
I bit the side of my cheek, relishing the metallic taste of blood swirling on my tongue and focused on that. Otherwise, I’d smash my head into that cursed nose of hers.
The empress sank into the intricately carved throne.
My throne. Kicking her bare legs over the side, she bounced, biting her thumbnail, a look of concentration plastered on her pale face.
Her other hand lay next to the oversized ruby around her neck, absently scratching the flaking skin of her chest.
A sting, sharper, deeper than a dagger was thrust into my chest as a flash of memory sparked in my mind – a ruby so similar nestled between Sorrow’s collarbones; it shimmered in the candlelight.
A dress of scarlet clinging to every dip and curve as I fought the urge to hold her.
I blinked and the vision faded, leaving the final, tainted image of my Sorrow.
Fear tearing across her face. Betrayal in her eyes as she’d fled from me, the man she called husband.
I’d failed her. Again. I stared around my throne room, at the devastation the empress had caused – priceless tapestries slashed, ancient portraits defaced. My skin wore a shameful stain. One I feared I’d never cleanse myself of after dooming my people.
I hissed against the sting on my lower back, from that fucking tattoo, and her doe-like eyes latched onto mine, a feral grin lighting up her face as she twisted her ruby.
‘Would you like me to kiss it better, Asmar?’ She threw her head back, giggling and snorting at the horror etched onto my face.
She stood again, and I rooted my feet to the ground, refusing to balk as she stood before me.
She tutted, her eyes raking over my filthy clothes.
I held her gaze, grimacing at her bared teeth, the thin patches of scalp showing through her pale hair.
She scratched a red spot on her neck, her breath rasping.
She looked so much worse than when she’d arrived, mere weeks ago.
It was laughable that we lived in fear of a woman who was so obviously ill.
Hard to believe she was only a decade older than Sorrow and me.
I could only think being a vessel of the Gods was taking its toll on the bitch.
Good.
‘Silly Asmar.’ She blew out a long breath. ‘You’re seriously not my type.’
Her mouth twitched at my obvious relief. Vyrus himself was probably too low for her.
’I wish you were more like Ifan. He’s always been such a good boy… such a bore though,’ she whispered, and my eyes flicked over to my brother, who stood at her side, chin high, refusing to meet my gaze.
Onyx swirls contrasted against the red of his freshly tattooed skin, peeking out from his high collar.
I grimaced. The empress exhaled and tugged on the silver Evellum chains around my wrists.
Until Duke Danté Lommond had bound Sorrow, it was an unknown substance.
I shivered at how it had held her magic captive, dulling the effects of her gifts.
And as I now bore a tattoo of Vyrium, the Evellum cuffs allowed me a moment of reprieve from following the empress’s demands.
But even the Evellum couldn’t offer a reprieve from the constant burn of whatever the hell the tattoo contained.
‘The littlest Elmswood. Always so desperate for praise. Look at his face! How proud he is of his tattoos.’
The sore on my back flared and I repressed my wince, my eyes watering against the sting. Her eyes lit up as she backed away, sat herself on my throne, her knees tucked up. Her simple lemon cotton dress rose up, exposing her bare feet.
She cocked her head, the movement forcing a shiver up my spine.
‘First, Mr Asmar, we must break you out of this nasty rebellious streak you’ve developed.
I’m not ready to let you die. Not yet anyway.
If I wanted you dead, I’d get you to slit your own throat.
’ She grasped her ruby, twisted it as my cuffs were removed, and my stomach dipped at the thought I was about to fulfil whatever sick wish she now gave.
‘So do hold still for your next marking.’
I did my best to ignore the sneer on Abbot Eiriulf’s simpering face as he shuffled closer to the empress’s side.
He’d warned me I’d regret my demands for Sorrow’s hand when I’d been desperate to free her from the Tribute Tower.
The head of Vyrus’s Tribute Brotherhood had been as red as his hair when I finally won.
Now, he clearly relished every moment of my downfall.
Further proof that denying Vyrus a sacrifice guaranteed eternal damnation.
A Brother shuffled forward while another tore my filthy shirt over my head.
My fingers twitched in my desperation to fight, the scream held immobile in my tattered throat as Eiriulf gripped my bruised jaw.
His gaze roamed over my bare skin, a feral light igniting in his watery eyes as a needle dug into my shoulder.
The long nails of my tattooist sliced into my flesh, holding me in place.
There was no need to hold me, though, not when my body obeyed the empress’s every command.
My mind screamed, begged, pleaded to move.
All I managed was the barest flex of my hand before I fell under her control once more.
‘Good little Asmar.’ The empress’s glazed eyes set on me. ‘Don’t fight it, every tattoo brings you closer to me.’
Her gaze lifted to the mural of the heavens, the Gods on the ceiling. ‘And when you become wholly mine and mine alone, you’ll hand me that blessed wife you bartered for.’ She sighed. ‘And that will be the day, I’ll finally possess everything.’