CHAPTER 13 #2
Del moves to the sitting area near the cold fireplace and drops into a chair.
“I just confessed to treason, and you’re concerned about entrapment,” he laughs.
His strong hands drag down his thighs while I consider him.
“Are you going to tell me what you want, Queen Veya? Because I know it isn’t marriage to Nerian,” he drawls, leaning forward, elbows to his knees, his gaze devouring me.
Disclosing my desire to conquer Goreon to its very own second is not in my best interest. I want to trust Del. Yet I still can’t talk myself into it. I would consult with Second, although I’m fairly certain he’d prefer to die trying it ourselves than conspire with our sworn enemy.
Del’s voice forces me out of my head. “It’s taken me decades to plant the seed in the king’s mind that inviting you here would be entertaining before we take your kingdom. I knew I had to get you here to stand a chance of changing Goreon. Together.”
My mouth falls open; I don’t bother to stop it. I did not see that twist coming.
“How clever of you.”
“I’m excellent at long-game planning,” he says, throwing my words back at me.
I glare at his smirk.
“Should I start guessing what you want? Should I surmise why you were in the west wing?” Del continues in my silence.
My eyes sweep to the door and the soft human weeping behind it, tearing at my heart.
“Because I think you want what I want, Queen Veya. I believe you need the horror to stop. And you want to reign over Goreon with the laws you live by in the Night Kingdom.”
My face jerks back to Del. “What do you know of our ways?”
“I snuck into your kingdom after you built that wall a century ago. Credit goes to your sentries. They shot me down as I flew over but missed my heart by an inch.”
I curse at their mistake.
“Thankfully, they missed,” Del emphasizes, eyes burning. “For me. And for the sake of Goreon.”
I plant myself in the chair opposite Del. “Your first opportunity to demonstrate trust, Del. Tell me what you saw and what you know of my kingdom, and I may spare your life for trespassing into my territory.”
This isn’t just some conversation about trusting someone with a family secret or money. This is treason, this is toppling kings and kingdoms, war, and everything and everyone at stake. And I will be nothing but careful and cautious with who I involve in that.
Del’s mouth pinches before he speaks. “I’d like to point out that confessing to trespassing counts as my first demonstration that you can trust me implicitly.”
Says the trespasser.
I ignore his comment, mouth pursed. “I’m waiting.”
His face softens, and his plum eyes burst with a surprising brightness I haven’t witnessed yet. “You should be very proud of yourself, my queen. You’ve built something truly remarkable.”
I believe him because I know it to be true. I clear my throat. “Thank you. Tell me what you saw, what you know.”
He rises and starts a fire while he speaks. “I know you have a kind heart by the way you treat your humans. With the laws you’ve enacted.”
“You know nothing of my heart.”
Del swivels his head to smirk at me like I can’t talk him out of the obvious. “I know you’ve built an army so loyal and grateful they’ll die in this life and the next for you.”
He’s not wrong.
He tosses a log into the fireplace. “You’ve made some bold choices in eradicating those who don’t align with your beliefs.”
There isn’t room for error with the fragility of life.
“Where did you hear that?” I ask, leaning back in my chair and enjoying the heat from the blaze in the hearth. Del’s gaze flicks to my exposed thigh as the dressing cloak slips, and I wish I didn’t enjoy his eyes dragging up my leg as much as I do.
“Vampire taverns talk,” he replies.
I lift my chin. “Nothing I’ve done to protect the Night Kingdom brings me shame.”
Del settles back in his chair. “Really? Because I went to visit an old friend in the Southern Continent, and he wasn’t there. Seems Prince Fash never came home from his travels over a century ago. And I wondered why that would be, because he was always intentional and cautious.”
Oh my gods.
I swallow and leash my guilt into a neutral expression. I am ashamed of my actions with Fash.
A century ago, when I was desperate to understand the enemies on the borders of the Night Kingdom, I invited a neighboring ruler to visit.
I had heard Prince Fash was a decent man, and he was—one of the only ruling vampires I’ve met who could possibly claim this.
He would have been an ally for us. But to my shame, I panicked when he playfully grazed his hand along my bare shoulder and a bond began to form.
The onslaught of attraction, the thread that seemed to be stitching us together, soul melding with soul, terrified me, both with sharing my rule and my life.
I was not ready for a bond, nor did I want to open myself to brutal, heart-wrenching pain if it were ever lost.
So I slashed his throat with the daggers always strapped to my thighs and took off his head.
For years, I looked over my shoulder, waiting for the fallout of killing Prince Fash, but no one ever came with questions or accusations.
And while my guilt still prods at me after all this time, Fash’s death was worth something.
Because my strategy was born that day. He showed me a way to eliminate powerful enemies discreetly.
And a part of me hopes, if he knew what his life had bought, maybe he would forgive me.
But then the vampiric presence took advantage of Prince Fash’s disappearance, and bloodlust became rampant in the Southern Continent.
I’ve been trying to recover the territory ever since, and my mistakes haunt me.
The continued loss of life is on my shoulders, and I doubt Fash would forgive me for that.
Del peers at me like he can see right through my facade, but I force myself to pin a prideful look on my face.
In the wake of my silence, Del clears his throat.
“Given how the Night Kingdom seemed to quietly expand its territory since Fash’s disappearance, I traveled east, into the deep mountains of the Old Tritan Territory, and the prince who ran them for the last five hundred years was missing there, too. ”
“Seems you gave yourself quite the tour,” I bite out.
“I did,” he says, crossing his arms, the lapels of his jacket pulling taut over his broad chest.
“I was lucky to spread the reach of my rule without bloodshed over the last century. Well, other than the first seven wars I won near the beginning,” I add, closing the slit of my dressing gown.
Del’s gaze tracks my hand and then finds my eyes, expression amused and challenging. “Of course. What well-timed, intelligent, ruthless luck you’ve had.”
I don’t dignify his words with a reaction. “Is there anything else you think you know about me?”
“Just one other thing,” Del says, flashing a winning smile that turns his sharp features into refined handsomeness. My insides twirl, captivated by his face and the memory of his hips against me in the west wing.
Godsdamnit.
“And what is that?” I sigh, trying to release the coiling tension and not let attraction distract me.
“You have three strongholds. Not two.”
My hissing snarl rages out of me before I can tamp it, and the gorgeous vampire in front of me morphs into my enemy in a moment.
Del tenses, raising a hand. “I swear I would die before revealing it to anyone. It’s your best-held weapon.”
“You just signed your own death sentence, Del. I can’t let the knowledge you have continue to exist, especially in Goreon territory.”
The male gets on his knees, and I watch his muscular thighs flex as he sinks back on his heels before me.
“You must trust me,” he says. “I live my life in service to saving Goreon, I swear it. We want the same thing.” His voice reaches in and grabs me, the way it did the very first time he spoke, and I know he’s being honest.
“Not good enough,” I snarl.
His eyes are a plea before he speaks again. “My name was Patrick,” he says softly.
My eyes go wide in shock. “Why would you tell me that?” I demand.
It’s the most intimate thing he could have shared. We never reveal our human name. Our name is the one thing that still truly belongs to us from our humanity, and we don’t share that, hardly ever, except with maybe a mate.
The firelight dances across his somber face. “Because, somehow, I need to convince you to trust me. And I’ll lay my entire self bare before you, if that’s what it takes. You’re the opportunity I’ve been waiting for, and I won’t let you slip through my fucking fingers, Veya.”
He drops my royal title, desperation and honesty pushing out pretense, and I allow it for what he’s given me to cling to, his name still ringing in my mind.
Patrick.
“Help me take down Nerian. Help me hand you another throne,” Del says. “I beg you.”
I exhale heavily, mind whirling with the consequences of agreeing to this if he’s not who he says he is. But my heart and my gut aren’t balking; I believe he wants what I want, and that wins over any logic. My heart has never led me astray.
“I have an army and a kingdom to bring to the table. What do you have, Del?” I demand.
He smirks. “Goreon secrets.”