Chapter 12
Rixon
Rixon handed Mina the letter after reading its contents.
He watched as her eyes darkened, as the skin around her sockets sprouted with blackened veins that spread across her face.
When she looked up at him, something darker peered out.
“They cannot have me,” she hissed, her voice no longer that of his witch, but something otherworldly.
“I will not allow them to break our bond.”
“And what of Skye’s other command?” He gathered his clothes for the day and began dressing.
“Need you ask?”
“I do not want a war between the crown and the Citadel. Our people need witches for their protection. If Skye pulls them from our settlements, our people will be well and truly helpless. Still, we have no other choice.”
“Not every witch will follow her orders. Not every witch will acknowledge her as queen.”
“Many will.” He slipped into his tunic. “Perhaps these new repellers from Carth will be more crucial than I imagined.”
“You’ve seen them?” Her head tilted to the side. Already, the darkness was receding. He’d grown so used to it now, that he often forgot what she grappled with.
“Yes.” He stepped into his pants and began lacing them with deft fingers.
Mina’s eyes lowered, fixed on the motion.
Her attention had him hardening again. He almost, almost undid the ties just so he could take her back to bed.
But the thought of their earlier conversation came racing back and he squashed the notion.
It needled him that she hadn’t immediately agreed to his proposal.
Yes, it was fucked up that he wanted to chain her and suppress her magic so she couldn’t stop him.
Wanted to own her mind, body, and soul. Wanted to possess her in a way no one ever could or would.
Still, what had he expected? That she would throw herself at his feet with eagerness?
He cleared his throat and said, “Weiss gave us a demonstration outside the city’s wards. The repellers work.”
She hummed with thoughtfulness. “Probably not as effective as I am.”
He finished dressing and walked over to her.
She was still naked, standing in the middle of the room.
“No, love. No one is as effective as you are. But unless you can clone yourself into multiples, to be placed at each settlement in the kingdom, it’s the best hope we have, especially if Skye recalls the Citadel’s witches. ”
He cupped her face in his hands, looking her over. Gods, she was lovely. So lovely that it hurt to look at her. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe she was his.
But not completely—not yet.
Her face softened. “I never imagined it would come to this.”
He made a sound in the back of his throat, his mood souring. Neither had he. Yet, here they were.
“Get dressed. There are new gowns for you in the wardrobe. Put one on—the blue velvet with the silver trim—so I can hike it up around your waist later and take you against the wall. No undergarments. I don’t want anything in my way.”
“Oh?” She batted her lashes at him. “Is that a requirement now? You dictating what I wear?”
“Among other things, yes.” If he couldn’t possess her fully, he’d make do. “With how busy my day is, I’ll be lucky if I can steal a few minutes to lose myself in you.”
She hummed, walking over to the wardrobe. She eyed the gowns then turned to him. “And what if I’d rather wear the green?”
“You’ll wear the blue, Mina.” There was no room for argument. He waited, daring her to rebel.
“Fine.” A wicked smile pulled at her lips, and he wondered if she was thinking of ways to irritate him. Perhaps it had been a mistake to let slip just how bad his need for control was becoming. Would she use it against him?
A knock sounded.
“That will be Lola and Julian,” he said, blowing out a breath.
“I’ll have the servants deliver food while you’re in the bath.
I need to get going. If you wish to join me, I’ll be in the council chamber, or my father’s study.
If I’m neither of those places, then I’ve probably jumped off the tallest tower and you’ll find my body splattered on the pavers. ”
She snorted a laugh, tossing the gown on the bed before heading over to him, running her hands along his chest. His muscles jumped eagerly beneath her touch. “Why are Lola and Julian knocking on the door?”
His jaw tightened. “Mya thought it best.”
Her eyes narrowed. “There’s something you’re not telling me. What?”
“Someone sent an assassin for me. Woke up as he was sneaking in.”
Her eyes blackened in an instant. Her voice changed as she said, “And did you kill him—this assassin?”
“What do you think?”
“I’m not quite sure, which is why I asked.”
“No. He was taken to the dungeon for questioning.”
She looked thoughtful and perhaps even a little disappointed. “So, Mya thought you needed bodyguards?”
“In your absence, yes. Would you like the job?”
She regarded him, head cocked. He hated that he couldn’t read her expression when the darkness was close to the surface. “No.”
“No, you won’t protect me?” His eyebrows jumped up in mock surprise.
“No, I won’t follow you around like a lap dog. I have matters of my own to attend to.”
A surprised laugh fell from his chest. “Like what?”
“Like freeing you from that infernal portal, for a start,” she said. Warmth surged in his chest, knowing she refused to give up on him. “I’m off to the library.”
“Not looking like this, you’re not,” he growled, slapping her ass hard enough that she yelped and jerked against him. He wrapped his arms around her and snared her in a punishing kiss. Her chest was heaving by the time he released her.
“Be a good girl for me today. Come and find me before dinner so that I can fuck you.”
“And what if I don’t?”
“You will.” He left no room for argument in his tone. Offering her a final kiss on the forehead, he swept from the room.
Lola and Julian were waiting outside, along with his usual guards. Andrei was striding down the corridor, which meant he was already late for their council meeting.
“Have some food brought to my lady witch,” he commanded of a servant in passing. “And breakfast for myself—delivered to the council room.” The servant stammered and rushed off.
“There you are, Sire. Did you have time to read the missive?”
“Yes, and the council isn’t going to like it. Let’s go.”
He motioned with a nod to Lola and Julian and they took off at a clipped pace.
“The crown does not bow to the whims and wishes of the Citadel,” Lord Alan Karkas growled, slamming the missive on the table. He was the last to read it. The others already wore mixed expressions, from concern to outrage.
Alan Karkas was a textile mongol. While Raeria didn’t have the means to care for sheep or grow cotton—not anymore—it did have numerous mills along the coast. Conveniently, those raw materials were delivered at port, then efficiently turned into textiles that either went inland or back out on Luka Kipani’s ships.
“Perhaps we ought to attempt negotiations?” Haspel suggested, looking more nervous than the rest of them. His overland trade was the most at risk.
“They aren’t open to negotiations,” Rixon stated. “And I will not be handing over my crown.”
“Of that, we are in agreement,” said General Ralston, crossing his arms. Of anyone, it was Ralston he suspected for his recent assassination attempt. Why wouldn’t the general want him dead? After all, he’d already tried—and failed—to have Mina killed.
“Lord Holland.” He looked at the male. “You are strangely silent. Of anyone here, you have a great deal to gain, no?”
“Me, Your Majesty?” Holland shifted in his seat.
“Carth will need your Nebrine exports—now more than ever—if we are to make arrangements to purchase repellers for our settlements.”
“Oh, yes. But of course.”
“And what of the retaliation we might face in denying Skye?” Haspel asked.
“I am also concerned about that.” Lord Cecil Rowe crossed his arms. “I do not wish to test the might of the crown against that of the Citadel.”
“We have no choice,” said Ralston. “Besides, I highly doubt they are any match for our military.”
“They have magic!” Lord Rowe cried.
“And you would what,”—General Ralston sneered—“roll over and show them your belly?”
Rowe’s cheeks flushed but he fell silent.
“There will be no surrender,” Rixon reiterated. He slid a sheet of parchment in front of him and set about a response to the group of witches camped outside his city walls. He handed it off to Andrei to be delivered. “Now, let us discuss a better solution for how we can best protect our people.”
“I say we call for an immediate supply of these repellers,” said Haspel. “Outfit every settlement with them. Ensure that traveling merchants have adequate protection. Who knows, perhaps we won’t need the witches when this is all said and done. I, for one, wouldn’t mind seeing them to obsoletion.”
“Can we really trust Carth with something like this?” Ralston asked.
“We don’t have a choice!” Haspel shot back.
The discussion continued as they outlined a strategy to implement something of this magnitude. Haspel was the most animated he’d seen in days. Perhaps that was a good thing.
Rixon rubbed his temples, sighing. He absently picked at the food that was delivered.
It had already been checked, his taster having come and gone.
Lola and Julian stood just outside the chamber door, should they be needed.
The council had protested adamantly about the presence of outsiders in their meeting—a witch, no less.
It was the best he could do, keeping them just outside the door.
They would have protested Mina’s presence, too.
But on that he would not budge, should she wish to attend.
He’d meant what he said about wanting to crown her as his queen, to make her his wife, and he hadn’t missed the way she’d glossed over it.
He worried she wouldn’t allow it. He didn’t have the authority to force her into something so monumental, nor would he.
Even if the thought needled him.
He’d long ago accepted her rule. Yet, his lack of control was burrowing beneath his skin. It was why he frothed over the idea of binding her and fucking her. It was a product of his current circumstances.
What was she up to, anyway? Probably in the library, looking for more information on the portal.
An image of her flashed into his mind, of her body pressed against the stacks, legs wrapped around his waist, blue velvet dress hiked up.
She’d be dripping for him. He’d have to cover her mouth, ensuring she didn’t make a sound.
He couldn’t have her disturbing other patrons.
Just the thought had him shifting in his chair. It was a blessing when they finally called an end to today’s meeting. Not that he was done, he still had several other matters that would take him hours to complete.
The fantasy of Mina haunted him throughout the day.
Dusk was setting in when he tossed his quill down and leaned back, rubbing his eyes.
The clock on the wall tick-tick-ticked in the otherwise silent study.
His father’s study. He hated this room. At some point, he planned to erase every bad memory, replacing them with new ones, preferably one with Mina spread out across his father’s desk while he feasted on her cunt.
A low growl of impatience rose in his chest and he slammed his chair back, enjoying the sound of it scraping across the wood floor. He’d ordered her to come and find him, if only to offer a brief reprieve from his duties. Yet, she had not. His irritation surged, worsened by the stress of the day.
The witches had departed shortly after receiving his note. He worried about how they’d retaliate. What it would mean for Raeria.
He needed Mina—needed a distraction—but she had not headed his orders.
He searched the library first, thrilled by the idea of ordering everyone out so that he could punish her surrounded by books.
She wasn’t there. He checked with the guards at the palace gate, but she hadn’t left.
None of the servants in the corridors had seen her.
She wasn’t at the palace’s tallest vantage tower, looking out over the city he’d promised to give her.
It wasn’t until he caught sight of his dungeon guards standing well outside the corridor that he knew something was wrong. They confirmed his fears, informing him that Mina had ordered them to leave. Out of concern, they had decided to wait just outside.
Jaw clenched, he headed down to the cells below. It was quiet. Too quiet.
“Mina!” he called, striding with angry steps towards the last door, which hung ajar. When he pushed it open, he staggered to a stop. The scent of shit and piss hung heavy in the air.
Mina turned, her demonic eyes glinting in the dim light. “Rixon.”
The assassin was chained, his arms wrenched above his head, feet dangling. There was blood staining the floor, dripping from massive open wounds on his chest. His pants were in place, but the rest of him was ravaged. He looked close to death, if he wasn’t already gone.
That wasn’t what iced his blood. It was the demon. There, clinging to the shadowy corner, its maw bloodied, antennae flicking as it clicked and warbled, stood a Jarg.