Chapter
Seventeen
was starting to wonder if Descended time operated like dog years, because the funeral that Luther had assured me would lastI “an hour, at most” had been going on for what felt like three decades.
An endless flow of speakers shared words of reverence about the late King, and not a single one had seemed genuine. Even Luther’s eulogy had been stiff and impersonal, lacking the nuanced emotion I’d seen in him when he had described their complicated relationship to me in private.
Remis and Garath spoke of the King’s commitment to his family, leaders from the Twenty Houses spoke of key trade deals he brokered, and visiting Descended from the other nine realms offered the condolences of their Crowns and urged the importance of our longstanding alliances.
The latter group had struck my interest the most. I longed to rush into the cordoned-off area where the foreign representatives were segregated behind a heavy contingent of guards led by Alixe and bombard them with questions about their realms. From the way they watched me with intense focus, they were itching to do the same.
The rotation of speakers was punctuated by musicians from around the realm offering songs in the late King’s honor. At the moment, a small orchestra was playing a truly gods-awful piece that the conductor swore was one of Ulther’s favorites.
It wasn’t immediately evident whether the musicians were all playing the same song, so it wasn’t off to a great start.
“If I die in the Challenging, will my funeral get all of this pageantry, or will you just toss me in an unmarked grave and move on to the next?” I asked.
Taran gave a thoughtful hum. “Well, you’ll already be down there, and all of us will already be up here... we could throw some logs on you and make it a two-for-one event.”
Several nearby Corbois gasped and shot us horrified stares. Taran and I shared a mischievous grin.
Over the course of the funeral, he and I had become fast friends. There was something I instantly liked about him. Like all Descended, he was drop-dead gorgeous and fearsome to behold, but unlike his kinsmen, Taran was quick to hand out a smile or a laugh. He returned my sass with quickfire barbs of his own, and he’d treated me not like a mortal or a Queen, but an equal.
For the first hour, he had burst out laughing every time he glanced at my black dress. After vowing to call me “Her Depressing Majesty, Queen Die-em the Royal Undertaker” for the rest of my life, he’d finally thrown an arm around my neck and turned his teasing on other members of the family.
I had a sneaking suspicion his bold friendliness was an act of mercy to shield me from his family’s cruelty. It didn’t work— I was still acutely aware of every nasty look, every scandalized whisper—but it was a kindness I wouldn’t soon forget.
“So the Challenging is held in this arena?” I asked, and Taran nodded.
I looked around at the blood-red smear of the crowd. I tried to imagine them cheering me on in victory, but I could only picture their faces of disgust when I’d arrived.
“Will they all wear red then, too?”
“Only if they think you’re going to die.”
“So that’s a yes.”
“You’re not going to die at the Challenging,” Luther interrupted.
“You don’t know that,” I protested.
“Maybe he’s planning to kill you before the Challenging,” Taran suggested.
I frowned. “Good point. I’ll have a chat about that with Sorae.”
A muffled growl rumbled from the landing above our heads.
“You’re not going to die because I won’t let it happen.” Luther’s attention stayed fixed on the arena floor, his shoulders drawn tight. “We have a number of tools at our disposal to ensure you are coronated. I’ll use as many of them as I have to. You belong on that throne.”
I pressed my lips together to hold back a smile. While I was still miffed at his scolding of Eleanor, I had to admit the gruff, overprotective champion act was a little sweet.
My knee brushed his, luring his eyes to mine. The hard set of his expression was almost painful to look at now that I knew
it had been forged from years of being isolated by his power, his family, and his destiny. This was the public-facing Luther, as heartless as he was matchless. The Prince.
But I knew better.
“You’re not going to die,” he repeated, his eyes blazing.
My gaze drifted to the King’s body. For a moment, all I could see was my own funeral pyre—my corpse broken and bleeding from defeat, my father and brother weeping at my side.
My throat burned. “You promise?” I whispered, remembering his words.
I keep my promises, my Queen. Whatever the cost.
He nodded. “I promise.”
“Luther,” Remis called out sharply. “The poem.”
Luther retrieved a folded paper from an inside pocket and returned to the podium. His voice boomed across the crowd as he began to speak.
“As most of you know, King Ulther’s mate, Rapheol, passed away many years ago. Rapheol was a talented poet, and when his mate ascended to the throne, he wrote a poem to commemorate his beloved’s reign. I would like to read you an excerpt from that poem.”
I sank back against the cushions and closed my eyes, listening to Luther’s deep voice recite the beautiful, lilting verses.
Rapheol’s devotion to his husband was clear in every line, and we all laughed and blushed at his catalogue of the King’s best features at court, on the battlefield, and in the bedroom.
“I didn’t even know the King was married,” I admitted. “When did Rapheol die?”
Eleanor leaned forward until her face was close to mine. “Less than a month after Ulther’s coronation. He was poisoned by a rival House. It’s a heartbreaking story.”
“Someone poisoned the King’s husband?”
She nodded. “Just as he received the Crown, Ulther was cheated in a trade agreement. He wanted to prove his strength before his Challenging, so he had their entire House shut down. He seized their property and ordered that they all leave Lumnos, join another House, or become one of the Unhoused Descended that live on the outskirts of the realm.”
“All that over a bad business deal?”
“It gets worse.” She sighed sadly. “An elder from that House decided she had nothing left to lose, so she infected Rapheol with a rare poison and demanded Ulther reinstate her House in exchange for an antidote. She even insisted on a bonded bargain that he wouldn’t punish her or her House for it later.”
“And Ulther wouldn’t do it?”
“Oh, he did—but she gave him an antidote, not the antidote. She worded the bargain cleverly, and there was nothing he could do. Rapheol died, and Ulther couldn’t seek revenge without losing his magic.”
“That’s terrible,” I gasped. “I can’t believe she got away with it.”
“She didn’t. That’s where it gets worse. Her bargain was clever, but not clever enough, because it only bound Ulther and not the rest of House Corbois. The King couldn’t take revenge—but his brothers could.”
My eyebrows flew up. “What did they do?”
She chewed on her lip and glanced nervously at her uncles. “They took out the entire House.”
I spun around to face her. “Took out? As in...?”
“As in dead. Every last one. The whole family was wiped out overnight.”
“Even... even the children? The innocents?”
Her only answer was a sad, pained grimace.
I sank back into my seat, staring at Remis and Garath as my pulse pounded in my ears.
“Ulther never got over it,” she went on. “He only appointed his brothers and their children as his advisors, and he banned anyone who wasn’t a Corbois from living or working in the palace. He refused to trust anyone from the other Houses ever again.”
My heart twisted and tore. “Was Luther part of it—the killing?” I swallowed, not really wanting to know the answer, but needing to.
“Oh no,” she said quickly. “Luther wasn’t even born.”
My shoulders sagged with relief.
Taran frowned at me. “You really believe Luther would take part in something like that?” His expression looked hurt, almost betrayed, as if I had accused him.
“I barely know him,” I mumbled, feeling my cheeks flush. “I don’t know what he’s capable of.”
Taran shook his head and looked away.
Guilt started to gnaw away at me. “The King never remarried?” I asked.
“He was mated,” Eleanor said matter-of-factly.
“But he never fell in love with anyone else?”
“He was mated,” she said again, giving me a strange look.
“Mortals don’t have mates,” Taran said to Eleanor. “She doesn’t know what that means.”
Her eyes widened, her expression bemused. “You really don’t know our culture, do you?”
I shrugged. “Only what I learned in the mortal schools.”
“Which was what?” Taran asked. “That Descended are all evil monsters who are out to get them?”
“Quite the opposite,” I sniped. “We’re taught you’re all perfect, and death to anyone who says otherwise.” I could handle Taran’s ribbing, but the haughty way the Descended spoke about mortals never failed to set my temper alight. “The Crown decides what information mortals are allowed to know. And if we try to learn more than we’re supposed to, we wind up on the end of a Descended blade.” I gestured to Remis and Garath. “So you can take up your thoughts on my inadequate education with those two and their Keeper of the Laws.”
All traces of Taran’s judgment disappeared. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t realize.”
I flexed my jaw and looked back at Eleanor. “Mates—could you explain it to me?”
She nodded. “For us, marriage is just a ceremony to exchange rings and vows. You can get married for any reason— politics, alliances, money—and you can remarry as often as you like. But a mate...” Her eyes shone with reverence. “A mate is so much more. A mating bond can only be made by love—true love.”
I gave her a skeptical look. “True love?”
She smiled dreamily, oblivious to my cynicism. “Any two Descended can attempt the mating ritual, but the bonding magic will only work if your love is genuine and unconditional, and if you freely commit to stand by your mate forever, in life and in death. Once you’re mated, your heart is bound to your mate for eternity. You can never love anyone else.”
“Never? Even if they die?”
“Never. It’s a legacy of the Kindred’s choice to give up their immortality for their mortal lovers.”
“Being mated isn’t just a relationship,” Taran said, his expression equally aglow. “It changes you physically. Your bodies become two halves of a whole. If you’re away from your mate for too long, you get ill and your magic weakens. They say you can even die from it.”
“I heard they can sense each other’s emotions,” Eleanor added. “And it doesn’t end at death. Whichever mate dies first, they stay in limbo until the other joins them. Their worthiness is judged together, like a single soul.”
Taran sighed happily. “It’s just so romantic.”
“You two aren’t really selling me on this mating thing,” I joked. They both looked at me like I had sprouted a second head.
“It sounds like giving up a lot of yourself. And it’s very... permanent. Why would anyone choose that over marriage?”
“Because they’re your mate,” Eleanor said, drawing the word out as if that should say it all. “To be connected so deeply to the one you love, even beyond death... it’s the greatest joy anyone can experience.”
Taran leaned over with a savage grin. “And they say sex with your mate is mind-blowing.”
Eleanor swatted at him and laughed, though she threw me a tawdry grin that said she agreed.
“The mating bond is sacred,” he added. “It’s respected by all Descended, no matter the realm. Even if one mate is imprisoned, the other is permitted access to them at all times. To separate mates is an insult to the Kindred themselves.”
I sat back and frowned, trying to imagine being bound in such an intimate and irreversible way—to give away half of my very soul to another and trust them to protect it and remain loyal to it always. My mind lingered on Henri and the marriage proposal I had nearly rejected, and a horrible pit settled in my stomach.
“How do you know if your love for someone is true enough to be mated?” I asked.
“Oh, the rite is very simple,” Eleanor chirped. “You shed a little blood, commit to them forever... if the love is worthy, the magic does the rest.”
It wasn’t the mechanics of the rite that were haunting me, but her words caught my attention.
“If it doesn’t work, haven’t you just admitted that you don’t truly love each other?”
“Happens all the time,” Taran answered.
“It’s the worst,” Eleanor groaned. “So painful to watch. Some couples test the rite first to avoid embarrassment.
Technically, the bond can be one-sided, so—”
“What?” I cried out, drawing stares from nearby Corbois.
Taran grinned at my outburst. “It’s not uncommon to start the rite in private to be certain it will work. If one mate completes
the bond, the other usually will, too.”
“But not always?”
“It’s very rare, but it’s possible,” Eleanor agreed. “They’re called stranded mates. It’s all the worst parts of the bond— having to be near them, feeling their pain, never being able to love anyone else—without any of the benefits.” She winced as if just thinking on it caused her actual pain. “It’s the worst fate I could imagine.”
I studied the couples seated around us. “Who is mated in House Corbois?”
Eleanor and Taran exchanged a loaded glance. A shared pain seemed to pass across their faces.
“Royals marry for strategic alliances, not for love.” Eleanor’s posture drooped. “Uncle Garath told me if I tried to mate
without his consent, I’d be exiled from the realm.”
Taran grunted quietly, his glum expression implying he’d received the same order.
My eyes narrowed on the throne where his father now sat. The more I learned about Garath, the more I reviled him. I wasn’t sold on the concept of taking a mate—even a simple marriage to Henri was keeping me awake at night—but I very much believed in love.
I had seen it countless times in my years as a healer. Desperate, gut-wrenching pleas for help when a spouse was gravely ill, and quaking sobs of relief when they recovered. Elderly couples saying their final goodbyes, their devotion steadfast over decades of ups and downs. Healthy spouses who mysteriously passed within days of their partner, their hearts unwilling to keep beating in a world where their beloved’s heart didn’t.
I knew what it looked like to watch love be cut short too early. If I could spare my new friends—by the Flames, do I really have Descended friends?—from that tragedy, that was a battle worth fighting.
I shot them a defiant scowl. “You tell the family they can mate with whoever they damn well please. Garath’s order ends with me. If he doesn’t like it, he can take it up with his Queen.”
Taran studied me, his face hopeful. “You truly mean that?”
I scoffed. “You think I would let anyone dare to stand in the way of my beloved cousins and mind-blowing sex?”
Taran and Eleanor looked at each other and grinned.
“Sorry Ellie, she’s definitely my favorite Corbois now,” he crowed.
“Mine, too,” she laughed.
“I step away for a few minutes and the conversation has already turned to sex?”
The three of us looked up to see Luther towering over us with eyebrows raised.
“Diem is lifting Garath’s ban on royals mating without permission.” Eleanor smirked. “And all in the name of good sex.”
Taran pulled me into his side as he beamed up at his cousin. “We love a woman with her priorities in order, don’t we Lu?”
Luther’s piercing stare pinned me in place. “We do,” he said, his voice heart-stoppingly soft.
I squirmed under his rapt attention. “Tell Iléana I said ‘you’re welcome.’ Be sure to send me an invitation to your mating ceremony.” I tried to make my tone light, but the words came out bitter.
Taran cackled so loudly it reverberated around the royal box, and again, a sea of faces turned our direction.
Luther wedged back into the narrow space beside me, his body pressing distractingly hard against mine. He kept his posture stiff, as aware as I was of the crowd scrutinizing our interaction.
“Iléana would never be my mate,” he said tersely. “Our relationship had nothing to do with love.”
“You cared enough to stay with her for years,” I argued.
“No, she and her family chased me for years. She wanted to be my Queen Consort, and my father wanted an alliance with House Hanoverre. What I want...” His jaw ticked as he stopped himself short.
“What do you want, Luther?”
His eyes dragged slowly to me. He held me there like a butterfly cupped between his hands, fluttering against his touch and wondering if he would be my doom.
Every hair on my neck stood on end as he turned his lips to my ear, his voice low and rough. “Something I cannot have.”
A quiet, breathy sound rushed out of me. The poem in Luther’s hand crinkled loudly as his fingers curled around it into a tight fist.
Behind us, Eleanor laughed loudly at something Taran said, and Garath suddenly shot up from his chair. He stormed toward us. “By the Blessed Mother, will you four keep your childish giggling down? This is a funeral, you know.” His glare sharpened on me. “Haven’t you shown enough disrespect today?”
My face went hot. I jerked away from Luther, dropping my eyes to my lap, though the guilt running through me had little to do with Garath’s scolding and more to do with the way my skin was alight with crackling fire.
“Uncle Garath,” Eleanor said from behind me, “it was my fault, not hers. I—”
“You’re wrong, Uncle,” Luther interrupted loudly. “Targeting innocent victims, as usual.”
Everyone in the gallery stilled, as if Luther had crossed some boundary I could not yet see. I glanced at Aemonn, who was glowering at him in disgust, then at Taran, who looked wide-eyed and wary.
Luther’s jaw lifted in challenge. “Descended funerals are a time for celebration. I’m certain the late King would be honored by our laughter.”
“Yes, how very close you were to my brother.” Garath sneered as he moved closer. “What intimate access you had when
he came to such an untimely death.”
Now even I held my breath.
“How interesting that you have positioned yourself just as closely to our young new Queen,” he added. “I wonder if your ambition will cause her to meet a similar fate.”
Luther looked almost bored, seemingly unruffled by Garath’s words, but I saw through his ruse—or rather, felt through it.
His powerful aura throbbed against my skin, the blistering fury radiating from him nearly hot enough to burn.
I opened my mouth to interrupt. Luther dropped the poem and clamped his hand high on my leg, shocking me to silence.
“You are certainly the expert on striking blows against your own family, Uncle,” he said flatly. “Though you prefer it when they’re smaller and weaker.”
“Luther,” Taran rumbled in warning. His usual grin had vanished, and for the first time, I saw a glimpse of the terrifying warrior that lay beneath his easy disposition.
Luther shot him a quick look, and Taran’s azure eyes conveyed something that looked a lot like betrayal.
Somehow I had stumbled into a dark, perilous cave of family secrets. I would have killed to see Eleanor’s reaction, but I didn’t dare move. I caught sight of Aemonn from the corner of my eye. His focus was fixed on my upper thigh, where Luther’s fingers still dug into my flesh.
Garath laughed harshly. “Why should you raise a fist, dear nephew, when you seem content to let the Challenging do the work for you? Bringing her here in a black dress, letting her laugh and smile while the realm mourns—your counsel will have her facing a line of Challengers stretching all the way to Fortos. I underestimated your ambition.”
Luther’s fingers tightened around my thigh. I had a feeling I was about to watch a very different type of challenging go down right here in the royal box.
I clawed myself together and stood, pulling out of Luther’s grasp. “The only person who dressed me and let me laugh and smile is me,” I said coolly. “Though I will be certain to keep your fascinating observations in mind when I select my new Wardens.”
“If that day in fact arrives,” he muttered.
“Oh, it will.” I smiled brightly and took a few steps closer, lowering my voice so only he could hear. “And when it does, you can beg for whatever scraps I give you, just like you did with Ulther.”
Garath’s answering rage could have razed a mountain. “You loud-mouthed, uppity little—”
“Careful, Uncle,” Luther rumbled. “She is Queen, and I am still Keeper of the Laws. Executions are my specialty.”
Garath’s fingers twitched at his sides. He kept scowling, and I kept smiling, both expressions dripping with equal hatred.
His eyes narrowed, then he abruptly spun on his heel and stalked back to his chair.
I slammed back into my seat and bit down hard to hold back the deluge of words that threatened to come flooding out. No one in the gallery spoke, everyone too spellbound by the spectacle that had just occurred.
“Sit back,” Luther said, quietly but firmly.
Against my stubborn nature, I obeyed.
“Stop glaring. Don’t let them know he got to you.”
“He didn’t,” I snapped—but again, I obeyed.
He stretched out his legs, looking utterly at ease, and propped his arm on the seat back behind me. As he did, he brushed the hair away from my shoulder and stroked a thumb along my neck, the gesture so brief it might have been accidental.
Though his stony stare remained locked dead ahead, his head inclined slightly to me. “Garath is dangerous,” he whispered.
“It’s one thing for me to provoke him. He won’t strike at me without my father’s blessing. But for you...”
“I’m not afraid of Garath,” I gritted out. “He might be dangerous, but I’m gods-damned fatal.”
For all my boasting, I wasn’t sure even I believed those words. I balled my hands in my lap and tried to ignore the sinking feeling that I’d just made a very grave mistake.
