Chapter
Twenty-Seven
sank into the plush armchair and whimpered at the rush of relief that shot up my aching feet. The room was cold, lit only byI dim candlelight, but the quiet was a badly needed refuge.
We were hours into the ball, and I had only just now finished the receiving line of guests. Having kissed a thousand cheeks, forced a thousand smiles, and hid a thousand scowls—mostly at Aemonn’s frequent implications that we were practically mated—I sweet-talked Perthe into a brief moment of privacy and excused myself to freshen up.
After swiping a bottle of wine on my way out, of course.
I had tucked into a nearby reading salon, where I sat with eyes closed, trying to resist the urge to walk straight out of this palace and go home to curl up in my own bed at our family’s cottage on the marsh.
Standing up so boldly to House Hanoverre had been effective at warning off the other Houses from threatening me outright, but it had also taken my strategy of playing dumb and cut it off at the knees. There was no longer any point in pretending I was Remis’s hapless puppet.
For better or worse, the Houses of Lumnos now knew that I had claws—and that I was willing to use them.
To make matters worse, a shade of suspicion now tainted every interaction I had. Marthe Hanoverre had planted her hateful seed in the soil of the Twenty Houses, and her loyal flock would be hard at work cultivating it and watching it bloom.
I could have endured it a little easier if their accusations were baseless, but a part of me wondered whether my mother really had played a role in the King’s death—and whether I had unwittingly helped.
A year ago, it would have been inconceivable that my mother was involved in a convoluted plot to overthrow a Descended
King and place me on his throne.
Now, I didn’t know what to believe.
I groaned as music wafted down the hall, a signal that the dancing was about to begin. I tipped the bottle of wine back and took a heavy swig. The warmth of the magic-infused alcohol spread through my chest, and a snorting laugh bubbled out. How naive of me to have believed the dancing would be the hardest part of this wretched ball.
Any other day, I would have cherished a night of dancing and drinking with friends. Tonight, though, the idea of twirling in a ballgown while the mortals lived in poverty, Henri languished in the dungeon, and Luther took on the Guardians had me feeling every bit the selfish Descended monster I once accused all the people in this palace of being.
Sometimes, the line between who I hated and who I had become was paper thin.
Sometimes, I wasn’t even sure which side of the line I was on.
Though I strongly considered polishing off the wine, better judgment reluctantly won out. I set down the half-full bottle with a longing look and dragged myself out of my cozy hideaway when a familiar voice caught my ear.
“What do you want, Iléana?”
My heart must have recognized him before my brain did, because a rush of familiar calm washed over me before I pieced together what I was hearing.
“No one is buying that she’s really a Corbois, Luther. Your servants do talk, you know.”
The fleeting moment of peace vanished. I spied a flash of golden hair through the crack of a slightly open door, where Luther and Iléana were talking in a nearby room.
What I should have done was leave.
Or at the very least announce my presence.
But I’d used up all my good behavior on the abandoned wine. I pressed myself into the shadows near the door.
“You cannot be serious,” Iléana said archly. “She’s a half-breed. She shouldn’t even be alive.”
“She is your Queen.”
“You’ve been preparing for this role your entire life. You earned it. That Crown belongs to you.”
“The Crown belongs to whomever Blessed Mother Lumnos chooses. She chose Diem, so Diem is who I serve.”
“Not for long. She’ll never survive the Challenging.” Iléana smiled and wet her lips. “Maybe I’ll Challenge her myself and claim you as the spoils of my victory.”
Wisps of light sparked in Luther’s pale blue gaze. “If you Challenge her, you will not survive it. No one will. Her power is stronger than any Descended I’ve ever met.”
“Is this why you left me?” she snapped. “Is this why you can’t stop fawning over her like she’s the fucking Blessed Mother herself?”
Luther’s mouth went tight. “Jealousy does not become you, Iléana.”
“I’m a Hanoverre, Lu. I have no reason to be jealous of that uneducated, ill-mannered trash, whether she sits on a throne or not.”
I despised the feelings of insecurity her cruel words aroused. I was proud of my family, prouder still of my mortal upbringing, but this pedigree-obsessed Descended world of wealth and propriety made it easy to feel defined not by who you were, but what you were.
“Maybe I underestimated you,” she said bitterly. “Maybe when you didn’t get the Crown, you decided you’ll get to the throne any way you can. Tell me, has she already spread her legs for you? Have you already got that whore down on her knees
while you—”
“Watch your mouth,” Luther thundered.
“Am I wrong? You were happy enough to bed me before that little tramp came around.”
I failed miserably at fighting back the mental image of the two of them making love, Iléana’s legs wrapped around Luther’s naked body, his lips crushed against hers. Bile rose in my throat.
“I always suspected you never really knew me,” Luther growled. “Now I realize how right I was.”
Undeterred, Iléana moved closer. “My grandmother looked into her mortal family, you know. We know all about them. She grew up in some pitiful hut out in the swamps. Someone like that, sitting on the throne—it’s vulgar. She’s a threat to what the Twenty Houses have built.”
I flinched at the sting of Luther’s silence.
“We both know she isn’t going to do what needs to be done to put those terrorist rebels in their place,” Iléana pushed. “Do you really think the Houses will allow that to go unchecked?”
She stepped up to Luther and laid her palm against his cheek. “Her days are numbered. Do yourself a favor, Lu. Don’t get attached.”
A shadow caught the edge of my vision, and I whirled to see Eleanor staring at me with a frown. “Diem, Aemonn’s looking for y—”
I clamped my palm over her mouth and raised a single finger to my lips.
“Just this once, Iléana, I’m going to ignore that you just spoke of treason in front of the Keeper of the Laws.”
Eleanor’s eyes flared wide as she recognized Luther’s voice. She peeled my palm away and hurriedly nestled beside me.
“Treason is putting a mortal-loving half-breed on a Descended throne,” Iléana snarled.
“Tread carefully. I will not overlook it a second time.”
Iléana scoffed. “You would choose her over me? Over all that we shared together? All that we planned?”
“Those were your plans, not mine. Diem is my Queen. I will choose her over everything.”
“You didn’t choose Ulther over everything.” Iléana tilted her head and gave him a critical glare. “You weren’t so loyal to him.”
Eleanor’s eyes bulged as they locked with mine, and I wondered if I had made a reckless mistake inviting her to listen in. I started to pull her away, and she yanked me back into place.
“I’m not an idiot, Luther. I saw the ways you worked around the King. Sometimes you even disobeyed him outright. What has this girl done to earn your loyalty that Ulther didn’t?”
I strained my ear closer, pressing it as far into the open door as I dared.
Luther’s silence was deafening.
“Oh Lu,” Iléana sighed. She smoothed down the lapel of his jacket. “This will all be over soon enough, and once she’s out of the way and you take the throne like you were meant to, I will forgive this little indiscretion. Then you and I will finally be the King and Queen this realm deserves.”
I flinched and moved back toward the corridor. As I brushed by Eleanor, she pulled me in by the waist. “Wait,” she whispered.
“I’ve heard enough. I should get back to the ball.”
“Wait,” Eleanor insisted.
Luther’s voice rumbled out of the room, carrying in its low timbre a hint of the deep vault of power that lay inside.
“Let me make myself extremely clear. If you or anyone in your family makes a move against Diem, it will be the last thing you ever do. I will see to it personally that House Hanoverre is destroyed.”
“Is that a threat?” Iléana hissed.
“It’s a promise.” He paused, his voice turning dark. “And you know I always keep my promises.”
Eleanor bit her lip as a smile threatened to break through. “Now we’re done.”
“MY DARLING DIEM,” Aemonn bellowed loudly at my return to the ballroom. “It’s time for our first dance.”
He strolled—pranced, really—over to me with one hand extended, the other fanning out the thick fabric of his feathered cape.
I threw a pleading look to Eleanor. “Save me?”
She laughed and shoved me toward him. “It’s a ball. This is supposed to be the fun part.”
Before I could protest, Aemonn snagged me into his arms and curled a hand around my waist. I begrudgingly slipped a shaky hand into his. My skin went clammy, red splotches rising along my chest.
“Nervous?” he teased.
“I can’t dance,” I mumbled, staring down at my feet. “This is going to humiliate both of us.”
“We’ll be fine.” He gave my waist a quick squeeze. “Relax and follow my lead. Are you capable of that—letting someone else take control?”
I scowled at him, and his grin spread wider. He pulled me tight against his body, lifting my weight so that when he moved, I became an extension of him, and the stumbles of my clumsy feet were lost under the flutter of my skirts.
We floated around the room with unexpected grace as he led me in a series of spins, to which the crowd responded with cooing and frequent applause. Aemonn took every opportunity to make use of his dazzling smile as my frown turned deeper and deeper.
“You’re supposed to be enjoying this, not looking like you’re plotting to stab me in my sleep,” he said beneath his breath.
“I’ve never been a very good liar,” I said flatly.
“What happened to ‘thank you, Aemonn’? And ‘I won’t forget your kindness, Aemonn’?”
My eyes narrowed. “That was when you were being nice. The moment we stepped in front of a crowd, you turned into just another pompous fake, lying about how close we are to look important.”
He laughed harshly and shook his head. “You’re welcome, Diem.”
“For what? Pretending to be the father of my unborn children? Thinking you can trick me into marrying you?”
“For shutting off speculation about who else might be in your bed,” he snapped. “If everyone here believes you have committed to me, there’s no reason for them to go snooping after any other lovers you might have, is there?”
My irritation faltered. He had a point—after his display in front of House Benette, not a single person had asked about my love life. And with the way he continued to paw at me and make claims on our future, it was unlikely anyone ever would.
For a young, unknown Queen, marrying a well-connected Corbois Prince would be expected. Welcomed. Unquestioned.
I knew Aemonn’s behavior was calculated. I hadn’t considered it might be calculated for me.
“I think you’re beautiful, Diem, and interesting, and fiery, and many other qualities I seek in a wife, but I’m not trying to trick you into marrying me. I would prefer to spend my life with someone who enjoys my company.”
“Aemonn, I didn’t mean—”
“I’ve also spared you a few hundred drooling suitors who would be swarming you tonight if they weren’t afraid of crossing me. So again... you’re welcome.”
I chewed guiltily on my lip. “Fine. I might have overreacted.”
He shot me a look, and I rolled my eyes, though a smile toyed at my lips. “Thank you, Aemonn,” I repeated. “I won’t forget your kindness, Aemonn.”
We shared a laugh, and the tension between us eased as we danced in pleasant silence. I begrudgingly had to confess that, with a dance partner like Aemonn, I was actually starting to enjoy myself. I didn’t even put up a fight when he took my arms and looped them around his neck, then ran his fingers in circles along my back.
“Diem?”
“Hmm?”
“What did you ask Luther to do?”
My body went stiff.
“Nothing,” I rushed out.
He gave me a hard look. “I helped you back there with that mortal, didn’t I? I at least deserve to know what I was helping you with.”
I pulled away, nearly tripping and falling backward in the process. Aemonn’s hands caught me and locked me in place.
“He—I—Luther made sure Henri got home safely,” I stammered, looking down to hide the lie.
“And he needed the Umbros Descended for that?”
I grimaced. “Um, I think it was a cover.” My mind raced for a plausible excuse. “I’m not certain, uh, perhaps he—”
The music ended, and a smattering of applause rose from the crowd. I yanked out of Aemonn’s grip and, in a panic, dropped into a curtsy.
A familiar snort rang out over my shoulder. I whipped around, spotting Taran in the throng, and gripped his arm. “Dance with me,” I hissed. “Queen’s orders.”
“Whatever you say, Your Majesty.” He smirked at Aemonn and swept me to the center of the dance floor, taking both hands and spinning me until I was woozy. “Dancing with my brother was that bad, huh?”
“No,” I admitted. “He’s growing on me. There’s a nice guy under there somewhere.”
Taran grunted and looked away, his expression uncharacteristically cold. The rancorous history between the brothers was something more than mere sibling rivalry. There was a too-sharp edge to every taunt that seemed designed to stab, rather than poke.
Though dark clouds lingered in his eyes, he rolled his shoulders and flashed me a wicked look. “I heard you threw a punch at old lady Hanoverre.”
My jaw hung open. “Is that what people are saying?”
“I heard you made her get down on her knees and beg for your forgiveness.”
“What!? No, gods, there was nothing like—”
“Then I heard you kicked Iléana right in the tits. The left one.”
“Alright, now I know you’re lying.”
“And then you pulled Jean’s pants down so everyone could see his tiny—”
“Taran,” I shouted, laughing.
“Wishful thinking?” he asked. I slugged him in the ribs, and he took the blow with a grin. “Just wanted to make sure this place hasn’t stolen your ability to laugh yet.”
A bittersweet gratitude filled my chest, and I pulled him close in a fierce hug. Our constant banter reminded me so much of my relationship with Teller. Though no one could ever take my brother’s place, it gave my wounded soul some peace to know that when the terrible day arrived for Teller’s mortal life to end, I might have someone in this world who could ease the void of comradery his loss would leave behind.
“They’re definitely going to Challenge me now,” I mumbled glumly into his chest.
He squeezed me tighter. “We’ll keep training. There’s still time.”
I pulled back to offer some smart-ass quip and stopped short when I saw his stormy expression had worsened.
“Taran, what’s wrong?”
He frowned. “You’re not really going to go through with this betrothal, are you?”
The blood drained from my face. Had Luther told him about Henri? He said Taran knew all his secrets, but Luther would never betray my trust like this—would he?
“It’s... it’s my choice,” I sputtered.
“I know,” he rushed out, “and I respect that.” He sighed. “But the thought of him on the throne...”
Shit. He did know about Henri.
“I didn’t expect you to be so prejudiced,” I said defensively. “I thought you were above all that.”
“He’s manipulating you. He just wants to be King—surely you see that.”
By the Flames—Luther had told him everything.
My anger flared to life. I pulled out of his grip and glared at him, ignoring the pairs of dancers that whirled around us.
“This is none of your business, Taran.”
“I’m just looking out for you, Queenie. I know you think you can find some good in him, but he’s a selfish prick. He doesn’t deserve you.”
I dropped my voice to a low hiss. “I know it looks like Henri only agreed to marry me to become King, but I’ve known him my whole life, so don’t you dare presume to—”
“Who is Henri?”
I froze. “What?”
“I was talking about Aemonn.” Taran’s eyes narrowed. “Who were you talking about?”
I staggered back a step. “I—I didn’t—no one.”
Couples around us were beginning to take notice. Perthe stepped forward with a concerned look from where he stood watch on the edge of the dance floor.
Taran gave them a quick glance, then tugged me off to the side. “You’re engaged?”
“Yes.” I winced at the memory of Henri’s betrayed expression. “I think. Maybe.”
“To someone you knew before you were Queen...” He trailed off thoughtfully, then jolted and gawked at me. “Lumnos’s tits, to a morta—”
“Hush!” I slapped both hands over his mouth, waiting to remove them until his bulging eyes shrank to a normal size. “Yes.
Someone I grew up with.”
He studied my face, frowning deeply. “Does Luther know?”
“Yes. He’s helping me keep it quiet until after the Challenging.”
A swirl of emotions passed across Taran’s expression, sadness eventually settling into his pinched brow. “I knew there was something he wasn’t telling me. He’s never... you’re the only... fuck, now it all makes sense.”
“What makes sense?”
“Why Luther is the way he is around you. Why he won’t...” He sighed heavily and scrubbed a hand down his face. “It
doesn’t matter.”
“Why Luther won’t what?”
Taran smirked. “Aemonn’s going to lose his mind when he finds out.”
“Aemonn already knows.” I glared. “And don’t change the subject.”
His smile vanished. “Aemonn knows?”
“Yes. He’s helping me hide it, too. Actually, he—”
“Fuck.” Taran’s jaw went tight. All hint of lightness hardened into something sharp, something dangerous. Suddenly Taran seemed taller, broader, fiercer. “That’s not good, Diem. That’s really not good.”
“You’re being dramatic. Aemonn’s been very understanding.”
“For now. That’s how he works. He pretends to be your friend until he knows your weakness, then he’s the worst enemy you could ever have. You can’t trust him.”
“I don’t have a choice, Taran. He already knows.”
Veins jumped along Taran’s throat as his furious glare settled on his brother, who was holding court on the other side of the dance floor. “If he threatens you, I’ll kill him. I’ll actually kill him.”
The music ended, and I extricated myself from Taran’s vice-like grip, trying to ignore the hook of worry his warning had lodged in my side. “I’ll be fine. I can handle Aemonn.”
Taran’s eyes stayed on his brother. “I need to find Luther.”
I waved a hand toward the corridor. “He was in the hallway with Iléana. You three have fun.”
A throng of onlookers closed in around me as I pushed my way through the crowd. I ignored Perthe’s distant shouts to wait, desperate to get far away from the dance floor before the next song began.
A hand grazed my shoulder.
“Diem, was it?”
I spun to see Jean Hanoverre looking down at me with bedroom eyes and an impish smile. Behind him, a pack of Hanoverres crept closer. Their vicious grins turned my hook of worry into a full-blown anchor.
“Your name is Diem?” he repeated, one eyebrow lifting high. “Diem... Bellator?”
I clenched my jaw. “It’s Diem Corbois.”
“Sure,” he said, drawing the word out with a sinister chuckle.
My focus darted between him and his cousins. They were casually circling around me, closing me in a ring that had the hair on my arms rising.
On instinct, my hand moved to my hips in search of the daggers that had lived there for more than a decade, now finding only empty tulle.
“I apologize for my grandmother,” Jean said. “You know how troublesome elders can get, with their sharp claws and addled minds.”
“I get the feeling anyone who tells Marthe Hanoverre she has an addled mind will find themselves at the end of her sharp claws.”
His smile slid slideways, telling me just how accurate that statement had been.
“It’s practically unheard of for someone unknown to arrive at court. And when that someone arrives with a Crown...” He scoured me from head to toe. “We’re all so very curious to know more.”
“Lucky that I have a long reign ahead, then. Plenty of time for us all to get acquainted.”
“If you survive the Challenging, you mean.”
“Oh, I will.” I smiled. “You can be certain of that.”
I held firm to his gaze as he stared me down, the two of us locked in our own sort of mini-Challenge. Bodies brushed against my elbows as the Hanoverres edged closer.
“You know,” he said, “there’s a nasty rumor going around that you can’t use your magic. Some say you don’t even have any magic at all.”
“You saw it at the funeral,” I protested. “My dress, and my skin—”
“Petty parlor tricks,” someone hissed near my shoulder.
“A trick of the sun,” another called out from my side.
Jean gave an exaggerated pout. “See what I mean? I told them it can’t possibly be true. You’re the Crown. Of course you
have magic.”
“I do.”
“Because if you didn’t...” A whirlpool of shadows churned in his navy eyes. “A Crown without magic would make our
realm vulnerable. It would put a target on us all. If the mortal filth didn’t attack, the other realms surely would.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered in a slow circle around me. I kept my face fixed ahead in a brazen—and perhaps foolish—signal that I considered him no threat.
“And in that unfortunate case,” he continued as he walked, “every House would be duty-bound to Challenge that Crown. It would be our responsibility to safeguard our people.”
I lifted my eyes to the ceiling and tried not to lose myself in fantasies of dragging House Hanoverre to the dungeon en masse.
“It’s a good thing, then, that your Queen has no such issue,” I drawled.
“Prove it,” a voice behind me sneered.
“Prove it,” another repeated.
“Prove it.”
“Prove it.”
The Hanoverres echoed the statement until it was nearly a chant, a hushed drumbeat that had Jean’s arrogance growing with every strike.
“You know how it is with rumors,” he said. “Eliminate them early, or they take on a life of their own.”
I shifted into his walking path, forcing him to a halt. “Perhaps I didn’t make it clear enough earlier to your family how willing I am to eliminate anyone who spreads lies about me.”
He shrugged, unmoved by my threat. “Then prove it’s a lie. Surely someone as powerful as a Crown should have no trouble giving us a display.”
“I don’t have to prove myself to anyone.”
“What are you afraid of, Diem?” he asked with mock innocence. “It’s just a little magic.”
I bit my tongue and said nothing.
“Come on,” he pushed. “Show us what you can do.”
He circled around me again, now no longer looking at me but at his kin. “Show us.”
“Show us,” another person echoed.
“Show us.”
“Show us.”
Nerves crept along my back as they penned me in, hungry wolves stalking a stray lamb.
I could do this. I could use my magic. I’d used it earlier tonight—I think. I wasn’t sure how, or what I’d actually accomplished, but I’d given in to the voice. I just had to do it again.
I burrowed down into my soul as I searched for the godhood.
Come on, I pleaded. Come out and play.
The voice was silent.
“Having problems, Diem?” Jean asked. The crowd snickered, their grins bordering on bloodthirsty.
I remembered Luther’s advice about needing strong emotion to call it forward. Internally, I grasped at the hollow cavern of my heart, looking for a loose thread of feeling to unravel, but every attempt slipped right through my fingers.
Help me, I begged.
Still, the voice was silent.
Perhaps there was no emotion left to draw from. I had spent the night being grabbed and teased, insulted and challenged, threatened and cornered, and the onslaught had finally left me numb.
Even the thought of failing now inspired no meaningful fear, because I knew this game of theirs had nothing to do with my magic. The only point of this charade was to humiliate me. And for better or worse, for all my faults and weaknesses, one thing was true: Diem Bellator was not a woman anyone could humiliate.
“No,” I said simply. “I won’t.”
“Won’t?” Jean asked. “Or can’t?”
“Won’t,” I lied.
He let out a breathy chuckle, then let his gaze drop brazenly to my chest, sneering at the sight of the scar on my collarbone.
His tongue clicked disapprovingly as he reached out to touch it. “Oh dear, Diem. What will we do with you?”
“Kneel.”
A broad, masculine hand closed around Jean’s wrist and squeezed, trembling with the force of its angry grip.
“Kneel to her, Jean. That’s what you’ll do.”
Jean’s face turned a ghostly pale. I didn’t have to follow his panicked stare. I would know that voice—and that hand— anywhere.
Just like I knew the silky aura of power caressing my skin.
“Keep your hands off my Queen,” Luther snarled. “And you will address her by her title, or I will rip out your tongue with
my hands and nail it to the door of House Hanoverre.”
Jean grimaced, struggling to tug free. “We were only having a friendly chat. Diem here—” He moaned in pain as Luther’s grip tightened. “Her Majesty is refusing to show us her magic.”
Luther released him with a violent shove, sending Jean stumbling backward into the arms of his jackals.
“Consider yourself lucky,” Luther growled. “When Her Majesty revealed her power to me, she nearly flayed my skin from my bones and brought down half the palace.” The corner of his mouth curled up slightly, and my stomach went weightless.
“Then surely she’ll have no issue giving us a taste.”
“It’s not safe.”
Jean scoffed. “So it’s too much power for her to handle?”
“It’s too much power for you to handle. A single shot of her magic burned through my strongest shield. A weaker Descended like you would be left in a pile of ash.”
I propped a hand on my hip. “When you put it that way, maybe I should show him.”
Luther’s eyes slid to me. A crackle of energy passed between us that said more than any words ever could.
“In this crowded chamber, I would not recommend it, Your Majesty,” he said with a deferential nod. “The risk of an innocent person being harmed is too high.”
Though we were both playacting our roles, shielding our truths from the world, there was a sliver of truth to his words. I had ripped through Luther’s shields without even trying. And if I really did unleash my magic in this packed ballroom...
I scolded myself for even attempting it, and I half wondered if that was exactly why the godhood hadn’t answered my call to arms.
“Sorry,” I said to Jean with a shrug. “I wouldn’t be a very wise Queen if I ignored the counsel of my own High General.”
Jean glared at us both. “I guess my sister was right. We’ll see what you’re capable of soon enough—at the Challenging.”
