Bloodguard

chapter 51

Maeve

I chose to save Leith’s life.

So why do I feel dead on the inside?

I cradle my head, still sore from battle, and sit up. Be it from grief or my injuries, my stomach continues to roil, its contents swirling upward and burning my throat.

Those catacombs were horrors I won’t ever forget. Piles upon piles of unidentified, desecrated remains, not just from war but from the limitless demands of Aurora the Phoenix.

The fucking phoenix.

The same one I killed my grandmother over. A cry breaks through me, and I curl inward.

I killed my grandmother.

Me.

But Papa paid the price.

It cost him his mind and his throne, and it may cost mine as well.

My knees knock together as I stand and stumble across the room. If memory serves, this apartment—one bedroom and a foyer in the royal wing—used to belong to Ugeen’s wife. She hosted tea for me here once before she left him, mostly because he kept screwing her cousin. I wish they were still married. Polasie was sweet and funny and would have loved to see me force-feed Ugeen his liver. That snively kiss-ass opportunist will pay for his role in the coup.

They dragged me here from the arena, knowing it was the only way to prevent me from ripping Soro’s throat out and running to help Leith.

Oh, stars. Leith. He was so injured, and I wasn’t there to heal him. Is he alive? He has to be alive.

Making me watch them destroy my family and home wasn’t enough for these foul creatures. They forced me to watch Leith’s match, which was horrendous. I broke free when he collapsed, begging him to fight when it looked like he’d never move again.

Except he wasn’t done. My champion climbed out of the grave they dug for him and proved why he deserved to win.

And after he won, he lost.

I expected him to rage at the announcement, but it was worse. A frightening calm like the air before an ice storm ravaged, erasing the young man I’ve come to know and replacing him with the murderer the arena made him. When he saw me promise to wed Soro, I watched the rest of Leith be demolished.

I had no choice. Soro would have killed him if I hadn’t agreed to his terms.

So, for now, I must act the part of the compliant bride-to-be, despite my desire to roast my betrothed’s balls over a spit.

I force myself to rise and stumble to the basin in the corner. I pour cool water from the porcelain pitcher and splash it on my face with trembling hands. Uncle Vitor… He wasn’t the bad guy after all—at least not completely. He made mistakes, terrible ones, but he didn’t deserve to die as he did.

I wipe my face with a towel.

Or did he?

In the end, he became what he offered—a sacrifice to the phoenix.

What was it Grandmother said? Something about one life to save thousands?

“No, Grandmother,” I say aloud. “Papa was right. There must be another way.”

I now know the point of all the death and suffering since that night three years ago. It’s why Vitor and Soro were throwing everyone they could into the arena. They needed to feed the ever-strengthening and growing Aurora.

I start to pace, choking back tears. The slate floor cools my battered feet, and while it offers some relief, the pain from my injuries keeps my mind focused.

By the stars, I will be queen. And I’ll do it my way .

If it weren’t for this pesky little life-and-death blood oath I have with that raging psychopath Soro, the crown I rightfully possess might be the shining light I need in all this darkness.

But the blood oath is there, and I must find a way out of it.

My feet sting, my head throbs, my throat aches, and every muscle and ligament in my body screams in vicious agony. Accelerated healing ability or not, I won’t recover fully for many more days.

Furnishings of rich mahogany fill the room, including an oversize bed. While I don’t find an axe in the wardrobe to murder Soro with, I do find plenty of overly accessorized silk dresses with matching hats, as well as—oh, goody—a wedding gown of white lace and stitched in diamonds I’m no doubt expected to wear at the blessed event. Next to it hangs a veil even longer than the one I was forced to wear to the arena to cover my face, which was still bloodstained and bruised.

If trees were middle fingers, I’d wave a forest at Soro.

Mercifully, I find a pair of breeches and a shirt. I peel out of the undergarments I’m wearing and change. My hand presses into the dressing table to keep my balance as I pull up the breeches. The table is stacked with sparkling jewelry—rubies, sapphires, and emeralds fastened to more flashy gold, silver, and diamond necklaces than anyone needs. And because my precious fiancé doesn’t spoil me enough, look at this. A large bottle of belladom!

I loathe every bit of this space. This castle is nothing but a pretty prison.

Someone knocks on the door. It’s a soft knock, so I don’t immediately look for something sharp. “Come in,” I say.

“Princess,” stammers the servant. The door opens slowly, and a young human woman slips hesitantly through. Her skin is ebony, and her long hair is charcoal black.

“Ah, yes?” I say.

She walks slowly, shadowed by a young troll girl with short red hair. I saw her when I was dragged, or rather, “escorted” in.

“I am Lita. This be Brynne. We are here to serve you and have brought your supper,” the young troll says. “Please eat. You mustn’t displease Soro, our most distinguished and revered future king.”

My mouth twists. “Is that what he told you to call him?”

Lita and Brynne exchange glances. “Yes?” Lita answers.

I curl my fingers into fists at my side. “Figures.”

The young women watch me as I start to pace again. “Tell me, is anyone questioning what happened to the former lord regent?”

At Lita’s nod, Brynne answers. “No.”

“Why?” I ask, though I suspect the reason.

“Our beloved and most revered future king made a formal announcement that the former regent was a traitor. And that while he adored his father, Arrow will always come first.”

Rage swells from deep within me and all but punctures through my skin. Of course Vitor will be painted as a traitor. This way, there will be no funeral and no period of mourning. I knew Soro resented Vitor. I just didn’t realize how deep his hatred ran.

“Lord Ugeen and the generals produced evidence—”

“Sure they did,” I grumble.

Brynne twists her hands in front of her. “Our future legendary and revered king also decreed that should anyone question him, they’re questioning Arrow. And if they question Arrow, it will be considered treason, and they will be sentenced to death.”

Just as I thought. By the phoenix, Soro, you truly put the dick in dictator.

Lita and Brynne bow and motion toward the meal they have delivered. I suppose they fear what will happen if they say too much. The food is served on a pewter tray. Lita lifts the lid and gracefully bows again.

My stomach is such a mess, I gag at the smell of broiled meat. She quickly covers it and offers me fresh rolls from an ornate wicker basket rimmed with wildflowers.

“He had you bring me bread,” I say, gesturing to the basket.

They smile at having pleased me.

“Kindly tell our most revered and distinguished king to shove these rolls up his ass and not forget to butter.”

They stop smiling.

Terror makes their round faces slack. They think I’ll actually make them do it. I groan. “Hmm. I guess you’re not up to poisoning him, either?”

Oh, and there’s that terror again.

“Sorry. I’m joking.” I’m not, but why upset them? Besides, if I intentionally kill Soro, directly or indirectly, I die with him. It’s one of the many conditions he placed in our blood oath.

It’s a last resort, and it’s one I’ll take if there’s no other option.

But…there must be another option. My people need me as their queen.

“I’m not hungry,” I say. “Please enjoy the meal yourselves.”

They blink back at me, no doubt thinking I’m baiting them. They must be bound to the castle and know of me solely through court gossip. I can only imagine what the likes of Aisling have told them about me. Aisling—oh, yes, she’s at the top of my kill list as well.

I ease toward the women, hating how they cower.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I promise. My words are cut short when I note exactly how thin they are. “Please. Eat.”

“We can’t,” Brynne says. “It’s not allowed.”

“I’m allowing it,” I say. “I’m also requesting extra portions so that everyone stuck serving these dipshits can eat.” I don’t mean to raise my voice and scare them, yet it’s what I end up doing. “I’m sorry,” I add quickly. “It’s an…order?”

Lita looks hopefully at Brynne. “If it’s an order, then we must obey.”

“Yes,” I say. “Yes, please obey.”

They bow, leaving me standing here wishing I could do more.

As the doors close, my ears twitch at a chittering sound.

But when I turn, the sound stops. I make my way slowly back to the side of the bed, sinking to my knees. Tibeta, one of the tiniest estrellas, pokes her head around the leg of the bed. She’s alive!

I sweep her up in my hands, covering her tiny, furry face with my kisses.

“Tibeta,” I say. “My sweet little darling. My baby. I’m so happy to see you.”

She presses her face against my nose, clutching me to her, tears running down her whiskers as she weeps.

Poor thing. She must have stowed away in the wagon and hidden until she could find me.

The outermost door to the apartment opens, and I hear the rumble of Soro’s voice, along with Tut the ogre’s.

Tibeta leaps onto my shoulder as I push a dresser against the double doors to my chamber. I open my palm, and once she’s hopped onto it, I head to the one window in the apartment.

There’s nothing but jagged rocks below it. I make a hooting sound, hoping she’ll mimic me. Tibeta cocks her head and repeats the noise. Good. This is good. Estrellas have symbiotic relationships with avian creatures, and the nearest bird should answer her call.

I look around and focus on the large bottle of belladom. “Tibeta, nightshade,” I say. When she lifts her large ears, I think she might understand me. “Nightshade,” I say again, hoping she comprehends enough to return with it.

She chitters in panic, then quiets. She knows I’m sending her away, and I’m worried she’s too scared to leave me.

A large black owl swoops in, landing on the sill. She looks at Tibeta once, then at me, as if curious why an estrella would summon her.

There’s curt pounding at the bedroom door. I’m out of time. “Nightshade,” I say one last time. I lift her and place her on the owl’s back, where she happily begins rooting through its neck feathers for mites to snack on. “Be careful,” I whisper.

And they’re gone.

Soro tries to open the doors, meeting resistance from the dresser placed in front of it. He shoves it hard, forcing his way in.

He greets me with a scowl. “Did you seriously think you could keep me out?”

“No,” I say. “I just seriously think you’re an asshole.”

He starts toward me, but it’s the man behind him who holds my attention—Tut, with his long axe draped over his shoulder. I used to respect him. Now, I only see him as I do Ugeen—an opportunist who sold his soul to Soro.

His tusks are so long, they’ve begun to curl at the tips. And in the time since he shoved that stupid bag over my head and dragged me here, he’s had time to file them to very sharp points.

“Tut will be your bodyguard,” Soro says, not bothering to so much as smile.

“Bodyguard or prison guard?” I ask, glaring at both of them.

Soro ignores my question. “Call him what you wish. He’ll see to it that you remain where I tell you to be.” He places a proprietary hand on Tut’s shoulder. Soro looks ridiculous, given how much taller and more muscular Tut is.

I cross my arms. “Tut is here to enforce your orders?”

“Yes,” Soro agrees like it’s obvious.

I inch forward. “Then order him to kill me. I will obey you.”

Soro is too damn fast.

He hits me so hard, my head slams into the floor with a thud. I fight to not lose consciousness, and with great effort, I pry my eyes open.

“You know I can’t order him to kill you without losing my own life, Maeve. I’ll find a way to get rid of you, rest assured, but first I need an heir to keep the throne.” He shakes his head in disgust. “You could have made this easier. We could have worked as one.” He huffs. “You never should have denied me.”

My hands press into the cool stone as I push up, then stand. “I deny you now, like I denied you then. Not because of Leith but because of who you are.” I circle him, spitting out my words and wiping away the blood pooling at the corner of my mouth. “You think yourself so grand, so deserving, but you’ll always be second-best, and no crown or throne will ever change that.”

I don’t fall when Soro strikes me this time. Mostly because there’s a stone wall nearby that I lean into for balance. I lock my knees to keep from sliding to the floor and wipe my mouth on the back of my hand.

“Do I get to die after the first heir?” I ask him, pushing away from the wall. “How many children would you like? Ten, twenty? Girls or boys?” I’m being sarcastic, of course. Elves as a species, like mages and shifters, have trouble conceiving. My guess is that it’s a trade-off for a long lifespan.

I fluff my hair as if Soro’s blows were nothing.

He studies me for a moment, eyes scanning me from head to toe, then approaches slowly, stopping to bend and whisper in my ear. “You know what?” Lust wets his words, making me sick. “Blood and bruises aside, you are exceptionally beautiful. If it weren’t for your tongue and your bite, you could be more than a bitch to use as I please.” He loses his small smile. “Clean yourself up. I won’t be embarrassed by my future wife.”

He leaves me with Tut, but not before slamming the door behind him.

Tut edges forward, and I back up, looking for something to use as a weapon.

His thick eyebrows rise to his fuzzy hairline when I reach for the oil lamp.

“Touch me, and I’ll set you on fire,” I warn, holding the lamp out between us like a weapon. “I don’t care if I burn along with you.”

He pauses. I can’t gauge if he’ll attack or if I should attack him first. I steel myself, waiting for anything, prepared for everything.

Or so I thought.

Tut shakes his large, heavy head and walks to the window, the taut muscles on his leathery legs bulging as he sits on the wide sill and places the double-headed war axe down beside him. He’s in his usual blue armor. The green leather belts across his broad chest stretch as he lifts his arm to fiddle with the end of the axe handle.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he says slowly.

“Which part? Killing my family? Torturing Leith of Grey? Or murdering Vitor?”

Tut used to nod at me respectfully. As a child, he’d greet me with a smile. But he’s not smiling now. Tut is a few centuries old—still fairly young for an ogre. Too young for those wrinkles around the small eyes on his gristly face. “Vitor needed to die, Princess. Soro does, too, but for the time being…that’s a harder sell.”