Kye laughed again, and the stupid sound made me want to rip my hair out. He regarded me smugly over his crossed arms. “Besides. A queen is little more than a body in a chair. A trophy. A vessel for birthing heirs.”
My eyes darted to the coward. His gaze remained fixed on me. “I won’t marry him,” I said.
Thaan sighed. “Then you’re my servant until I say otherwise.”
I hesitated. Kye had mentioned one older brother, and three younger siblings. He was next in line for the throne. “He’s the second born?” I addressed Thaan, even though Kye was only feet away. Thaan’s chin gave a firm dip. “And how old is King Emilius?”
He tilted his head slightly. “Fifty-nine.”
“Okay,” I breathed, thinking to myself.
Thaan snapped his fingers, then held out a fountain pen for Cain. His assistant moved quietly to the table, adding a new string of words to my waiting contract, then slid it toward me for my approval.
Amendment: This contract will remain in effect until I am queen. I understand the consequences for breaching this contract are imprisonment or death.
Thaan held a small knife out to me.
Oxygen became thin. Was this really happening? Was I about to sign?
I watched in disbelief as I took the knife from him. The hand holding it wasn't my hand. It looked like my hand—the right shape and size. Round nails. Calluses from gardening. A freckleover my third knuckle. But it couldn't be my hand because I'd just said I wouldn't sign. I couldn't marry Kye. I couldn't kill a man I'd never met.
Thaan cleared his throat. “Just your thumbprint.”
“Not my name?”
No answer.
I wasn’t certain what to do. How does one make a blood promise? Angling the blade right and left, I stalled for time. No one rushed me as I pricked the pad of my thumb, but sharp heat stole my breath as my blood hit the air. Fat, round drops of bright red burst through my skin like tiny juicy apples.
Thaan pointed to the bottom corner of the contract, and I pressed my thumbprint there. “Say the words,I swear it on my blood.”
I swallowed, my throat almost too dry to constrict, and breathed, “I swear it on my blood.”
For extra measure, Thaan pushed down on my thumb with his own fingers, rolling it right and left before lifting it away. My blood stuck to the parchment like dried honey, tugging the paper into the air until the tension grew enough for the contract to release, leaving a textured stamp left behind, embossed like the filigree of an embellished coat. It flashed once, a small spark, and faded in vibrancy.
I stared at it in numb wonder, my life laid out in black, white, and crimson, waiting to take me with it. My thumb ached dully. They both leered at me in triumph.
Pouring an inch of sparklingvolareinto each of the wine glasses, Kye handed me the frothy drink, eyes twinkling.
“To treason,” he said, smiling as he clinked my glass with his.
Thaan’s mouth twitched.
I barely heard Kye’s toast over the screaming fire inside my head.
I’d understood hatred before. But this was something else. Something deeper. Something wider. It wasn’t simply a poison in my mouth.
A river of loathing rushed through my veins, scorching everything it touched. I was a breathing storm. A corrupted sea, set ablaze. A volcano of magma and flame, trapped in the body of a woman scorned.
I could not be doused.
I signed their little contract—and when the time came, when the terms were fulfilled, when I was free, I’d kill them for it.
Kye would burn. Thaan would burn. Even his little assistant would burn.
And I’d watch until they were nothing but ash to throw into the water. Ash and dust, less substantial than the foam that flecked between the edge of the beach and the careless waves of the sea.
25
