My glamour breaks, and time resumes as normal. Ruthven’s sword is free of its sheath. His eyes are black—possessed—as he plunges his blade into David’s heart.
“No!” Mary roars.
But it’s too late. The bloodlust is upon the men. Their blades sink into David, stabbing him over and over and over again, long after his body stops spasming on the stone floor. The blades plunge down, arc up, hot blood forming a red rainbow, cascading crimson droplets.
I count each blow, barely able to hold on to my consciousness as I focus what little power I have left.
Fifty-five.
Fifty-six.
Fifty-seven.
It’s so cold. So methodical.
No steel can cross the barrier I’ve made, but today I learn that blood follows no such rule. It rains down over us all.
The rebels kneel before the body, not in prayer but in desecration. Mary stares, shock silencing her voice, her arms wrapped around her belly, unable to look away even with blood splatters all over her face. Jean holds me up, lending me physical strength to keep me upright so I can protect us from these savages.
Darnley watches from the threshold. He ignores the viscera sliding over his coat.
He snuck a Red Cap weapon into the royal palace and used it in an attempt to murder his own wife and unborn child.
I did not stop David’s death, but I have saved Mary’s life.
And we both know it.
“I can wait,” he tells me casually, his voice barely audible above the squelching noise of blades ripping through flesh. “Meanwhile, this is…useful.”
Useful? Useful? David is—was—a noble secretary, an innocent, a…a friend. One of Mary’s few friends. The royal court of Scotland is full of snakes and vipers—I doubt it took much convincing to make Ruthven and these other men take up arms against the queen. Scotland is a harsh land, a wild land, and blades settle disputes more than words.
Splintering wood sends my gaze across the room. David’s body is mutilated beyond recognition, blood seeping out over the stone, but one of the rebel’s swords caught the edge of his violin. The musical instrument is smashed into the corpse, the stone, the blood, the strings snapping, the music as dead as its master.
A useful death for Darnley. If he cannot kill the queen, he will kill the music. The joy. The friends she has.
You’re a monster! I want to scream at him, but that would take away my focus, make my protection weaker.
From the cruel twist of his lips, I know Darnley guesses my thoughts anyway.
A slow smile creeps across his face, one that doesn’t reach his icy eyes.
“Your magic cannot always stop me, little fae bastard.”
1
Alyth
November 1566
Stirling Castle
“At least I’ve been free of him for a time,” Queen Mary says.
The other ladies in the room all murmur their agreement but remain reserved. The court has been tense since spring. Everyone knows that king and queen, husband and wife, are at odds.
If it were just a simple coup, no one would be so nervous. After all, we live in Scotland; there’s always some discontent with a sword.
But at court, every Leth—every human with fae blood—knows that a Red Cap weapon was used…and that more have infiltrated Scotland since then. And the humans may be oblivious, but they’ve surely noticed the increased guards around the queen the past few months, the way she’s so easily startled, the moody fits that burst from her.
