A second later, he drops his arm. Screaming, he tears the justifier free and drops it on the group. Stumbling off the stage, he cradles his arm to his chest, holding it and the guilt and the pain he carries.
Before the next person in line can move to pick up the device though, a little boy, roughly eight or so, pushes at the guards. Echo orders them to let him through, and he runs for the justifier. Scooping it up, he shoves it on his tiny hand. The manturns around and screams at him, but Echo steps in front of him, saying something. He sags against her. She does not move.
He has every right to his share.
With none of the hesitation his father showed, the boy reaches up and rips out the woman’s eye. She folds in on herself, whimpering and shaking, her body going into shock as half her face hangs off her. The witch behind her pushes more magic into her, healing her just enough to keep her conscious.
He goes down the line in a fury of rage for his dead brother. Tearing out the biggest chunks he can. Ripping off the man’s dick. Taking another fist until he has to be pulled back by another guard. His father holds him as he cries. But the boy rages, wanting to get free, wanting to continue to share the pain his body is too little to contain.
I look away, waiting for the next person to take their turn.
When the last fist of flesh is clawed free, the justifier is cleaned and placed back in its box. The bombers hang limp and silent, blood pouring across the stage. Bones and organs and chunks of fat and skin cover what the blood does not.
I walk off the stage, red spraying with every step. King Dravr joins me, and in this moment at least, our people are united.
But I know what he’s thinking. How can I not when I’d be planning the same in his shoes?
My people are too bloodthirsty. Too untrustworthy.
When he leaves Raza, he will prepare for war. My spies will pass along that information. The Court will twist his attempts to defend himself as an act of agression.
And within a few days, weeks, months perhaps if we’re lucky, we’ll be enemies once more.
Why do I keep fighting for change when nothing fucking changes?
Thirty-Four
A queen does not marry for love. She marries for duty.
I love you, my queen.
- King Richard
My heart stops when I walk into the Great Hall after having showered and changed out of my blood-stained clothes. My footsteps falter. My lips want to dance into a smile, but I fight it. There are too many enemies here.
“My queen,” I murmur, easily spotting her in the crowd. She can’t hear me given she’s on the floor and I’m at the top of the grand stairs, but she turns anyway, her eyes looking up at the open doors.
The biggest grin splits her lips as her eyes light up. My heart beats rapidly, too fast to contain at the knowledge that she’s been waiting for me, constantly checking the entrance. As the announcer calls out my name and titles, I walk down the stairs. She runs up them, so free with her feelings. Echo trails behind her, her face clear of a mask. At some point in the evening, she must’ve dismissed her clones. Fabia hurries with them, trying her best to keep an eye on the crowd as well as the stairs.
They reach Jace and I a third of the way down. Arienna throws her arms around me, and I don’t hesitate to hug her back. “What are you doing here?” I murmur as I shift my balance so we don’t tumble.
“I thought you might need me.” She lowers her voice to just above a whisper, not consciously. But more because the burden on her shoulders is just too crushing for her lungs to handle. “Fabia still has trouble sleeping, and I can still hear Stephanie’s screams, and you had four people screaming for hours…” She trails off, her body shaking. Holding her tighter against me, I press my lips to her temple.
“Thank you,” I say, even though the screams no longer bother me. No one’s ever cared to ask. To make sure I could handle the weight I was forced to carry. Not even Aurelia.
Pulling back from her, I nudge her to turn around. If I hug her for much longer, I think I might lose the ability to breathe. My eyes sting, but I blink away the wetness as I look at Echo.
“I didn’t finger her, Your Majesty.”
I freeze. Jace coughs. Fabia blushes hard.
But my queen beams as she nods her head vigorously. “Yep! She knocked me out instead!”
My eyes narrow on the head of my Royal Guard, but I’m not dumb enough to chastise her. Not when Arienna clearly seems to like this solution better. But I swear to the gods, if one more person hurts my wife, I’m dragging their ass into a fairy ring. They need to learn that she is not bait. She isn’t a hassle. She is my fucking queen.
Echo smiles, a mere twist of her lips, acknowledgement passing silently between us. As she turns to lead us down the stairs, Jace leans in. “I think you should give her a royal order to never smile again,” he whispers. “That was scary as fuck.”
“No,” I say as I walk with my queen.
