Each statement was a strike to my heart, cleaving it to shreds. I messed up, crossed too many lines. I brought her here. Kissed her. I didn’t stop her, didn’t push her away.
He was right.
“You will pick up nothing.” I bit down against the words I wanted to spew. He would never rule Radaan. I’d sooner crown a commoner before placing the kingdom in his hands. “I’m not dying anytime soon, Tallon. My death is the only way you will ever gain this mantle.”
He screamed—a raw, feral thing—and lunged. “That can be arranged!”
I caught his blow and slammed him against the wall, fingers locked around his throat. The rush of it—pleasure and rage, melded together. He bled where I had once held Nienna with tenderness.
“Try, boy. Just try.” I pressed close, breath hot at his ear. “I dare you.”
His skin felt too soft. Thin and warm and vulnerable. Snapping his neck would take nothing. No one else would have to suffer under his torment. Crimson spilled over my knuckles, and my gaze fixed on the drip. The urge to finish him tightened around my lungs like a noose.
A knock came seconds before the door burst open. Greaves strode in. Darius and Fallione loomed behind him, flanked by Threshers.
Tallon clawed at my sleeve, straining for breath. His gasp was a wet, gurgled sound as his throat worked beneath my palm.
“Your Majesty.” Fallione’s gaze swept the room, then landed on me. “Shall we call a private council?”
“No need.”
I dropped the prince, letting him crumple. Discussions couldn’t fix this. An act of war cannot be taken back after it’s committed. Nienna was gone. My people had seen too much. No decree could erase the images scorched into their minds. No gesture would restore their shattered trust.
“I would have a word then.” Darius’ lips curled with disgust. “In private.”
I stepped forward with a snarl. “No.”
Tallon scrambled. Greaves moved fast, pinning him to the floor. I glanced over my shoulder, sneering as Greaves ground Tallon’s hand into the carpet. A shard of glass fell from his grasp. Once disarmed, he adjusted his position, ramming his knee into his throat. The prince wheezed through bared teeth.
“Threats are one thing, boy,” I said. “But an attempt on my life? That’s treason.” I shook my head and pushed past the others, taking my leave. “Lock him away.”
In the hall, nobles loitered at junctions, gazes averted, though they snuck glances my way—at the king who ruined his kingdom.
Bile scorched my throat.
Blood glistened along my knuckles. With a grimace, I inhaled and exhaled, attempting to quiet my fury. Lashing out wasn’t how a king should act. That was the man in me. But how long had I ruled as one and acted like the other?
When had I set aside the mantle? I wore it daily, yet it hadn’t anchored my thoughts in weeks.
I was a fool. Tallon’s head belonged on a pike. Every part of me screamed to secure a ship, to chase Nienna across the sea.
But my wants meant nothing.
Radaan didn’t need another man. She needed a king. And kings listened to their advisors. Kings endured.
“Your Majesty.” Fallione fell in step beside me, his strides matching mine down the corridor. “Perhaps confinement to his rooms would be more fitting.”
“Treason, Fallione,” I growled, lifting my chin with a glare as a noble dared meet my eye. He ducked behind a plant, hiding as I passed.
“Considering the circumstances…” Fallione trailed off, unwilling to voice my shame.
I damned myself enough.
“To his rooms.” I raked a hand through my hair when Greaves joined us. “He doesn’t step foot outside them without my express permission.”
“It shall be done.” Fallione bowed and veered off down a hall, damage control already underway.
The walk to my chambers passed in a haze, my fury and grief bleeding into one indistinct throb. I shoved the door open and went straight to the bathing room. My hands plunged into the frigid basin, scrubbing Tallon’s blood until the water turned pink.
