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I can bear no more death, especially death that can be avoided by my own sacrifice.
“I promise,” I utter, barely above a whisper. “Zacharias, I will hold true to the promise. Your last wish. Meina, prepare me a bath please. And fresh clothes.”
My heart clutches, and I think about Rian, still waiting for me below ground. I want to go to him, even now my whole body is crying out for me to defy it all and flee, to throw myself into his arms and dare the elf king to tear me away from them.
Calliope. Still so selfish.
The words in my head sound like Zacharias’s voice. Chiding me, disapproving. How can I already be tempted to break my promise?
“Lock the door to the cellar,” I say, my voice cracking.
Meina stares at me, puzzled. “Your highness, there’s no need…”
“Please, Meina, don’t ask me why or I’m afraid I might lose my nerve. Do we have enough food in the kitchens?”
“Yes, but—”
“Enough to feed the entire elf delegation, and our own political advisers?” I meet her eyes.
“Yes, your highness. Of course. More than enough.”
“Then do it. Lock the door and don’t tell me where the key is. Tomorrow we’ll have a feast. All the people near the castle are invited to join us, to celebrate the joining of our two great kingdoms. We’ll use the extra stores then. Who will take Zacharias’s place as my guardian? I can’t meet the elf delegation as a single, lone woman. You know what they’re like for tradition.”
The attendant steps forward. “Your highness, if I might interrupt. Steward Zacharias made clear instructions before the end. He knew he didn’t have long. He asked if I would bring the master of the treasury to perform his duties in his absence until you take the crown if necessary. If you doubt my sincerity, there is a declaration at the steward’s mansion—”
“No.” I shake my head. “No. Thank you, but I won’t need to see it. Please make any preparations you need. Find him and bring him here, inform him of the steward’s wishes. Thank you.”
Meina looks concerned. “Your highness, I wish you’d tell me what is going on. Why the cellar door? Why can’t we check on the stores?”
I shake my head and force a smile. Nobody can know about Rian’s tunnel, not until it’s too late. If they found him down there, all this would be for nothing and surely, the elves would kill him as well. Then descend on Dennith. I might save my own people, but doom theirs.
“I want it locked, that’s all. The…the guards are to be given the night off, except those few who are needed for watch duty. I want them to be able to celebrate too and they can’t do that and watch the stores.”
Meina frowns. “Your highness, please don’t lie to me—”
“This is a momentous occasion,” I tell her, ignoring her request. If I need to tell a lie to keep everyone safe, so be it. That’s the duty of being princess. A queen. “I will be crowned Queen and wed to a King. Please, do as I wish. I need to prepare to accept the elf delegation, and to make my apologies to King Custevale for my last-minute nerves. Then, I will grieve. And plan a funeral.”
CHAPTER 7
Rian
I can hear them. The music, the steady rhythm of dancing feet.
Fucking elves.
So this is where they were heading. I’ve guessed their purpose. They’re here for her, that’s why she hasn’t been allowed to return to the cellar. That fucking adviser of hers, Zacharias. Feigning the tired and gentle old father figure, and all the while plotting against us…
I could tear them apart for this, for partying like this is some romantic moment and great joining of two kingdoms, when all they’re doing is taking Calliope hostage, so her people won’t complain when they’re taxed to within an inch of their lives. I’ve seen it before, seen how those little fuckers take over kingdoms. At least my own ancestors always fought wars fairly. Orcs gained a reputation for brutality, and much of it is well deserved, but when war was over they always treated their enemies with dignity.
I’m a breath from launching up the stairs and tearing the door from its hinges when I hear voices.
My hearing was always acute, but the curse that made me take this form also gave me extra sharp senses. Orcs—true orcs, that is—lived their whole lives in the dark. The light of the sun burned their skin in much the same way it does mine. Hearing, smell and touch were heightened to compensate, and right now I can hear every word that’s being said between the elf king and his chief advisor.
They must have left the ball to make their discussions, entering some room closer to the cellar where I’m pacing and wondering if my superhuman strength could be enough to tear through this motherfucking spell.
