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“YourImperialMajesty,” one of the guards corrected, but Riona silenced him with a glare.
“No. ‘You’re on thin ice, Your Majesty.’ I am still a queen, and you will address me as such.” She looked up at the Emperor. “Condemn me for my actions if you must, but I have fought, bled, and killed for my crown. As long as I wear it, I expect you to show me the respect I’ve earned.”
“As long as you wear it?” the traitor echoed, glancing at the crown lying near Percival’s feet. A viper’s smile skated across his lips. “Poor choice of words.”
“Why are you here, rather than rotting in some Creator-forsaken corner of the world?”
“You want to tell your side of the story. I’m here to keep you honest.”
She scoffed. “That word doesn’t exist in your vocabulary.”
The bastard merely grinned in response.
Riona had to bite her tongue to keep from retorting. Growing up, she’d always been praised for her mild manners and soft, quiet disposition, but she wasn’t that girl any longer. Percival was gaping from where he stood by the rest of the courtiers, staring at her as if he hardly recognized the creature before him.
Good. I may be monstrous, but at least I am no longer weak.
The traitor stood between her and the dais, looking achingly similar to the last time she’d seen him. He was a little older, a little harder, but he still had that mischievous glimmer to his eyes. The same shock of brown hair hung over his brow, woven with strands of a deep auburn. Their gazes locked, and the tension between them pulled taut as a bowstring. So much history lay between them. So many nights in a dark theater, blades flashing in the candlelight, music dancing in the air. So many fights, so many deaths, so much blood spilled. And yet, something kept bringing them back together.
Some might have called it fate, and Riona would have called them fools.
“Prince Auberon,” she said, her voice icy.
He gave a single nod. “Your Majesty.”
One night in particular haunted her, and she could tell by way he was staring at her that he was thinking of it, too. They had never spoken of it. They’d never had the chance, because he had left long before she had even realized what was happening. What he’d done. Whose life he’d claimed.
Now, everyone would know. Everyone would understand why she had done what she had.
“You want to hear my side of the story?” Riona asked, shifting so she could look Emperor Hyperion in the eyes. “Very well. It begins with a cup of wine.”
PartTwo
Blood of my Blood
ChapterThree
The Lady
Two dozen heads were staked over Sandori’s southern gate, and they were screaming.
Terror sank its claws into Riona’s heart as her carriage rolled toward the capital city’s exterior wall. The heads had been there for a while. Their flesh was black and sunken, sagging over the skulls, and bits of white bone peeked through where scavengers and insects had eaten away at the skin. Keening, haunting cries tore from thin, bloodless lips. Riona clapped her hands over her ears, but it didn’t help. She could still hear them.
As her carriage neared the gate, the bloodcurdling screams gradually began to take shape:
“RUN! RUN! RUN!”
She grabbed the handle and pushed, but the door didn’t budge. Riona slammed her palms against it, panic rising within her, then whirled around in search of another escape. The windows were too narrow to climb through, and there was no other door. She was trapped.
The carriage rolled to a stop, and a man approached one of the windows. He wore the livery of a royal guard, but the fabric over his heart was bare. He’d torn off the patch bearing the seal of the Myrellis family.
“Let me out,” Riona pleaded, the gut-wrenching wails nearly drowning out her words. “Please, just let me out.”
“Why? Are you afraid the same thing will happen to you? You don’t have to be, as long as you do as you’re told. They were traitors.” He nodded toward the head in the middle of the line. Its eyes were empty sockets, and its nose had rotted away, leaving behind a gaping hole. Beside it was a bare skull, the only one of the lot. “The mad king, who was content to chase ghosts around his castle while the rest of us watched the plague claim everyone we loved. And next to him, the filthy knife-ear who stole his heart.”
Riona’s stomach turned. She started to back away from the window, but the guard’s arm shot out and grabbed her, his fingers tangling in her long braids.
“Look at them,” he snarled, twisting her head toward the gruesome display. “They were traitors, one and all. Soon, King Tamriel’s head will join them—his, and that of the knife-eared bitch who warms his bed. You think this is terrible? This is justice.”
