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Shelby dropped his fork against his plate. It rattled against the china as he folded his arms over his chest.
With a slow and steady breath, Ace tried to rein in the way his reaction made her cringe. “Rehan made a deal with King Osiris and I was part of the deal.”
“What is this dealexactly?” Shelby’s voice was scarily quiet.
“Rehan and I remove the queens—”
“Kill them,” Shelby interjected.
Ace swallowed. “We kill the queens. Then he and I take the throne as an extension of the Fae kingdom.”
His face scrunched up in horror. “What?”
“Our deal is still valid.” Her hands trembled as she tried to tame them in her lap. “As queen, the warlocks will be free in Pasia. You’ll be a free man. We just have to kill the last two queens.”
The trays of steaming food sat between them. Their silverware set on their forgotten plates. Rehan was the first to pick his fork back up as Shelby shook his head in disbelief.
“It really was a shame to find out the queens are your sisters, Ace. I’ll be here every step of the way though. I know this has to be hard.” Rehan’s tone was calm and Ace had no doubt he was being genuine, but she squeezed her eyes shut trying not to think about it.
“What?” Shelby choked out a laugh. “The queens are your sisters? Is this a joke?”
The words hit Ace like a punch to the gut. Everything that had been ice a few minutes ago ignited into fire throughout her. Heat flooded her cheeks and burned down her spine.
“Oh.” Rehan’s knuckles turned white on his fork. “I didn’t realize he didn’t know. I thought you two were close.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Ace tried to cut her hands through the air.
Shelby’s chair dragged against the rug under them. Muscles were taut along his jaw, flexing down his neck. “Itdoesfucking matter.” With that he turned away from the table, two of the large windowed doors thrown open as he escorted himself from the room. The doors slammed shut, rattling in their frames. Ace’s body jolted. And he was gone.
Her breathing was coming in large panting breaths, and her chest tightened into one large knot. She couldn’t even be sure her heart was actually beating.
“I’m sorry,” Rehan said into the quiet room.
Ace lowered her face into her hands, speaking into her palms, her words muffled against flesh. “This wasn’t how I imagined he’d find out.”
Queen Ambrose
There were whispers in Ambrose Havlock’s head. Sometimes they spoke of the future, or came with a warning; others would be murmurings in the back of the queen’s mind that she couldn’t quite understand even when she focused on them. The voices had come long before dawn, pulling Ambrose from her deepest sleep.
Her cheeks were taut with drying tears. Her tired eyes red-rimmed, swollen, and sore. There was no time for her tears or for her to sit and mourn what she’d already accepted. If she wanted to live, as the voices in her head wanted her to, she needed to leave today.
Thick green curtains were still closed, hiding away the sun as it rose. Any other day, Ambrose might have opened them, wrapped herself in a thick robe, and curled up on the day bed that stretched across her large balcony to watch the way the sky turned colors and eventually faded into a crisp blue. She’d have tea with sugar and the smallest splash of cream. The day would come at her pace.
Not today, though. Today she couldn’t have a gentle morning where she’d take her time to stretch and walk around her room to whisper kind words to the plants she’d grown upon her hearth. No, when the sun was racing for the center of the sky Ambrose would be long gone.
Her wild curls had gotten frizzy and poked out around her face at odd angles from the many times she’d run her hands through them. The silky slip she’d worn to bed had twisted and bunched at her small waist showing more leg than a queen really should. If it rose any higher the small tattoo at the top of her thigh might be exposed. Three dots in a vertical line to represent her, the land, and the man she’d come to love. The tattoo was a secret. Her secret.
That tattoo was unknown to nearly everyone, just as most of her personal life was. Ambrose slipped out from under her covers, pulling the slip down to hide the ink again before she began packing the barest of belongings into a large canvas tote she’d impulsively stolen when those voices in her head had spoken up. A queen didn’t need to steal unless she didn’t want anyone to know what she was up to.
Leave now,a distorted voice repeated. It came so clear the queen had to glance over her shoulder to make sure someone wasn’t standing in the room with her, whispering into her ear. The voices were her invisible friends. Or enemies. She couldn’t quite tell, but they hadn’t led her astray yet, though she waited for the time that they would.
Her staff, the globe pressed with entangling vines, rested against a tall bookshelf waiting. The flick of her brown eyes slid over it quickly avoiding direct eye contact. Sometimes the staff talked to her too. It called for her to do despicable things. Sometimes she gave in because it would ease the pressure that built up inside her head between the wanting of the demanding magic and the unidentifiable voices that lived in her head too.
Old worn floorboards groaned under her weight as she made her way to the bookshelf. Behind leather bindings sat a hidden silver jewelry box. As books were slid from their place on the shelves to reveal the square case meant for trinkets and gems, light found its way in and shone off the polished sides.
Ambrose’s pulse picked up. A crisp cold morning in the castle built around an old barn had made the metal cold. Lightly, the queen traced the swirling design of the lid.
Not essential, the voice snapped.
