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Oh, how innocently she had danced in my arms this evening! How seductively she had gazed at me with her cinnamon-flecked cerulean eyes, knowing she had ordered my death mere hours later. Had a timer been ticking away in her heart as her people set loose the assassin in my fortress? Had she imagined the life draining from my eyes as she let her fingers clasp my shoulders, swaying to the music of my minstrels?
Treacherous bitch.
“Your Majesty.”
The guard’s call burned my ears, and I turned to him with a growl threatening on my tongue. Ronan, my lead guard and sometimes friend, knelt at the bench by the window, peering curiously at Purrscilla. The old cat hadn’t moved a muscle even after all the commotion.
For a moment, I thought something untoward had happened. But instead, Ronan reached out, tugging on Purrscilla’s paws.
I stepped past the prone body to peer close at Ronan’s find.
Two strands of copper hair, long and curly, lay tangled in the old cat’s claws. I’d spent many hours this evening staring at those very curls tonotknow whom they belonged to.
An outcry ripped from my throat.
Fucking hell and damnation!
What did Olympia hope to gain from this? My land, my people? Their allegiance was not so easily bought,especiallyif my death had occurred under suspicious circumstances. My mind overflowed with questions, ones that weren’t so easily answered.
I had come too close to death tonight—the glint of the assassin’s blade just a hair’s breadth from my face would forever haunt my dreams. She had destroyed the sanctuary of my chambers, a safe place to lay my head. Now, all I saw was the blossoming river of blood over the tiles and tasted the sharp scent of iron in the air.
It was ruined. My sense of safety, the impenetrable fortress I had created for my family.
All gone. Because of her. Olympia Summerstream, the duplicitous bitch.
“Lock the north wing down,” I ordered, laying the offending blade to rest on the ruined bedspread. “Send the guards to Olympia Summerstream.”
I had opened Highblade Palace’s doors to someone I had once considered a friend, only to be repaid with death and destruction.
“The Summerstreams have left the palace, Your Majesty.”
Ronan’s announcement made my limbs tighten in disgust. Olympia Summerstream was a cowardanda betrayer of trust. I should have known—should have seen this coming.
Reality was a bitter pill to swallow.
“Find her,” I whispered, the menacing sound raising Purrscilla’s hackles. “Bring her to me.”
An oath fled my heart, wild and determined. Olympia will pay. With her kingdom or her life, justice will be served.
Chapter Ten
Olympia
The interaction with Cryssa lingered in my mind on our journey to Boroville, a large village settlement along the borders between Agnivale and Vetri. Boroville marked the head state of the border region, standing sentinel between the territories of Agnivale and Vetri.
The hovercraft was full—the air thick with a mix of pheromones. Haladay and Coman, high-ranking councilmembers and ambassadors to the borderlands, sat across from me, taking up most of the seat with their broad Alpha shoulders. Cryssa and her assistant squeezed in next to me, our thighs brushing uncomfortably throughout the long journey.
A second hovercraft with a small entourage flew closely behind, the silver plate of the hull winking in the early light.
Haladay’s voice held a grating quality that was not pleasant in the best of times.Thisearly in the morning, every word seemed to sting. I’d always attributed his unnaturally low vocal cords to his origins in Sandforth, a desert city with little to no natural resources. Growing up in a place like that, where one had to conserve energy in order to keep cool and sustain life, must have affected his voice in some way.
Although each word was pronounced clearly and efficiently, something about him simply didn’tfit.
In a star where voices and lifesongs came together like symphonies, Haladay’s vocal cords were a discordant cacophony—a twisted tapestry of dissonance, or a jarring collision of jagged notes for those unfortunate enough to hear it.
“The head of the Boroville clan is Gilford Almanera,” Haladay droned as I pretended to be engrossed in the binder. “He is a fire sorcerer, although most of the population along the borders are neomen—people with no powers. Almanera was elected by popular vote, and has been leading the borders for ten years.”
I glanced up. “Ten? That’s a significant amount of time, far longer than expected. He must have consolidated the support of his people.”
