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Magic… I’d told Arin magic existed in the wonderment of a trick, in the mystery and myth, in a magician’s quick hands and the joy on the faces of those in his audience. “What magic?”
Razak’s eyes sparkled with knowing. “War’s crown has been contested for generations, as has the royal bloodline. The true crown is hidden away for fear it will be stolen and placed upon the head of a usurper. It’s happened in the past—that’s the story the art told, the story you and probably every guest in the temple missed. A war was fought over the rightful Desert King. Many died. The people here believe dusk’s red skies are the spilled blood of their ancestors, still bleeding today.”
Where was he going with this? “Put the crown out of sight in the temple, and nobody asks questions?”
“Exactly. Shut the crown away, and Ogden doesn’t need to think about it every time he looks in the mirror.” Razak smirked at his own genius. “He’d probably give it to me, if I asked.”
“Frankly, I think he’s more likely to shove a sword through your chest than give you his crown, but by all means, do ask him. I’ll watch.”
“Prince Razak—” Arin’s sudden appearance jolted me almost out of my seat.
Razak spilled some of his wine. He grabbed a napkin and mopped at his hand.
“Prince Zayan,” Arin said to me, so very calm and polite. He kept his fury under tight restraint, but I saw it in the press of his lips and the too-long glare.
“So many princes in this room,” I drawled, then skipped my gaze to Draven simmering beside Arin. “Draven’s been desperate for cock for so long, he must be relieved to finally have yours—”
Draven lunged, foolishly reaching over Razak to get to me. Razak grabbed him by the doublet and threw him back, into Arin, almost knocking the pair of them off their feet. All around the sound of metal on metal screeched from a hundred scabbards. A hush fell over the festivities, which was quite the achievement considering the ruckus moments before.
I grinned; this was allsplendid.
“Forgive my brother,” Razak suggested, or was it an order?
Draven growled like an animal, and Arin… Arin glared at me, his face a peculiar mixture of shock and regret. What was going through that golden head of his now? He’d despised me earlier, so why the sad eyes?
This wasn’t going to end well. I picked up my cup, stood, and bowed low. “I apologize, Lord Draven, and Prince Arin. Perhaps I can make amends. A song to celebrate maybe?” The pair sneered but the drawn weapons among the crowd slid home once more. “No? If someone were to hand me a violin, I’m sure I could whip up a storm to celebrate this joyous fuckin’ occasion.”
Arin worked his jaw around words he couldn’t speak. I’d had him work his jaw around my cock and preferred it there than whatever this prickly dance was. It shouldn’t matter that he was Draven’s now. In the scheme of things, the fact they were probably having sex was the least of all the trials vying for attention inside my head. But itdidmatter, because Arin was my hope, my light, the break in storm clouds, and I’d assumed I was still his anchor. Even after the wounds we’d inflicted on each other.
Plus, I knew Arin. He didn’t fuck for fun, or even because he was bored. He fucked because he cared, because he’d made a connection, and that special someone was no longer me.
I had no right to be jealous. But it burned in my veins like fury burned in his.
“You can make amends,” Arin finally said. “Will you both walk with us?”
“Why?” I blurted. Getting Razak alone was a terrible idea. If they believed they could attack him, they were about to be surprised. Wasthattheir plan? Have Draven assassinate Razak? By Dallin, it was a terrible plan. Clearly Draven’s idea. A drunk eight-year-old could have thought of a better one.
“A pleasure,” Razak agreed, already leaving his chair. “Perhaps Draven can give us a tour of the marvelous temple? We did only see its splendor for a short time during the ceremony, and it’s so rarely open to guests.”
I opened my mouth to try and stop the trio, but they’d turned away, and as they were all in agreement that being alone together was a fabulous idea, then what was I going to say that would prevent it? Did they know the crown was stowed in the temple? Did they even know Razak was here for that crown? And why did I care?
I lingered, standing alone at the table, cup in hand… I could go to Ogden, tell him all I knew, but my recent experience with Justice had taught me such things did not end well. The big man was bellowing about something near Draven’s table, his axe glinting. Ogden would kill me the first chance he had.
A scuffle broke out at one of the tables, and the others cheered. Ogden chortled, loaded his plate with more food, and had his aide pour his wine from the pitcher… I watched him drink that cup down and demand another, then I scanned the rest of the crowd. My vial was empty; Razak’s plan was already in play and had been since we’d arrived.
The noisy celebrations fell to the back of my mind.
Razak would walk out of this palace with a new crown on his head and a swathe of bodies behind him, just as he had the Court of Love.
Nobody could stop him, because nobody saw it coming.
Except me.
* * *
One guard leanedagainst the temple door, sleepy-eyed and bored.
I’d snuck ahead of Arin, Razak, and Draven, and in the dark, cloaked in shadows, I sprinted across the bridge. The guard didn’t see me launch from the shadows. I stole his blade from its hip-sheath, spun, avoiding his lumbering grab, and thrust the shortsword up, beneath his armor. My hand stifled his cry, and he slumped in my arms, gasping in my ear.
