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Veyka had not listed her mother as a possible suspect in her brother’s death. But after hearing about the water gardens, about the torture Igraine had overseen… I did not think murdering her son was beyond the realm of possibility.
I couldn’t broach it to Veyka, though. Not yet. I’d planned to, but then…
It didn’t matter.
I squared my shoulders and settled into the space, standing guard as I’d done thousands of times in my three hundred years. I let the weight of my feet anchor me to the ground, let my eyes close to slits so I could inventory my other senses. Not closed entirely. That was an unforgiveable weakness. But enough that I could hear and smell and feel.
Which was how I sensed the footsteps, long before even the most sharp-eared fae would have heard them.
I was poised and ready to face whoever rounded the corner, to send them on their way with a snarl. But it was not a faceless courtier who rounded the corner.
It was the Dowager.
I’d seen her before. It was unavoidable. But in the filtered light of that cavernous room before the library, it felt like the first time I’d trulyseenher. Her hair was a pale blonde that some described as platinum. At first glance, some might think it a match for Veyka’s. But where gold teased the edges of Igraine’s long plait, Veyka’s was pure moonlight.
Where Veyka’s body was soft curves covering powerful muscle, the Dowager was slender to the point of waifish, as if a strong elemental wind could send her toppling. If not, of course, for the defiant tilt of her chin as she looked me over.
“Step aside, Prince,” she ordered.
“The library is occupied.” It took every bit of control, mastery of my magic and my beast, to keep me from tearing her bodily limb from limb. This was the female who’d hurt Veyka. Who’d held her prisoner. Allowed her—nay, commanded—her to be violated beyond what any person, let alone child, should ever endure.
I knew without Veyka telling me that this female was the reason Veyka’s steps were silent, even when no one was listening. She was the reason Veyka trained so hard with the blades and always wore them strapped to her body no matter how mundane the courtly task. Arthur had meant so much to her, because of the shared childhood the Dowager had stolen from them.
Her defiant chin lifted. She’d come alone, assured of her power. Alone, so that none might witness whatever cruelty she planned to inflict upon her daughter.
“Let me pass. I wish to speak with my daughter.”
“The queen is not to be disturbed.”
She lifted her hand, a tendril of water curling between her fingers. She watched it with a half-smile, before splaying her fingers wide and sending it spraying into a fine mist. Then she folded her hands before her and met my gaze once more.
A petty little display, to remind me that she was a powerful elemental. Dangerously powerful, more powerful than her husband had been, Veyka had told me.
I snarled at her, and there was nothing of the male I was in it. Only the beast.
“You think your power is a match for mine,” she said with a cruel, cunning smile. “I saw what you did to the water gardens. Very impressive, Prince. But why did she take you there in the first place, I wonder?”
She knew. She knew about the carvings behind the waterfall. She knew we’d gone to look at them.
It ought to have been impossible… but then, how careful had we really been? Someone could have easily seen us as we entered the courtyard. And reported it back to the Dowager.
Dangerous, still desperate for control. Veyka had been right about that.
I didn’t reach for my weapons—didn’t need to. Only a fool would think that the steel blades were the most dangerous weapon in my arsenal. The Dowager High Queen of Annwyn thought a lot of herself and her own powers—enough to underestimate me.
Her mistake.
“Touch her, speak to her, breathe in her direction—and I will hold you down while she shreds the skin from your body slice by slice.”
Igraine opened her cruel mouth to respond, but then suddenly stilled.
I watched the confusion spread over her face, the horror of realization. I drank it in like the finest wine in the realm.
She tried to jerk away. My vines tightened around her calves, rooting her to the ground.
The nearest courtyard was on the next level. But she’d forgotten about the windows, the curling ivy that I’d ordered Osheen to bolster along the palace walls, for just such a moment as this. So that my flora-gifted soldiers might have the powerful, mighty plant to command.
“Bold, to try and kill me now,” the Dowager bit out, that sharp chin still high in defiance.
