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“I granted the terrestrial delegation safe passage across the Germog’s territory. It is nothing more than the cost of the magic expended,” Evander sneered.
I could almost see myself liking the Brutal Prince—if I had the capacity to like anyone, anymore. If there was anyone who I’d enjoy watching suffer, knowing that though the arm would regrow, it would be brutally painful… yes, Evander was on my list.
The rest of the room continued to stare in awkward silence. I turned back to my tea. It was done steeping now. With steady hands, I poured the steaming concoction and walked back to the bed. Charis would be back soon with food.
“I cannot wait to see what the price is of this,” Parys said drolly, flopping back onto the bed.
Whether he meant the gossiping, his presence in my bed, or something else, I did not contemplate. I was too focused on the tea. It burnt my tongue and the roof of my mouth. The glands at the back of my throat protested. But I was fae. The small hurts eased almost instantly, fast enough that when I took another gulp the liquid was burning new tissue.
I could have drunk it either way, healed wounds or not. I’d suffered much worse pains than hot tea.
Make it stop.
The searing tea, at least, was a temporary pain. It would stop once I’d finished the cup in my hand. One cup was more than enough.
“We would all do well to remember that the Brutal Prince is not just the terrestrial heir, but our future king and Her Majesty’s future—”
“I serve the Queen—”
“—do not be obstinate—”
Gulp. Gulp.
“Should I ask Her Majesty to brew you some special tea, Evander?”
“—I wouldn’t accept—”
Make it stop.
The white porcelain at the bottom of the teacup stared up at me.
Already, my limbs were becoming dangerously heavy.
I managed to set the teacup aside. If it clanked unnaturally loudly on the little table beside my bed, what did it matter? I would only be conscious for a few more seconds…
“Your Majesty?”
“What is wrong with her?”
“Veyka?”
“It’s the Ancestor’s damned tea.”
Their voices slipped away into a pleasant hum as I laid down, tucking one hand between my head and the pillow.
Make it stop.
No one else would, so I did.
14
ARRAN
I was a very efficient killer.
The first had been messy. A bread knife thrust into the throat of a guard. I must have hit an artery, for his blood sprayed everywhere, coating my face. Sometimes, when I raised my battle axe all these centuries later, I could taste the blood of my first kill upon my tongue and smell it in my nostrils. I was eleven years old.
Now, I only tasted my victims’ blood if I desired it. Or if I was in my beast form, ripping out their throats.
