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In a single flash, I understood two things—the bond was why she’d been able to connect to the beast, speak with him, even before we’d discovered the mating bond for ourselves.
Second, this kill belonged to her. Had always belonged to her.
“Then I rescind it,” Veyka said, pushing back her chair.
Her movements were unhurried as she circled around the table, stepping down off the dais with crimson skirts flaring behind her. It was a prescient choice of attire. I wondered if it had been Cyara or Veyka who’d anticipated bloodshed.
“The acolytes have already begun training. To unleash them now, before they have fully mastered the mystical arts, would be dangerous to them and others,” Igraine said smoothly, eyes fixed on her daughter.
The Dowager didn’t care about the priestess or the acolytes. She cared about needling Veyka, wanted to exert control in any way she could.
Veyka’s torture in the water gardens… it had been about her powerlessness. Realization hit me, sent the beast snarling anew. She’d never explicitly told me as much, but I fully understood it then.
As a princess, Veyka had lacked even a drop of magic. But as the new High Queen of Annwyn had displayed her power for an entire throne room. Now, the Dowager was desperate to regain control of her daughter.
I mirrored Veyka’s movements, circling the other side of the table. But she didn’t need me, I realized as she stepped up to the first acolyte. Determination and control were etched in every line and movement of her body as she drove her dagger into the female’s gut.
Then she continued down the line, until a dozen cries of pain had rent the air. By the time she stood before Merlin, her dagger was dripping blood. The priestess’s eyes flared. Veyka didn’t hesitate. She stabbed her blade into the flat stomach in the exact same place she’d wounded each of the conniving female’s disciples.
Veyka turned back to the line of doubled over elementals. “You are no longer acolytes. If you ever attempt to practice the mystical arts again, I will remove your heads from your bodies.” There was not an ounce of mercy in her eyes as she turned to her mother.
“Will you stab me now, as well?” the Dowager said softly.
I was close enough to hear it, but none of the courtiers were as Veyka crooned in response, “When you feel the burn of my blade, it will be the last thing youeverfeel.”
Then Veyka stepped around Igraine. She paused long enough to wipe her blade clean on her dress before returning it to the jeweled scabbard at her waist.
She cut me a look, holding out her arm.
I’d been wrong, it seemed.
Stabbing someone—or several someone’s—was actually the perfect way to reassure our new court that the High Queen of Annwyn was back to her usual self.
But Veyka wasn’t finished. Her arm firmly in mine, she turned us as one to face the court.
“You shall not seek a healer. You shall not treat your wounds yourself. You shall stand where you are until the last courtier has finished their meal, drunk their aural, and left this throne room,” she said to the bleeding elementals. Then she turned to the crowd of courtiers and flashed them that brilliant, wicked smile I adored.
“Enjoy.”
16
VEYKA
“Call the others, we’re meeting,” I said over my shoulder as Lyrena and Gwen moved to take up their customary positions in the corridor.
They hadn’t brought on more Goldstones. I never saw either of them rest. I’d do the math on that later. Just then, I was sputtering with unspent frustration.
“Veyka,” Arran tried to pull me around to face him, but I shook off his arm. “We’re supposed to make decisions together, now.”
“Because we are mates?” I spat out too quickly.
The pain flashed on his face, and I was the cause. I instantly regretted it. But I couldn’t bring myself to apologize; not when the words had come straight from my soul.
Arran glared—it was his default strategy for hiding other emotions. One he’d learned at the elemental court. My court. Our court.
Ancestors. He was right.
“We have a lot to sort through. My little journey has only delayed managing things.” It was an offering, eerily similar to the one we’d made in the throne room all those months ago. But this one was genuine—to put Annwyn first, to try to be the queen that Arran had seen in me when I’d barely been able to find the will to live.
