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I almost chuckled aloud at that. Bereille was anything but rodent-like. Honestly, he was the most honorable man I had met in Savine. His primary duty was always to Catalan. I had to hand it to him; he was the only man I had seen stand up to the queen and live. I had heard a whisper that Bereille was under some protection magic that outranked the queen’s power, but I’m not sure of its truth. He had trained me when I came to court. I had always been good with a blade, but Bereille had once been a Knight, a particular segment of guards, revered when the king and prince were alive. Knights had made up an advisor circle and had been an integral part of Catalan. They ensured the safety of each kingdom and the borderlands, but the queen didn't believe in Knights. She didn't believe in honor and duty above all else. Knights lived for the crown and kingdom, but Queen Amira wanted her subjects to live forher. Everything was personal with the queen.
“He awaits you in the garden, your Highness.”
Her eyes barely lifted to me. “The garden?”
“Yes, I do believe he is with Duchess Margarite.”
That got the queen up. She detested Margarite. Duke Drekor had fallen in love with the gentle beauty on a mercantile voyage to the kingdom of Feist and asked for her hand in marriage after only a brief courtship. I’d heard the queen had set her sights on Duke Drekor for a marriage alliance. Drekor was the wealthiest Duke in Lohr and had connections that spanned the entire country. His allegiance in marriage, and heirs by him, would solidify the queen’s reign most advantageously. But he hadn’t accepted the queen’s propositions for marriage and instead took the energetic Margarite as a wife, and they were expecting a little one soon. With that rejection, Amira detested Margarite, and her relationship with Duke Drekor had gone from outwardly friendly to barely civil—although Amira hid her animosity. Amira fronted unity with the Duke of Lohr because losing Drekor’s support would be unfavorable.
The queen smoothed her skirt, the bodice complete with raven feathers. She wore elaborate clothing daily to complement her ivory skin, golden hair, and violet eyes. Despite her wickedness, she was beautiful. She made a few demands of the maids, and they fluttered off to do her bidding. The queen turned to me and put out her hand. I gave her my arm without hesitation. Even though I had a title, I was still at her disposal. She had given me the title when I’d signed her contract.
As we exited the room, I glanced again at the mirror. Shadowy fingers caressed my spine, giving me an involuntary shiver. The queen was vain, but the mirror was ostentatious. Although it did add excitement during sex, I swear I felt its inanimate gaze and judgment. It held power—dark magic. I could feel its darkness pulse against me when I stepped too close to its towering frame. Sometimes when I came into the room, I heard the queen speaking to it—for there would be no others with her. Considering how I obtained my ‘jobs,’ I couldn’t rule anything out where the mirror was concerned.
Queen Amira hated Margarite with such a burning passion that I'm still shocked it didn’t send the woman up in flames each time they were in proximity. Still, the sweet woman tried to have a relationship with the queen. Unfortunately, Margarite was related to the late King Olsfor, the husband Queen Amira had gained and lost all within months. It surprised me that Margarite still lived with the queen's hatred—others had died for less.
“My Queen, you are looking lovely!” Margarite exclaimed as she limberly rose without the help of Bereille, who had stood instantly to assist her. Margarite held a possessive hand against her rounded belly but smiled openly at us.
I felt the queen tense, but outwardly she gave a tightlipped smile and nodded. “Good evening, Margarite. What brings you all the way here in yourcondition?”
“Well, I wanted to invite you to our naming celebration. Drekor is insisting on it. Not that we celebrate such things before the birth of our babies in Feist. I fear it a bad omen, but he insists.” Margarite rambled on, and my eyes flickered to Bereille. He was tense, and something flashed in his eyes as they met mine. It felt like a warning. With Bereille, everything seemed a sign I didn’t understand, but as I glanced at the queen, I feared I might begin to. A blood-red-infused smile gracing her mouth was far too sinister. How Margarite didn’t notice the malice, I’ll never know.
“Oh, no, sweet Margarite. No cousin of my dear late husband would have just any old naming celebration. We will have it here in the palace. I will spare no expense.”
Margarite seemed to falter. “We couldn’t.”
“I insist.”
My blood ran cold. This exchange felt ominous. Bereille was openly staring at the queen, and Margarite looked flustered and nervous for the first time.
“I’m flattered, but—”
“I will hear no argument, my dear. My husband would want it so. You know he adored you.”
Margarite bit her lip. “I loved him. He was more like an uncle to me than a cousin.”
“Come to me in three days, and we will discuss schematics.”
Margarite’s smile was less bright, her words hesitant, but her happiness was still a bubble of sunshine. She seemed so out of place in this frosty, despairing setting. A glimpse of light from the outside world I sometimes forgot when I was here for too long. It had been months since the queen had sent me on a mission, and I was growing as grim as this place. Even the garden was bleak with sinister gargoyle statues and entangled thorns. The only pop of color was the occasional blooming red rose and the queen’s apple tree that produced fat red apples throughout the year, despite the chilly conditions that permeated the palace grounds.
Bereille escorted Margarite to her carriage immediately after, and the queen let out a laugh once we were alone. I didn’t question it or her, but the sound sent dread through me.
“Come, Huntsman, I have a job for you.”
Thank my lucky stars. I was getting the fuck out of here before all this shit went down.
The queen led me to her bed-chamber where I received all myjobs. You see, I had a skill. I was an exceptional huntsman. I could track and huntanything. Before I entered the queen’s employ, I was a young, cocky shithead making a name for myself as a monster hunter. I traveled around Catalan slaying monsters, hunting, and tracking, and I had been damn good at it. That’s what attracted the queen to me. My exploits garnered one of her particular needs not being met by others. Unfortunately, the queen downplayed what this role would be in the beginning, manipulated me into agreeing, dazzled me into signing my life to her for a decade, and I fell into her finely spun web like an unsuspecting insect. I wish I had a dramatic story of how I was entrapped in a bargain by some heroic feat—to save my enslaved sister, protect my village, or something of equal good measure, but such was not the case.
When the queen offered thisroleto me, my flair and arrogance only made it more exciting for her. Once I’d signed my life, my cock, and my skill set to her, her true colors and the truth of what I had to do slowly came to light. I had become the queen’s bounty hunter. It sounded grand at first, but the illusion shattered when she sent me out on my first hunt, and I discovered it was not monsters I would be hunting and putting down. It wasgirls. Young women that somehow threatened the queen. I’m not sure how the queen selected these girls or why she felt threatened by them. Perhaps it was a royal lineage thing. Something I knew little about, having grown up poor in a fishing village by the sea. But even that was unlikely as Margarite was of the royal line, and she was still alive.
Regardless, she sent me to rip out these girls’ hearts and bring the organs to her. Worse, the only information I had on the girls was a picture conjured in the gilded mirror. Sometimes tracking down a girl from just an image alone took months. Once, it took me a year because the girl was on an island far off the southern coast, many leagues into the Sea of Ursa.
I killed for the queen. I was not proud of it, but it was my life now. I should have never allowed myself to be so enamored not to ask for all the contract details. Instead, I had given myself over to Amira without pause. I had fallen in love with the magnetism of her power and her brokenness the moment she had summoned me to this frosty palace. Even now, knowing all I do, I would do anything for her—I’m sure the contract aids that fealty. But when she sends me to murder these girls, the longer I’m away, the more I come to my senses. I see the error in all of this, the vileness in what she asks me to do. Too soon, though, it is done, and I’m handing over that heart in a wooden box, and then I’m back in her clutches and forgetting all else. Perhaps it was part of the dark magic she possessed.
I hadn't figured a way out of the contract that would permit me to live. I counted down the days until the end of a decade.
The gilded mirror shouldn’t glimmer brightly in the dim room, but it did. What happened next was dark magic. The first time I had seen it done, I’d been petrified but intrigued. Every time after gave me the same apprehension as the first time, but I was less captivated and more cautious.
The queen dismissed the maids that had fluttered in to do her bidding, and I swallowed back the disgust of what was to come. I used to love being in this room with her alone, but lately, I had become restless and agitated in the palace. When I was ridingawayfrom the Savine city gates was the only time I felt free. That feeling should have been a clue. After four years, I was drawing away from her allure—of all this. But it was too late for me. Even after my decade was complete, everything she had made me do would haunt me. I could end myself and save countless innocent girls, but would I have the balls to do that or even go against Amira if presented with the chance? Probably not. I was too cowardly to end my own life or give her a reason to do it.
