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Draven tore through a nearby doorway, saw me, and jogged over. “There you are. I was beginning to wonder if I’d scared you off,” he joked, then noticed the somber ambience he’d stumbled into. His smile stuttered. “Is everything all right?”
“Draven, this is Noemi, from Court Justice. Noemi has some interesting things to say about Lark.”
Draven failed to contain his sneer. “Another night, perhaps? Let’s not ruin this one.”
“I fear it is already ruined.”
CHAPTER31
Lark
Draven and Arinwere missing from the celebration. Perhaps Arin had taken my advice and decided to leave, or perhaps they were under a palm tree somewhere, Arin’s cock deep between Draven’s lips.
I sighed and swirled the wine in my glass. I hadn’t touched my drink, didn’t have the appetite for it after delivering a few drops from Razak’s vial into any unguarded cup. The unattended cups had been easy to deal with. Other cups had required a little misdirection and some sleight of hand. People looked at me strangely, intrigued and disgusted now they knew my name. They probably also knew Razak had paraded me around on the end of a leash and fucked me when he pleased. Whatever their reasons, they couldn’t help but stare, leaving themselves mortally exposed.
Hearing my real name whispered on their lips was… unsettling. I’d been a secret my whole life. Now everyone thought they knew me.
Arin was right. I didn’t know who I was, but I’d preferred being Lark to Zayan, the half prince, the traitor’s son, Razak’s pet.
“Your sulking is tiresome.”
I flashed my brother a sharp smile. “I’m bored, waiting for your poison to kick in.”
“The evening is still young,” he smirked. “Have you attended every cup?”
I plucked the empty vial from my pocket and turned it over between my finger and thumb. “Every last drop.”
“Not Arin’s, I presume?”
“He’s not here.” Draven’s friends were proclaiming tales of how they’d fought off vicious desert tribes and sand worms during a trek through the desert. Draven and Arin hadn’t been among them for some time now. I wasn’t sure if Arin had returned at all, since our earlier tête-à-tête.
His hate had been… genuine. I’d suspected it, but knowing it and seeing it in his eyes was a different experience altogether. A painful one. That was, of course, Razak’s plan when he’d allowed the truth of me to be known. Hurt Arin, hurt me, hurt anyone and everyone.
The doors boomed open and King Ogden stormed in, two hundred and forty pounds of muscle poured into leather and plate armor. The crown atop his head sparkled with bloodred rubies. I caught Razak’s hungry glare. My brother smiled.
The guests all stood—except us. Ogden waved them back down and strode toward Draven’s table, probably to address the happy couple. He barked something about the pair being missing from the celebration.
“Looks real, doesn’t it?” Razak said.
“What does?”
“The crown.” He leaned in, bumping my shoulder. “It has its worth as metal and gems, but it is not the real Crown of War. The real crown is hidden in the temple.”
I hadn’t seen any crown during the ceremony, but I hadn’t seen much of anything outside of Arin’s hand wrapped with Draven’s. “Why wear a fake?”
“Did you not see the art, all over the temple walls? Or were you to occupied with staring at Arin, wishing he’d renounce Draven and join you, perhaps?”
I laughed, despite feeling every word he’d said like multiple stab wounds to the chest. “Love and Pain? Hardly a recipe for harmony.” Although, when Arin and I had been together, there had been a connection, despite our respective courts. Arin liked a little pain, and maybe, if I was honest, a touch of love in my life wouldn’t have been so terrible a thing. But all that was in the past, burned to ashes.
“No, it is not…” Razak agreed with a smile and sipped his wine. He’d had his hand craned over his cup all evening, and never once let it out of his sight. I wasn’t sure if he didn’t trust me not to poison him or just didn’t trust anyone. “He wears the fake because the Crown of War is cursed.”
“‘Cursed’?” I laughed. “Which one of us is the entertainer, spinning fantastic tales for bored nobles?”
“Had you paid attention to War’s murals, you’d have known it to be true. Anyone who wears War’s crown is assuredly driven mad.”
Oh well, we had that to look forward to when Razak got his hands on it, which he would, if his brilliant smile was any indication. “How does a crown make a man mad?”
“The crown alone doesn’t. Curses aren’t real, but magic is.”
