Page 2 of A Pact of Blood

Keep it short, simple, and full of reverence for the man I despised.

I dip my head humbly. The empress serves her people at least as much as the other way around.

The amplification charm flings my voice out across the vast square. “I’m sorry to meet you all under such tragic circumstances. I only got to spend a few weeks in Emperor Tarquin’s incredible presence, but I grew up in awe of his leadership and the legacy he was building.”

In awe of how any man could contain so much callousness and cruelty. A legacy of subjecting the people of my home country to assaults and enforced labor.

I swallow those silent sentiments and go on. “I was met with the warmest of welcomes when I arrived at the palace. It was immediately obvious how much impact His Imperial Majesty had on all of his court. I have never?—”

My gaze flicks to the noble retinue around us on the stairs—and jars on the faces I least need haunting me right now.

Since my wedding, I’ve been doing my best to avoid the four princes Emperor Tarquin was fostering. As later-born royals from the other conquered countries within the empire, more hostages than adoptive sons, their hatred for him and his empire burns even hotter than my own.

And now they have every reason to hate me as well. I won the three older princes’ hearts, dallied with them as if I was giving my own over to them, and then rejected their offer of escape to marry Marclinus instead.

I wasn’t paying enough mind to where they’d placed themselves in our assembly, and now I’m faced with their searing gazes unprepared. I can’t say what’s the worst: Bastien’s cold, hard glower, Lorenzo’s anguished stare, or the way Raul cuts his fierce gaze away from me as if I’m not even worthy of his attention.

My words muddle on my tongue. I wrench my attention back to the larger mass of spectators in front of me.

What will they make of my stumble?

My chest hitches. I hastily swipe at my eyes as if I’m brushing away tears. Let them think I’m overcome with grief for the fallen emperor.

The emotion isn’t difficult to fake. The truth is that my heart does feel wrenched in two—because the princes standing just a few paces away captured it far more than I can afford to let on.

Because I don’t know how much they’ll prove to be my enemies all over again.

I’d swear Raul suspected that I had a hand in Tarquin’s death. The look he gave me right afterward…

None of them have spoken up about it, but that’s likely only because I know things aboutthemthey wouldn’t wantcoming out either. I have no idea how long they’ll hold their tongues or what might compel them to accuse me.

I can’t let those worries distract me in this moment. With a shaky inhalation that the amplification charm will project as well as it did my words, I allow a quaver to creep into my voice that has nothing to do with the man I’m talking about.

“I have never felt so blessed as I did getting the opportunity to be part of such a brilliant and accomplished family. It saddens me beyond words that I couldn’t serve Emperor Tarquin longer or benefit from his sage guidance. I will strive with all I am to see that his legacy continues while I stand with his son, your new emperor, and guide us into the future.”

A future filled with much less bloodshed and horror beyond this country’s borders, if I have anything to say about it.

I bow my head once more and retreat to Marclinus’s side. He rests his fingers briefly against my back with a hum I think is approving.

More than anyone, I needhimto believe I whole-heartedly support him and his family’s vision for the empire. My only chance at swaying him onto a more peaceful, compassionate course will be if he thinks that course will benefit his own ends—and that my priorities are the same as his.

A couple of Tarquin’s chief advisors go forward to speak about the wonders of the late emperor’s rule, and the cleric from the imperial temple carries out the final rites. As the robed man prepares to light the pyre, Marclinus and I ease down the steps to come closer.

The soldiers guarding us pull tighter around us. I brace myself for the surge of heat.

The flames roar up over the heap of wood, swallowing Tarquin’s body.

Through the hiss of the fire, I just make out the low voiceof one of the soldiers behind me. “Seems a bad omen, don’t you think, Galen? He dies like that the same night as His Imperial Highness’s wedding?”

“His Imperial Majesty to us now,” his companion grumbles, equally quiet. “Don’t let him hear you making that mistake.”

“I just mean—it could be a sign from the godlen that the marriage will bring more problems than good. Thatsheis going to be a?—”

His voice cuts off with a faintoofas if he’s been elbowed and a curt response. “Hush.”

Even with the crackling heat coursing over my skin, a chill collects in my gut.

How many of the other imperial soldiers are thinking the same way about me? How many of the regular citizens of Dariu or the nobles of its court?

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