Page 2 of The War Queen's Daughter

“Don’t take him far,” I say as the big, black stallion lifts his head to eye me, licking the last trace of sugar from his lips. “We’ll be moving on soon.”

I leave them behind, shoulders squared, face fixed, feeling the tug of stiffened filth on my cheeks as I flatten my expression. The ground feels strange, almost soft beneath my heavy boots, as if it sighs with the souls of the fallen. As I stride towards the tent’s entrance, a figure steps out from the shadows falling deep as the sun sets behind the smoldering forest.

“Aunt,” I say, knowing I sound tired and correcting my tone before I crack a smile at her, grim but present. It crumbles some of what stiffens my cheeks, and I brush at the flaking bloodthere, none of it mine, as General Vivenne of Heald, Mother’s sister, joins me, clasping my arms in her strong grip.

She’s raised and trained me as much as my mother, the queen relying on the statuesque blonde in front of me far more than she does me. And yet, Vivenne’s confidence and quiet support has given me the strength to say no to Mother when I needed to the most, and for that and so much more, I’ll be forever grateful to her.

“Remalla,” Aunt says, her lovely face, usually still with a calm, battle-hardened resolve, is now taut with an unfamiliar tension. Her dark eyes, so like my mother’s but without their predatory gleam, lock to and hold mine with an intensity that has me frowning back. “Niece,” she says, her voice dropping to a low growl, barely audible above the muffled sounds of revelry emanating from the tent. “You made good time.”

“The northern flank is secure, Aunt,” I reply, my own voice rough from shouting commands and, I don’t like to admit, concern. “Their forces scattered. We took two strongholds and a vital supply line.” My chest swells despite my weariness. I’ve done my duty, as I’ve been taught.

And I’ve done it well.

Vivenne simply nods, her gaze sweeping over my mud-splattered armor, taking in the dried streaks of blood that still cling to my cheeks. Her lips thin, but not in criticism. “She’s eager to see you.” My mother’s sister rarely speaks poorly of her despite their differing ways of seeing things. Night and day in appearance as well as personality, my quieter-natured aunt has always stood in my mother’s massive shadow. Except when it comes to me. But there’s a wariness in Vivenne that has me tense and anticipating some sort of conflict I’m not sure I’m willing to endure. “Don’t let her talk you into anything before you’ve had time to think.”

My brows furrow. Vivenne just as rarely speaks in riddles. “What are you talking about?”

She leans closer, her voice now a whisper I have to strain to catch, her hand on my shoulder. “She has a plan, as always. But you don’t always have to be a part of it, Remi. This might be the time to say no to her at last.” A flicker of genuine concern crosses her face, raw emotion that rarely escapes her carefully guarded demeanor. “Be careful. She’s been agitated. And her ‘celebrations’ are more extravagant than usual, even for her.” She glances pointedly at the tent, and the underlying scent of blood and sex seems to intensify with attention. Just my imagination, but still a source of agitation I can’t afford if my aunt is right. “She’s testing new waters. I think you could test your own, too, were you inclined to.”

A knot tightens in my stomach, this time that has nothing to do with the heavy scent of my mother’s entertainments. Vivenne’s warnings aren’t given lightly. She is a woman of few words, and every one is weighted with purpose.

But warning or not, she won’t suffer weakness any more than Mother will. “I’ll be fine, Aunt,” I say, though her words have already planted a seed of dread. I square my shoulders, pushing aside the unsettling feeling. I am a soldier. I do my duty. My mother is my queen.

“See that you are.” Vivianne pauses as though with more to say, her face lit by the ruddy sunset, dark eyes narrowed. With a shrug, her leather armor creaking beneath the motion, she turns and melts back into the camp’s deepening twilight, leaving me to face whatever awaits me.

I know some of it, of course. But it’s now my mother’s intent that has me anxious, not the fully-fledged orgy that she’s instigated on the battlefield.

Time to report in and get out as fast as I can.

If Mother will let me.

Chapter 2

I’m close enough that the sounds from the tent grow sufficiently loud to discern individual noises, the cacophony of drunken laughter, clinking goblets, and the rhythmic groan of bodies in motion separating out into distinct beats.

My jaw tightens despite my resolve. I’m far from ashamed or embarrassed by the nakedness of the bodies piled on one another. This sort of activity has been as common for me as swinging a sword or setting fire to a homestead. It doesn’t mean I have to take the excess lightly.

Because that’s what it is, pure and simple. Inside the massive command tent, music and laughter drift over flickering torches, joined by the rhythmic groans and cries of those on the cusp of release. Rugs of expensive weave and thread have been spread about to cover the filthy ground, though blood and worse has soaked through in places, the soldiers and courtiers in the throes of intimate pleasures ignoring what rises with single-minded focus.

All while my mother, Jhanette, queen of Heald, observes their activities, stretched across silk cushions on a raised dais just for her. She’s shed her heavy armor, bare to a thin blanket draped over her hips, though her breasts are exposed, large and full, and being eagerly catered to by a pair of slim, enthusiastic young men. I focus on her face, on her slitted eyes as she half-smiles, stroking their hair with her bloodstained hands.

Mother pauses, inhaling. Shudders and arches her back, long, black braid swinging free from the binding she’s contained it in for battle, the thick cable of it striking both men on the way past. And then she sags just a little, nostrils flaring before she reaches for a glass.

A delicate concubine surfaces from between my mother’s thighs, bows to her, and leaves as Mother waves her off.

I know she sees me. The queen takes her time, helping herself to a slice of fruit, refilling her glass as the young men sink to their haunches in front of her and stare at me with eager eyes.

“I’m happy to share,” she says, full lips languid, her offer the same one she makes every single time. As if I’d willingly join her and her naked lovers and courtiers celebrating in this ridiculous orgy of food, wine, and flesh.

Yes, ridiculous. She’s never satisfied with simple pleasure, my mother.

I shake my head, hoping she doesn’t see my lips purse as I fight to keep them steady. The heat of the tent is already making me sweat, reminding me just how lovely it will be to bathe. I clear my throat as someone groans and cries out right next to me. Mother watches my reaction, and again, I hope she sees nothing I don’t want her to.

Flushed and feral, Mother shifts so the blanket falls away and is now clothed in nothing but the dried blood of her fallen foes, her silver goblet dangling from her fingers, crimson liquid inside sloshing like blood.

Of course, she’s drinking red wine. What else would she choose?

“My glorious daughter returns, victorious and still armored. By the fire, Remalla, my darling, must you always spoil my pleasure with that disapproving scowl?”

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