Page 93 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen
Lord Grimmage gives off a stern, grandfatherly energy as he bows to the waist. “You’re a vision, Your Highness. For as long as they live, the High Fae of Lightning Point will never forget the sight of you in that dress.”
“It’s an honor to meet the famous Devi Eros.” Tatiana curtsies in a meek, respectful manner, but there’s a definite edge to her voice. “Alaric deserves such a beauty by his side. A Spring legend is more fitting of his appetites. I hope this means you’ve forgotten about me, Ric?” She asks him through her lashes.
“Tatiana,” her father clips, scolding her for either her taunt or familiarity—probably both. “Excuse my daughter, milord. She feels emboldened by the recent death of our king. It’s widely accepted that she should be queen soon…” the man trails off, beaming.
“Heard from your royal fiancé, lately?” Alaric shoots back.
Tatiana’s brows knit together. “He’s still mourning his father.”
Alaric smiles a cold, humorless smile. “And you think that’s why he stayed away?”
“Have you heard from the capital since the Chalice was destroyed? From our new king? Do you know what he plans to do about your father’s seat?” Lord Grimmage asks in a way that spells out both his devotion for the hierarchy and his low opinion for my companion.
Alaric grinds his teeth together. “Yes. He’ll be here tomorrow, as a matter of fact.”
Lord Grimmage’s dubious, wrinkled expression matches his daughter's.
“Here, milord?” he asks.
“Yes. Here. Spread the news, Grimmage. All of you are expected back here tomorrow night, to pay your respects to your new king.”
I can’t tell if Alaric is improvising or not, but he keeps his composure, the tick in his jaw the only clue that he’s not in perfect control.
“We’ll be here, milord.”
Grimmage and his daughter bow, and Alaric guides me over to the next group of courtiers.
“Make it happen soon, yes?” he mutters under his breath. “I want to see that snobbish man’s face decompose when he realizes his precious virgin daughter will be mine. That she’ll have to kneel for me at the altar tomorrow and take my cock in her tight little cunt, for everyone to see…”
The joy boiling in his voice brings a chill to my spine, and blood drains from my face. By Eros, I’d assumed my love potion would be enough to sway Alaric, and convince him to let us go. I’d never expected him to actually marry the girltomorrow.
We join the next circle of guests, and Alaric serves them the same enigmatic invitation. Come tomorrow and meet the new king.Fuck.
No one seems to suspect the truth.
“Won’t they figure it out now?” I say quietly.
Alaric shakes his head. “These idiots wouldn’t recognize raw power if it cooked their own balls. They all treat me with condescension—heeding my invitation, but no more—because they think I won’t be confirmed as warden.”
“Why give them the opportunity to humiliate you?”
“I want them to dig their own graves. Believe me, they will fear me more for it.”
I’ve played at politics long enough to know he’s right, and if an unsuspecting woman wasn’t standing between Alaric and his demented revenge, I’d gladly let him have it. The courtiers grin knowingly at our quiet chat, my presence not enough to sew a seed of doubt and alert them that something is amiss.
“Wouldn’t it be simpler for you to reveal yourself now and demand Tatiana as a bride?” I suggest.
It’d spare us the unpleasant aftermath of the love potion.
“I want her to beg for it,” he clips. “To beg for more as I tear her open, so her father always remembers how much of a whoreshe really is. Lord Grimmage might be stupid enough to betray me. He’s the only one in this province connected enough to try, but seeing his daughter squirt around my cock… That’ll haunt him.”
I bite my cheeks hard, holding my fists close to my body.
There’s no point arguing with a psycho king, no point picking a fight I can’t win, so I switch my focus to the sprites carrying trays full of canapés and drinks through the ballroom. I inventory the offerings with care, scanning past the sugared tarts and candied éclairs until I see stemless metal flutes of Feyfire wine heading our way. The bronze and tungsten design showcases the Rayne sigil.
They are only now being passed around, and Alaric grabs two flutes off Brel’s tray.
“You’re serving Feyfire wine?” I ask loud enough for everyone in the circle to hear.
