Devil's Punch (31 page)

“Of course.” I read them over before scrawling my signature where he indicated—not that I didn't trust him, but in all honesty, I didn't. I trusted
no one
. That was what it meant to rule.

Shannon talked with Chance while we did our business, and then I performed more introductions. “Greydusk, this is Shannon Cheney. You are to treat her with all royal consideration.”

At first she recoiled, but I hoped she would get used to my second and eventually not view him as a monster. Things were different in Xibalba, and the sooner she accepted it, the happier she would be. Perhaps, in time, I could arrange a marital alliance with the Luren. Shannon
would certainly find one of their males physically appealing, and I could appease Sybella with the offering. I had broken our agreement, but I wished her luck in enforcing a bargain that had been made, technically speaking, with a person who no longer existed.

For the remainder of the day, I put aside all business and spent time with Shannon. She ate, bathed, changed her clothes, and then I showed her the palace and grounds. Once the tour ended, I enlisted her help in decorating private rooms that had been passed over in favor of attention to the public areas, like the throne room.

“Seriously? You'll let me have free rein on all of this?”

“Indeed. And I will need another adviser I can trust. I'll create a title especially for you.”

“Holy shit. Okay, so let me get with Greydusk.”

I nodded. “He'll assist in obtaining all the materials you need.”

Because she was young, she didn't realize I had more important matters to attend to. I couldn't spend days entertaining her, and I had to be sure she would be gainfully occupied. It wouldn't do for her to get homesick and cause trouble. She had to stay here, safe and protected, and out of the hands of my enemies.

At my word, Greydusk escorted Shannon to the storerooms, where we had piles of unsorted goods, fresh from the Saremon confiscations. That left Chance with me in the study, and he didn't look pleased. In preparation for an unpleasant conversation, I shut the door and took a seat behind my desk.

“You have something to say?” My tone was dangerous.

“You lied to her about why you're staying, and then distracted her with busywork. Even though you did try to explain, I don't think she realizes how…different you are, and when she does, it's going to be a problem.”

“What do you suggest?” It wasn't sarcasm. In this setting, with no witnesses, I'd permit him to speak his mind.

He scrubbed a hand through his inky hair. “I don't know. I'm just worried.”

“As am I. But what are my alternatives? If I renounce
the throne and devote my life here to doing good works among the downtrodden, how long do you think we'll live? Any of us?”

“You won't convince me your decisions are driven by altruism,” he snapped. “Poor you, taking on the whole city for our benefit? Bullshit. You
want
this.”

I pushed to my feet, flattening my hands on the desk. Leaning forward, I whispered, “Am I supposed to apologize for wanting things, Chance? You don't.”

He stilled, his tiger's gaze locked on mine. A muscle ticked beside his beautiful mouth. Even in anger I craved him.

With measured steps, I approached him and stopped short of a touch. “As I recall, you pursue your impulses beyond what's reasonable. Or do you feel guilty because you still desire me? Maybe even…because you want me
more
, this way.”

“I don't.” But there was no conviction in his voice, and he leaned toward me, just a little. Just enough.

“Power's an aphrodisiac. You crave my certainty. Want it straight in the vein.”

“No.” But he stepped closer, nostrils flaring.

“Don't fight it anymore,” I whispered. “Or pretend. Or lie. You've always secretly wanted someone to control you. Make you give everything. That's where the primitive instincts flare. When you growl
mine
and go savage, you need someone who will say it back—and mean it. You've always been searching for the iron fist in the velvet glove.”

No. Don't do this to him. He loves me, not
you.
Don't fuck with his head
.

I banished her voice with a little more difficulty this time. Silenced her protests.

Desperation flashed in his face—not because I was wrong, but because I was
right
—and I had him. He couldn't resist such bone-deep need. When he bent his head, I kissed him with every ounce of possession in me. Chance swept the desk with feral hands; then it was all heat and teeth, slick, hard friction, wild as a firestorm.

Two weeks after Shannon arrived, I held my first court.

I saw her relatively little, but she busied herself with the decorating. When that work concluded, I'd find something else for her to do. Anything to limit the amount of time we spent together; her questions were piercing, distracting, and I had no time or patience for her emotional needs. Chance had stopped worrying about that, at least to me, as I kept him too occupied in my bed to do much thinking. He was wholly mine now, owned in a way few consorts would permit. In the past, I recalled other lovers who had wanted a rival killed or to be raised to the rank of knight. He had no caste, so he never asked me for favors.

Everything was coming together beautifully.

On that day I sat on the throne with fierce anticipation. Greydusk had located a suitable crown—not the original, of course, but it shone with impressive brilliance as the servant announced the knight from each caste. I had been cautious enough to prohibit them from bringing their own guards into the audience chamber, so a muted rumble of voices came in from the antechamber each time the heavy doors swung open. Zet had sent a contingent of Hazo warriors to add consequence—and guard my person. Four of them on either side of the
throne made for an impressive display. They did not speak, merely stared with unnerving intensity.

The throne room itself was glorious. The dark tile shone like obsidian and the new hangings added an air of gravity to the chamber. Other artful touches like rare sculpture had transformed the room, and now it was time for me to meet my public.

I was not surprised to see Sybella in the forefront of my first petitioners. This time, however, I looked her in the eye and felt nothing at all beyond irritation at how she had inconvenienced me when I first arrived in the city. She dropped into a low curtsy, her graceful neck bent, and I let her stay that way until her muscles trembled from holding the pose. The balance of power had shifted, and I gloried in the juxtaposition.

“Rise,” I said at last.

“Your Majesty.” Her smile was tight, but she had dressed for the occasion in her best stamped silk, matched with real gilt on the buckles of her shoes. Her hair was a dark river, intricately twisted, and her mouth had been painted into a red bow.

“I am willing to hear your oath.”

Her expression drew even tauter, revealing lovely bones. But then, the Luren were
always
beautiful, so it would be more interesting to encounter one that did not possess sheer physical perfection. I tapped my nails lightly on the arm of my throne, gazing down on her with an impassive expression. And my silent scrutiny made her uneasy. She shifted her weight.

“We heard how you treated Caim.” She meant to sound confident, even silkily threatening, but my regard unnerved her enough to unravel her best intentions.

“When he came to this hall, he
knew
how the encounter must end.”

“Why do you suppose he did not fight?” Recovering a little poise, she tested me, wondering how powerful I was in such a hybrid form.

“Because I would have annihilated his caste like the Saremon. He showed courage in accepting my judgment, and thus the Hazo prosper.” I gestured to the eight in
positions of trust at either side of me. Not that I wasn't constantly watching them for signs of conspiracy or rebellion. In the royal house, I was on my guard at all times. It did not make for restful nights.

My reign had barely passed into its infancy. Careless hands would bring everything tumbling down.

“Yes, I had heard you brought their stronghold low.” Anxiety flared again before she dropped her eyes, unable to hold my gaze.

Good for me, if she carried word to the others. Destroying the Saremon in the heart of their strength would give the other castes pause. I alone knew I hadn't destroyed every accursed mage—unless the Saremon had come out of hiding to foment dissidence and insurrection. Yet if the worst came to pass, I would deal with it.

“Indeed. As I said, Sybella, I am willing to hear your oath. You harmed none of my party and did not interfere with my destiny.” Without further hesitation, she dropped to her knees, and I spoke the words as I had to Zet. “Do you swear to serve me in all things, to set my will above your own, and obey my commands without question?”

“I do so swear,” she whispered.

“Rise, Knight of the Luren. I have no orders for you at this time.”

One by one, they all came: the awful Aronesti with their wings and stench, the Birsael, the Dohan, the Klothod, the Mhizul, the Noit, and the Phalxe. They swore to me on bended knee, and most seemed sincere, at least in their fear. It didn't mean they would keep their promises. They might all be plotting, using these pledges as a means to keep my suspicions at bay until they could strike in force. But for my personal recollection of assassination attempts, my thoughts might have sounded like paranoia.

I accepted their pledges and dismissed them. No caste would be welcome in the royal palace until some time elapsed and I sent my spies to test their loyalty. There might be more chaos on the horizon, more structural reorganization necessary before I could be content with the strength of my rule in the city.

Heartsblood, the Imaron knight, came last. He was a little smaller than Greydusk, but otherwise indistinguishable apart from the aura of tangible power he radiated. “You have shown my caste great honor,” he said in greeting.

He dropped to his knees without being asked. I read fear in his alien face and a silent question. Greydusk had been serving me faithfully since the beginning; would I reward him for that? It was not beyond the realm of possibility that I would wrest power away from Heartsblood and bestow it upon my favorite—a capricious decision, yes, but one worth considering. In ages past, I would've done it without a second thought. I let the knight kneel in terror for several long moments while I regarded him thoughtfully.

“How would you reward one such as Greydusk? He is my right hand.”

“There
is
no higher honor,” Heartsblood rejoined.

Ah, clever.
I decided I liked this Imaron. With five slim words, he intimated that his own station was already lesser than the one Greydusk had attained through his own merits, and therefore an insult to him, should it be offered as a prize. In the same breath, he honored me; the compliment was well crafted—masterful, truly.

Amusement shone in my expression. “You are kind to say so.”

“I would swear my oath, if it pleases Your Majesty.”

“It does.”

He was quick again, this time when he knew the right words without my prompting. Heartsblood trotted them out as if he had been studying, but with every indication of sincerity. When he finished, I said, “On your feet, Knight of the Imaron. I am pleased with your alacrity. In time, I will host a ball to inaugurate this glorious new era. Until then, be watchful on my behalf and report anything that troubles you.”

“Do you expect insurgency, Your Majesty?”

Here, I hesitated. While his wit was pleasing, I didn't trust him. “It is always best to anticipate trouble. That way one may be surprised for the better and prepared for the worst.”

The Imaron knight flashed a mouthful of teeth. “Spoken like a true queen.”

“You will keep your finger on the city's pulse?”

“I swear it.”

I dismissed Heartsblood then. Perhaps he esteemed me enough to keep his word on that alone; and if not, then gratitude might do it. I could have replaced him with Greydusk, knowing his loyalty was absolute. Instead, I chose to give Heartsblood an opportunity to prove himself. That might be all the rope I needed to hang myself, but I couldn't rule this city without allies. Some would come through fear, others through respect.

Deep weariness trembled in my muscles. I glanced at the Hazo standing motionless on either side of my throne. They must be exhausted too; it had been a long day—and how
odd
that I would consider such a thing.

“Go to your barracks now,” I said. “I am retiring from the public eye. Clear the hall and the antechamber. I'll see no one else today.”

Mustering the last vestige of regal dignity, I swept from the throne room and down the hall. Demons on their hands and knees already, scrubbing the tiles to a high shine, lowered their faces so they could see nothing but the hem of my robe. I missed the freedom of the trousers and boots I'd worn on the streets, but since I wouldn't be engaging in personal combat, I bowed to tradition and wore more impressive, ceremonial garb while holding court.

Deep down I hated it.

Some parts of this, I loathed. Unexpected, that. I'd thought once I pulled together the shambles of my court, the painful dissatisfaction would fade. But it hadn't. With a soft sigh, I went to my rooms to change.

The future lay before me, surprisingly bleak and endless.
I don't want to be queen. I want
—the thought was too foreign for me to finish. It didn't even feel like
my
thought. My head ached in the worst way, and I dug my knuckles into my temples. Nausea rose to accompany the pain. I didn't know how long I sat like that, but a soft touch on my shoulder roused me.

My vision was spotty. I turned, wondering what they needed now. “Yes?”