But he was not done. Setting her on the throne, he sank to his knees before her and spread her thighs wide. Hungrily he licked his lips.
He froze when she tensed. “Bane,” she whispered, her gaze fixed over his shoulder—at the dark-haired man who’d just walked into the throne room.
His hair no longer disheveled. His robes in good repair. But that face was unmistakeable.
Harmon.
Instantly Bane was on his feet, sword drawn.
“General Bane!” The man abruptly halted, his hands upraised. “I’m not him!”
“You’re not who?” he snarled.
“My twin! Harmon was my older brother!”
Behind him, Echo snorted with laughter. “Was he really? Then who are you?”
The twin sketched a courtly bow. “Prince Helpin, your majesties. Though with Harmon dead, I suppose that I am King Helpin now.”
“Oh,” said his wife, amusement still lightening her tone. “Apparently when we killed his brother, we gave the prince here a birthday present, too.”
“Not this kingdom,” Bane growled as Echo rose from the throne and came to stand beside him. “You think to come and claim the crown? After we rid Crolum of your monster of a brother, why would we place it into your hands and risk the same?”
Helpin beamed. “You would not risk anything. I am the good twin.”
After interrupting the feast between his wife’s thighs, that declaration was almost enough to make Bane kill the fool where he stood. Echo put a calming hand on his arm.
“Are you truly the good one?” she asked.
Helpin preened. “It has always been said.”
“And what good have you done?”
“I… Pardon?” His nose wrinkled and his expression was pure bafflement. “Did you not see what a monster Harmon was?”
“We did. But why does his evil make you good?”
“It does not,” he declared, voice firming. “You will find that I’m good on my own merits. I have always treated everyone well.”
“Oh!” She slanted a glance at Bane. “So he is the nice one, husband.”
Bane grunted his response and adjusted his grip on the sword. She could play with the fool. Bane was still debating whether to kill him.
“Quite right!” Helpin’s pleased smile praised her for understanding.
“And while Harmon ruled this place, how did you help the people here?”
A lift of his shoulder made him appear bashfully modest. “Whatever was needed. You understand that I was not the king, so I could not do much.”
“Oh, come now. You were a prince with money and privilege and at least some measure of power. Did you not use that to help your people at all? To ease the burden of your brother’s rule?”
His eyes darted uneasily from Echo to Bane. “I do not understand what you are asking of me.”
“I’m asking what good did you do?”
“Ask anyone in Crolum. I was good to them.”
“There’s no one left in Crolum to speak for you,” Bane snapped. “Where have you been? Where were you while your people were slaughtered by the scourge?”
“Well, I knew that I would be needed after…to help heal Crolum’s many wounds.”
“So you fled,” Bane said flatly. “How many went with you? How many did you save?”
“Not as many as I hoped—the cabins on the ship are so small, that we’d have been fiercely overcrowded with too many. So only my valet. And my cook. And a guard.”
Interest lit his wife’s face. “And they’ve returned with you?”
“They have.”
“They can stay,” Bane decided. “But you will leave Crolum. Now.”
“You cannot tell me that.” Helpin drew himself up as tall as he could. “I am king of this land.”
“No,” said Echo as she tipped her head toward Bane. “He is.”
“It is my birthright!”
His wife scoffed. “You squandered your birthright when you cared more for yourself than you did for the people. I’m going to tell everyone what a coward you are. How you scuttled off to save yourself and left your people to die.”
The prince squawked in outrage. “Why would you say such a thing to anyone? Why would you be so…”
“Mean?”
“Yes!” he threw out defiantly.
That was enough. Bane strode forward. “You dare insult my queen?”
Helpin’s face blanched. “I…”
Bane’s snarl revealed sharp fangs. “Run back to your ship, little prince.”
The prince turned and fled.
“Oh, that was fun. I truly enjoy being a queen.” Echo laughed in delight, then eyed the yellow dribble on the floor. “What is that?”
“He pissed himself. Do you suppose he’ll return?”
“No. He’ll run off to some other kingdom seeking help, complain about the evil king and queen who stole his throne, and claim he’ll only stay long enough to build an army and support—but he’ll stay until he wears out his welcome and then sails on to the next kingdom that will take him in.” She paused thoughtfully. “His tale of woe might persuade some princess to take pity on him—and he’ll probably flee first to Phaira. He might be married to Sapphira by the time we reach it.”
“So we might have to send him scurrying away again? We’ll bring a towel next time.” Sheathing his sword, he returned to his wife.