It’s not until I get into my rooms and slam the door behind me that I finally uncurl my fist and throw the damning letter into the burning fire. I hurl a yell of frustration along with it, a noise made through clenched teeth and a rigid neck.
Hands braced on the mantel, I glare into the flames, watch the words burn, wishing I could burn the hand that penned it.
“What’s wrong?”
I don’t turn away, don’t blink. The heat of the flames blankets my eyes, but still I watch it all turn to ash.
Jeo steps up beside me and places a tentative hand on my back. “What happened, my love?”
“Love,” I spit, jerking away from him as I turn. “You do not love me, Jeo. You are my royal saddle. A whore I pay to ride. Do not pander to me with pretty lies.”
His arm drops and a look of hurt crosses his expression. I wish it would linger. I wish I could spread that hurt, make everyone suffer as much as I suffer this life.
“Fine,” he says, copper hair flickering in the light of the fire, his freckled face red with both anger and embarrassment. “What’s wrong, Queen Malina?” he asks pointedly.
“You want to know what’s wrong?” I snap. “Every prick who ever prodded a maiden and stole her virtue. Every bastard who was ever born to taint bloodlines. Every man who rose up by standing on the bellies of women.”
Jeo’s thick red brows pull together. “I’m not following.”
“He impregnated one of his whores!” I shout, the ice around my temper shattering.
He blinks in surprise. “Tyndall?”
“Of course, Tyndall,” I seethe, eyes blazing. “Who else?”
My saddle opens his mouth, but then closes it before he can speak. Beside us, the fire continues to crackle, teeth gnashing on the letter I’ve fed it.
“Spit it out, Jeo.”
“Well, it’s just...” His hands run down the front of his white tunic, like he wants to smooth away what he’s about to say. “I thought he was the impotent one.”
I clench my teeth, my gaze turning so cold it could rival Sixth’s storms. He’s lucky. If I did have magic in my veins, I would strike him down where he stands for daring to say such a thing to me.
“So it’s my fault I don’t have a child, is that it?” My tone is so deathly low that surely it reaches the depths of the ground and seeps its way into hell.
Jeo’s contrition does nothing for me. “My queen, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Get out.”
He rears back, blue eyes widening. “Malina...”
“I won’t need your services tonight, Jeo. Leave.”
Turning, I face the fire again and stare down at the demonic force, watching it lick and mangle everything into cinders. My ears follow the sound of Jeo’s footsteps as he walks out and closes the door behind him, and only then do I let out a sigh.
I expected anger and a poli
tical move from Tyndall once he realized I was trying to take Sixth from him. I expected a Divine-damned response for all the hard work I’ve done to overthrow his rule right out from under him.
But no.
He’s ignored all of it, as if I’ve done nothing. As if the quiet treason I’ve committed doesn’t matter at all, and none of my moves are worth his attention. He didn’t even deign to threaten me.
Instead, he instructs me to formally declare a pregnancy and then shut myself up in my chambers for the next six months. When I come out, it will be with a babe in my arms. With an infant that isn’t my own. His whore’s child, passed off as a prince or princess.
In his words:
You will do this so that you may finally do your duty to me as my wife, and I shall be able to claim a legitimate heir.