The War of Two Queens (Blood and Ash 4)

“Makes you wonder why the other one is so talkative,” Kieran observed. “And these aren’t.”

“Because I don’t think she’s entirely like them. Is she?” I asked the Handmaidens as Kieran sent me a quick glance. “She’s different.”

“In ways other than the obvious?” Kieran drawled.

“She doesn’t smell like them.”

Kieran’s brows pinched as he turned back to the other Handmaidens. “You’re right.”

Millicent returned shortly after that, carrying garments as black as the ones she wore. She stomped past Kieran and me, dropping the clothing onto the bed. “This is the best I could manage.” Turning to me, she planted her hands on her hips. “I hope this makes you happy because it will surely annoy her.”

“Do I look like I care if she’s annoyed?”

“You don’t.” She paused. “Right now.” A chill swept down my spine as she went to the chair and sat, crossing one leg over the other. “You should get ready. I’ll keep your…man company.”

“Great,” Kieran muttered.

“I want to see Reaver before I meet with the Queen.”

“He’s fine.”

“I want to see him.”

Her lips thinned as she stared up at me. “Is she always this demanding?”

“What you call demanding, I would say is asserting her authority,” Kieran replied.

“Well, it’s annoying…and unexpected.” Her unblinking gaze latched onto mine. “She wasn’t always like this.”

“How would you know?” I asked.

“Because I remember you when you were as quiet as a tiny mouse, not making a single sound unless it was night, and bad dreams found you in your sleep,” she said.

That chill returned, once more skating down my spine.

“I was here then. I feel like I’ve always been here,” she said with a sigh. “I’m old, Penellaphe. Almost as old as your King—”

Before I even realized I had moved, I was in front of her, my hands on top of hers, pressing them into the arms of the chair. “Where is Casteel?” I asked, aware of Kieran coming up behind me as the other Handmaidens stepped forward.

When Millicent said nothing, the Primal essence throbbed in my veins as I lowered my head so we were at eye level. “Have you seen him?” The smokiness returned to my voice.

A long moment passed. “If you want to see him,” she said, and I almost missed it—the quick, darting glance she sent in the Handmaidens’ direction. “I suggest you get out of my face, get your face ready, and do it quickly. Time is of the essence, Your Highness.”

I held her stare and then slowly backed off. Snatching the clothing from her, I went into the bathing chamber, quickly washing in the clean, warm water that someone had brought in. I could hear Millicent asking Kieran if he was a wolven and then her prattling on about how she’d never spoken to one. Kieran gave little to no response.

The clothing appeared to have come straight from her wardrobe. The chiton-style tunic was sleeveless and sat off the shoulder, resting where the wound from the shadowstone arrow should’ve been if the injury hadn’t already healed, leaving not even a mark behind. The bodice was tight, but the leather bands around the waist and hips allowed me to loosen the material so it fit my fuller figure. The hem reached the knees and had slits on either side, allowing the wolven dagger to remain hidden but easily accessible. I managed to secure the pouch to one of the bands at my waist and let the ring lay behind the neckline, against my breasts. She’d brought a pair of breeches that I didn’t think belonged to her, but they fit, so I really couldn’t care less who they’d come from.

I moved to the vanity, my heart pounding as I stared at my reflection. The silvery glow behind my pupils was bright, and I thought the aura had grown a little. I blinked. No changes.

As I stood there, I thought about the dream—the nightmare. My…mother had said something to the Dark One. He was her viktor. That’s why Tawny had said it sounded so familiar. I’d heard it before. That night, and the gods only knew how many times in the nightmares I couldn’t remember since. Leopold. My father. He was…he was like Vikter. The breath I exhaled was a little ragged.

My grip on the porcelain vanity tightened as my gaze tracked over the scars. They had faded a little when I Ascended, but they seemed more noticeable now than ever. I didn’t know if it was the bright lamplight or just the mirror in this castle—in this city—that made them seem so stark.

My heart continued pounding as a mixture of dread and anticipation rolled through me. It kept coming in waves, ever since I’d woken to discover that we were in Wayfair. I was here. Where Casteel was. Where my father was. Where Isbeth was.

“I’m not afraid of her,” I whispered to my reflection. “I’m a Queen. I’m a god. I’m not afraid of her.”