A Fate of Wrath & Flame (Fate & Flame 1)

“I was helping her into the bath, and I noticed marks on her body. She told me he’s been feeding off her and allowing others to do the same. Regularly. That kind of strain on a pregnant woman …” Corrin shakes her head as she fluffs my pillows.

“See? I think I’d pull up a chair and clap if he were in the death square.”

Her lips twist. “I’ve already had their markers exchanged for the royal ones. She’s been trying to get into the kitchen, you know. Said she wants to earn her keep and prove ‘Queen Romeria didn’t make a mistake.’” She air-quotes that last part with her fingers. “Everyone’s calling you queen. I don’t know what you two are waiting for anymore. You might as well get married now.”

My heart flutters. “Because this isn’t real, remember? Zander’s on a conspiracy theory kick, and I’m going along for the ride so I’m not locked in a room for the rest of my life.” Atticus’s words still linger in my mind a day later, a somber echo of what I, too, have speculated, about this possible accomplice within these walls. And if I have questioned, and Atticus has questioned, surely Zander has doubted it too. Yet, he keeps me at his side, stoking flames of discontent among aristocrats who do not wish to see a Ybarisan as queen, let alone one shrouded in such dark whispers as murder.

Corrin snorts and gives me a knowing look that makes me wonder if she’s somehow privy to our intimate moment in Zander’s bathing room yesterday. That moment, however fleeting, certainly felt real, but I haven’t seen a hint of him since. It’s as if the vampiric king of Islor is hiding from me. “Dagny said your gown will be ready in time for tournament day.”

“Great.” The day is approaching quickly.

“If there’s nothing else, then? The kitchen is busy preparing for the hunt, and I have plenty to do, including attempting to fix a lavender dress I found in a sodden, torn heap.”

I avert my sheepish smile and thrust the page toward her. At least she’s not pressing for details on how it happened.

Her forehead creases as she collects it. “This is me,” she states with surprise.

“Yes.”

Her perpetually hard eyes soften as they scour it. “I’ve never had a portrait of myself. Thank you, Romeria.”

It’s the first time she’s ever used my name. “And thank you for your help with Gracen and her kids. I know it was probably a lot to dump on you, but I couldn’t leave them there.”

She slowly rolls the paper. “I will admit to regretting my initial reaction, after I learned more about their situation,” she says quietly.

“Is that an apology?”

“From Corrin? Impossible,” comes Zander’s voice from behind me.

He stands in the doorway of my terrace. Nervous excitement rushes through me at the sight of him, and at the flood of memories of our last encounter. Somehow, he becomes more attractive every time I see him.

I attempt a cavalier attitude as I say, “Now I know why you moved me so close. It’s so you can show up unannounced, any time you please.” It won’t be long before my racing pulse gives me away, if it hasn’t already.

“Your Highness.” Corrin curtsies and then, with a smirk my way, departs.

I set my pencil down on the coffee table and steady my breathing as I regard the king, wearing his usual simple tunic—today in white—black pants, and black jacket, tailored to a carved body I’ve seen and felt unclothed.

Will we pick up where we left off?

Just the thought makes me dizzy.

Zander strolls in, stops at the threshold to my sitting room, and leans against the door frame casually, his arms folded across his chest. “Could Corrin’s apology have anything to do with a certain baker and her soon-to-bethree children you confiscated from their keeper?” he asks evenly.

“You’ve heard.” Is he angry? I can’t tell. He’s guarding his reaction well.

“I believe you threatened to have Elisaf maim Lord Freywich, and quite viciously.”

“Not to his face,” I counter. “He tortured that little boy, he’s been breeding Gracen, and Corrin just confirmed he was loaning her out—”

“You did the right thing,” he cuts off my rant.

A wave of relief washes over me.

“Those are exactly the kind of immortals who have gotten away with their cruelty for too long.”

“Yes.” I falter, waiting for the “but that’s not how we do things in Islor” lecture. After a few beats, I realize it’s not coming. “So, that’s all?”

He frowns. “What do you mean?”