I couldn’t kill the queen—not without dying myself.
Frustration pounded through me, but I forced myself to draw in slow, deep, steady breaths. Every time I exhaled, I pushed a little more of my rage and magic down, and my pendant slowly warmed back up to a more normal temperature.
Part of me admired Maeven’s caution, even though it was thwarting me now. If nothing else, the queen seemed cognizant of the fact that she had enemies within her own palace. I wondered if she realized that Milo was one of those enemies. Probably. I imagined that very little of what went on at Myrkvior escaped her notice.
Maeven stepped up beside me, studying the painting with a critical gaze. She hadn’t dismissed me, so I turned back to the piece, focusing on the liladorn vines curling through the gold frame, rather than the gruesome images on the canvas.
“Maximus had this painting commissioned shortly after the Seven Spire massacre,” Maeven said.
I didn’t respond. I doubted I could speak right now without screaming curses at her.
“He claimed the painting was to commemorate my greatest triumph,” she continued. “But he hung it up next to his own portrait, as though all my hard work assassinating the Blairs was his own personal doing. Maximus was always taking credit for my successes while denying his own failures. But I suppose that’s the way of kings and queens. My brother was just a bit more boorish and graceless about it than most.”
She shrugged, as if her brother’s actions were of little consequence, but anger scorched off her, like heat waves rising off a roof in the summer sun.
Maeven faced me. “What do you think of the painting?”
I wanted to scream that it was one of the most grotesque things I had ever seen and that I didn’t want to look at it another bloody second, but I wasn’t Princess Gemma, massacre survivor, right now. No, right now, I was Lady Armina, a noble who was supposedly loyal to the Mortan throne. I put on that persona like a cloak, wrapping it tightly around myself, thinking about what Lady Armina would say, and not the guilt, shame, and disgust pummeling Princess Gemma’s heart.
“I think it’s a waste.”
Maeven frowned. “What do you mean?”
“All those people dead seems like a waste. Isn’t it better to rule over your enemies rather than kill them?”
The queen eyed me, as if my words had surprised her, but after a few seconds, a small chuckle escaped her lips. “Yes, I suppose that it is.”
Her face hardened. “Although there is something to be said for just killing your enemies outright and being done with them.”
Her gaze drifted over to her brother’s portrait, and images flickered in my mind, as bright and fast as lightning strikes. Maeven striding into an arena packed with people. Staring at King Maximus. Plunging a dagger into his chest. Her remembered joy bloomed in my heart, along with a much more surprising emotion—relief.
Maeven always seemed so cold, confident, and in control. I never dreamed that she had ever been uncertain, scared, or wary enough to feel relief. It made her seem much more human, something I had a hard time reconciling with the gleeful monster who stalked my memories.
Maeven moved away from the massacre landscape and wandered over to her own portrait. She still hadn’t dismissed me, so I had no choice but to follow her. This image must have been commissioned soon after she had become queen, because she looked at least a decade younger in it than she did in real life. She was also smiling wide and wearing a crown.
At first glance, the silver crown was quite pretty and utterly feminine. But the longer I stared at it, the more I noticed the diamond vines, jet thorns, and amethyst spikes of lilac snaking through the design, turning it into a tangle of liladorn. The shiny curls of metal and the wicked gleam of the jewels added a powerful, sinister air to the crown, while the faceted amethyst spikes looked sharp enough to cut your fingers if you tried to touch them. Much like the liladorn—and Maeven—would cut you in real life if you dared to displease them.
“I was so happy the day I sat for this portrait,” she murmured, and I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or to herself. “I thought I had finally gotten everything I had ever wanted.”
Killing your brother and taking the throne for yourself was probably enough to brighten even the most