girl. She was dead. I’m so sorry…”
Chapter 15
Randal
The punishment for queen-killing was death by a thousand arrows and I didn’t give a fuck. I was going to kill Queen Patara, and fucking revel, fucking rejoice in every last bloody second of it.
My grief rang in my ears, it made me taste metal, it made my scars scream with pain like I was burning alive all over again. Iris had been my hope, my joy, every good fucking thing that I had in the world. And now she was fucking gone. And I was left with nothing but agony.
Agony and rage.
With my sword drawn, I made my way to the queen’s private chambers. Her guards tried to stop me, so many that I lost count of the fatal stabs I’d inflicted. Soon my hands were so bloody that the hilt of my sword was slippery in my palm. But I didn’t give a shit. I’d have fought bare handed, ripping their eyeballs out with my thumbs, if that’s what it took to avenge the death of the only good thing I had ever known. Murder. It was the only motherfucking answer to this pain.
There was one doorway between me and redemption, one threshold between me and a dead queen. It was her bed chamber and she’d barricaded herself inside. I kicked it hard and the lock shivered but didn’t give way.
“You fucking cunt,” I roared, kicking it again and again. “I’m coming for you, you bitch. Get ready to meet your motherfucking maker.”
“Get away from me, you beast!” She screamed back at me. “Go drown yourself in the sea and leave me the fuck alone! Save the people the terror of seeing your face in an open casket!”
The third kick shattered one of the inset wooden panels of the door. Fuck yes. I yanked my boot free from the gap in the slats and plunged my sword through the opening, hacking it wider and wider to get inside.
I was close, so fucking close, but just as I reached through the gap to unlock the door, I heard a single word.
“Stop.”
It wasn’t uttered in anger. It wasn’t said in fear. It was clear, calm, and soft. I turned over my shoulder to see my father, supported by his nurse.
“Stop, Randal. Stop.”
Not a fucking chance. “She killed the love of my life,” I said, seizing the lock blindly on the other side of the door. “And she’s going to fucking pay for it. She has to pay for it.”
Using a cane, my father hobbled towards me, shaking his head. Seeing him so weak and frail threatened to drain the fight right out of me.
“Randal, listen to me. Your life is not your own. Vendettas, personal desires?” He furrowed his eyebrows and placed his hand on my shoulder. “That is not the duty of a king. You must lead. You must sacrifice.”
As I looked at my father, it was as if a dam of grief broke inside me. The harsh sting of tears filled my eyes for the first time in as long as I could remember. I yanked my hand back from the gap in the door, pinching my temples with my bloody fingers.
“She killed the woman I love. She has to fucking pay for it. You know she does.”
His blue-green eyes, dimmer and grayer now, shimmered with a sheen of tears as he looked up at me. He pulled me close to him, hooking his arm around the back of my neck to bring my face to his.
“Rumors. According to rumor, she killed the woman I love, too, son. Don’t forget that.”
My mother. He meant my mother.
Christ almighty, to hell with this horrible fucking existence; so much pain for so little happiness. I let the grief grab hold of me like the enemy that it was. I pulled my father close and let my tears fall onto his shoulder. My heart burned in my chest, fucking aching with loss—for Iris, for my mother, for fucking everything.
“I don’t know how you live with it.”
My father sighed, gripping my shoulder tight. “You just…you fucking have to. It’s that simple. Ignore the rumors, no matter how much you want to believe them. That’s our fate. Our duty. Marriage is not for love my son. It is for survival. It is a duty to the kingdom. When we married, it secured our border where we were weak. With her came trunks of gold and riches when the droughts and war left our coffers nearly empty. She