Masked Prince - Nikolai Andrew Page 0,49
was necessary.” He led me away from the door slowly, each step punctuated by the sound of his cane on the floor. “If you must, banish her back to her homeland the instant you take the throne. Take it from me—she’ll be miserable in the hellhole from whence she came.” He smiled a little, looking smug and amused. “She comes from a family of power-hungry traitors. Most of them have skittered off into exile over the years. They’ll lock her up as soon as she arrives.”
No better than she fucking deserves. I liked the idea, but it didn’t fix a goddamned thing. My blood was still up, my body was tense, and I had murder in my veins. It took all my strength not to turn around and kill her, consequences be fucking damned. She’d look the best she ever had with her head on a stake, the crows pecking at her cheeks.
And yet, damn it, I knew my father was right. He was always right. He was a good king, a reasonable king. And an honest man. I knew he always did right by me, even if it fucking hurt.
Still though. Fucking still. My Iris was dead and I was alive, and that was not fucking acceptable. Seizing my sword like an axe, I landed a long arching chop against the Queen’s door, unleashing all my fucking rage at the battered, splintered oak.
Iris had shown me love, Iris had shown me happiness, and nothing but blackness was left in her place inside me. Again and again I attacked the door with ferocious whacks and chops. Sparks flew off the blade as I connected once and again with the old iron knob.
“I’m coming for you, you fucking whore,” I roared as I battered down the door. And damn, did it do me good to hear her scream in terror, thinking I was going to kill her after all.
But I knew, deep down, that I wouldn’t.
Nor would I ever love again. Fuck no, never. Not as long as I lived.
Chapter 16
Iris
There were 27 of us packed into the prison beneath the castle. It was one cramped room, hardly bigger than a hog pen. A single torch outside the bars cast a dim light through the prison. It was dark, moldy, and filthy, and I was sure it was where they put people they wanted to forget all about. The buckets of human waste were overflowing. The stone walls oozed with decades of foul water, slippery and glistening.
Once my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw that we were a strange mix of high- and low-born, all thrown together by circumstance and luck. Or lack of luck. From what I overheard, it seemed that all of us had wronged the queen, or were collateral payment for a debt owed to her, or an imagined debt.
The other prisoners said the king was sick and Randal was to take his place, which meant Queen Patara would not rise to rule. She was angry and vengeful; she didn’t intend to go down without a fight.
That day, I had seen her for the first time with my own eyes, and I now understood just how awful that fight would be. Though I understood little of court politics, I did understand that the queen’s power and standing were threatened by Randal. If she wanted to secure the crown, all those who posed a risk to her had to be stopped. I was part of her final purge. To hurt Randal was to hurt the biggest threat to her power. And so there I was.
The queen’s men were brutal, and there were many injuries. I did what I could to help my fellow prisoners. Broken bones and lacerations, shattered cheeks and head wounds. I knew little of human medicine, but I was happy that much of what I had learned from animals seemed to apply to people, too. So much of healing was in the mind as much as the body, and again and again I said the words, Everything will be okay.
And each time I said them, I tried to believe it myself.
When I first arrived, the room was abuzz with life and worry. But as everybody became more and more accustomed to their surroundings, idle conversation became the way to pass the time. Strangers struck up conversations with those that surrounded them, trying to make best of a terrible and terrifying reality.
All the gossip was about Randal. I listened but added nothing. An old man next