Tension pulls between the guards like a sharpened string.
“Your Majesty,” Tobyn starts, looking like he’s swallowed a bug. “King Midas sent forces...”
My body goes still. “What do you mean he sent forces?” I exclaim. “The rest of his army is in Fifth Kingdom with him. They couldn’t possibly have gotten here that quickly.”
“If I may?” Sir Pruinn cuts in. With a sharp glance from me, he says, “I informed you that King Midas had sent his messenger man to deliver his...deal with you, knowing more than likely you wouldn’t agree to it, and he was ready for such a response. He had his messenger and possibly others help speed discord throughout the city. It wouldn’t be a great leap to believe that, since he had the foresight to spread the rebellion, he’d have a way to snuff it out too.”
My sharp nails dig into the wood of the armrest. My tone is so even, so quiet, that every man in the room goes tense from the taut line of it. “Are you telling me that this rebellion that Tyndall engineered to happen was just as easily squashed by the very person who machinated the entire thing?”
“I don’t know anything about all of that...” Tobyn says, scratching the back of his head nervously. “But we can confirm that the riots have been controlled. It seems King Midas’s force re-took the castle, arresting most of them, and the revolters backed down. The king then offered payment to anyone who ceased their part in the destruction of the city, and is allowing some to relocate to Fifth Kingdom.”
I leap to my feet and pace toward the window, my fists bunched at my sides so hard that it feels as if my bones might shatter.
“Your Majesty?”
I stare out the dirty panes, across the frozen water, into the back of the mountain. Gaze boring through the ice and snow and rock to find my castle behind it.
He took it from me. Again.
My throne, my crown, my castle, my home.
He’s not even here, and still, he managed to take it right out from under me.
“Send word to my allies,” I say, turning around. “The ones who swore loyalty to the Coliers. Tyndall couldn’t have sent many forces, not if he’s kept some with him in Fifth. With their men, I can take it back, I can—”
Tobyn cuts me off with a shake of his head. “My queen, the nobles have fled to Fifth already, and...”
“And what?” I demand past a snap of teeth.
Tobyn shares another glance with Nile, and my attention bites into the older guard. He straightens up, as if he’s anticipating a blow to land after he says, “There was a public announcement yesterday. That you were...well, assassinated in the rebel attacks. King Midas’s sigil was branded on the statement.”
Assassinated? “He’s claiming that I’m dead?” I say, voice gone shrill.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Some say rage burns hot.
Not mine.
Mine turns solid ice. It goes crystalline, reaching fingers of frost covering every inch of my insides, chilling my nerves, frigidity coating my expression.
“We were able to bring a cart and a couple horses back,” Tobyn blurts. “It’s no royal carriage, but that would only draw attention, anyway. The city is crawling with guards we don’t recognize. We don’t know who we can trust. If the king made that announcement...we have to assume that he’s set on making sure you stay dead, if you catch my meaning. We could get you away from here. Get you somewhere safe.”
“No.” My head shakes in time with the windstorm that begins to rattle outside. “I will not be run out!”
“Malina,” Jeo says gently. “It’s over.”
My eyes flash to him and his cowardly words, and my mask cracks, revealing the fury beneath. “It is not over.”
He walks to me, frustrated concern bleeding into the blue of his irises, and I hate that look of pity, hate it when his hands come up to cradle my arms. “It’s over, Malina,” he repeats quietly. “He’s taken back the city, the soldiers, your allies. He’s just declared that you were killed. You need to leave before he actually does that too.”
“For the last time, you are a saddle,” I spit. “You are beneath me, bought to be ridden. A whore will not dictate what a queen does!”
His hands fall, the weight of the drop slamming at our feet, its reverberation traveling up my legs.
Perhaps later I’ll be able to care about the hurt I see in his expression, but right now, I feel nothing as I stare back at him.
“You sure are one cold bitch, Malina.”