Page 26 of Conspirators' Kingdom

A shiver ran down her spine at the memory. She squashed it.

“You might need one anyway,” Milena continued, “if Chloe gets it in her mind to be jealous of the attention he pays you and the gifts he gives you.”

Taisiya looked down at her hands and took Milena’s in her own. She did her best to breathe slowly. She needed to think—to plan.

Chloe was likelier to say something cruel rather than act on it, and Magister Emerald was conservative to a fault, never making a move unnecessarily. Magister Emerald had also given her his nod of approval just the other day for making the introductions on Chloe’s behalf, and his goodwill was infinitely more precious than his daughter’s. They weren’t a threat in this instance—failure was. The chance of Chloe deciding to give up her prize was small, but not impossible. So far, every woman she’d proposed as an alternate had been enthusiastic the first day and then begged off the next, regardless of whether or not she’d met with the prince.

At this point, it was no longer a coincidence. If Chloe or the magister were the culprit, then Taisiya needn’t worry about the bargain—it was as good as done. However, if they had no part in it, that left two possibilities: an unknown player or Prince Mereruka himself. Neither made complete sense. An unknown player with an unknown motive who kept gaining access to the prince’s schedule and the names of the women he was meeting felt like a stretch, especially since Chloe hadn’t given up and no one had stepped in to rival her. But the prince sabotaging his own chances at any woman, save Chloe? When he hadn’t had the chance to meet several of the candidates and he’d stated his desire to be wed? What was she missing?

She couldn’t think for all the noise of the crowd. Milena pulled her hands from Taisiya’s.

“You know, I take it back. We might not need to worry about the prince much longer.”

“What?” Taisiya’s head shot up.

Milena tipped her head to the ring.

“I think the strategos is going to kill him.”

If Djadty had failed to defeat Marduk, Mereruka doubted he would be able to claim victory against the hulking, lethal beast mage. But Djadty hadn’t failed because he lacked the skill—he’d failed on purpose. Mereruka was ashamed to admit to having trouble trying to parse the plot the soldier had cooked up. Until, of course, the swords were presented to him and the strategos. Mereruka felt the spell before he touched his blade, holding back his sneer. A berserker curse. If they’d thought to have him sent into a bloodthirsty rage in order to be killed by the beast mage in self-defence, it was a good plan, but one destined to fail. As far as weapons curses went, it was laughably predictable. Bas was going to be sorry he missed the foolish look on the soldier’s face when the curse died against the hidden protections inked into Mereruka’s skin.

He held up the blade and pretended to inspect it before smiling.

“Skilled though I am, I suspect I’ll be granting a wish of yours shortly, Strategos.”

When the mage didn’t turn to face him, reply, or even move, Mereruka raised his brow at the young man who’d handed Marduk the fae sword. The sword-bearer’s face paled, a small creature staring up at a predator.

“Strategos?” Mereruka asked.

Between one heartbeat and the next, Marduk raised his blade as if to cleave the young man’s head from his body. Just as Marduk’s sword came down, Mereruka tossed out a shoddy, split-second barrier to shield the man. A scream erupted from the crowd as the sword-bearer fled. Marduk rounded on Mereruka, his murderous intent plain. Mereruka squinted, focusing his magic on the rune at his brow for spell-sight, and caught the ugly shadow of a curse wrapping itself around the strategos. He’d been an overconfident fool once again. The plan had been to have the both of them berserker-cursed—to fight until every bone was cracked, every muscle slit, every tendon split and not a drop of blood remained inside their bodies.

They’d decided to bring a body back to Maat.

In the next moment, he was forced to focus his entire being on defending himself from the onslaught. He barely had a moment to breathe, let alone cast a spell. Even whatever shoddy barriers he could erect were sundered by the strategos’ unbelievable strength. As he was inexorably pushed back, the noise from the crowd grew in intensity. He prayed someone would recognize the strategos’ fury as unnatural.

As a dark streak zipped past the corner of Mereruka’s eye, Marduk’s next brutal swing disarmed him. Mereruka leapt back. It wouldn’t be far enough. Marduk’s reach would cleave him in two. He didn’t even have the time to process that he’d just taken his last breath when Bas appeared before him, his hands desperately gripping the sword arm of the strategos, claws digging in deep.

“It’s a berserker curse! The sword is cursed!” Bas screamed.

Marduk grappled wildly with Bas but quickly succeeded in throwing him off. Marduk’s primal roar echoed in the ring as he advanced once more, his eyes wild. Mereruka cast a spell of immobility, but to his horror, it failed. Just as Marduk made to swing, he stopped, the light of sanity dawning in his dark eyes.

“Marduk! Drop the sword! Now!” the emperor commanded from the stands.

The strategos immediately obeyed. The cursed blade clattered as it hit the ground.

“I-what-I don’t-” he stammered in his confusion.

“The blade was cursed,” Mereruka said, his knees feeling weak. That weakness fled when he saw Bas, blood streaming from his temple. “Bas!” He scrambled over to him and inspected the wound. Gods below, not his son—not his son!

“I’m fine. Stop fussing,” Bas said, his eyes faraway, his hands clenching and unclenching.

Mereruka ignored the words and cast a healing spell as tears threatened to choke him. The flesh knit together and blood stopped flowing. Not even a bruise would form. Mereruka released a shaky breath, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. Bas could have healed the wounds himself if he’d shifted between forms, but young shape shifters rarely had the presence of mind to do so. Or the training given to shape shifter soldiers. Mereruka cast a glamour over them both.

“Your magic always leaves a weird taste in my mouth,” Bas complained, his voice hollow.

Mereruka slapped him. Bas gasped. Mereruka grasped him by the shoulders and shook him as his own body trembled, hands digging in as he clenched his teeth and swallowed down a helpless scream.

“You stupid boy! You could have been killed!” Mereruka roared.

---