Page 83 of The Oracle of Dusk

Not this mangy bitch.

He would never allow some Viridian whore to claim even a single slice of Aureum. He would sooner take an actual whore as his queen than allow any Viridian to bind themselves to him, or Aureum’s magics—to corrupt them, to own them. He would sooner slit his own throat.

“Never.”

“My sentiments exactly,” she replied. “Now, if you’re quite done with your barbarism, please sit.”

“I don’t see what there is to discuss. The moment you drag me to the altar is the moment I renounce my kingship. A wedding between us will end in one way—with a funeral. Yours, to be precise.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Are you done beating your chest? I have no desire to tie myself to Aureum. Or to you.” She curled her lip at him.

“Then what do you want?”

“Sign the treaty with Her Majesty. Do it publicly. Give her the triumph she so desperately craves. When I come into my throne, I’ll return the Dragon’s Flank to Aureum.”

“As if I would believe a word out of your mouth.”

“You had better start trying. Because if she can’t entrap you with this, she will entrap you with me. Then it will be my duty to have your heir, dispatch you, and eventually cede all of Aureum to Viridis while placing your child on the throne of your client kingdom. Donotmake me.”

“Why are you telling me this? The only incentive I have now is to murder you outright.”

“I’m telling you this so you understand what the rest of your short life will look like if you don’t sign that treaty.”

“I’m not some spineless Viridian noble, Princess.”

“There are foul magics in Trisia capable of sapping a man’s will.”

“I’ll not allow myself to be overcome by foul magics, nor will I be used by you.”

Her brows pinched with pity.

“Do you know who else thought that way? Each of my three late husbands. Please, for both our sakes, do whatever it takes not to become my fourth.”

Epicasta rose from her seat. Theron didn’t bother showing her the courtesy of standing or bowing. Courtesy was reserved for those with honour. Epicasta, with her foul magic, had none. How dare she threaten to use magic to obliterate his will, to rape him, to murder him and then to enslave his kingdom. He would never allow himself to be taken alive. It was time to inform his spies in Viridis to take action. If Flora had access to such magics, he needed to wrest them from her control, and then kill anyone who had the ability to replicate them—lest she and her scourge of a daughter get their claws into him and his kingdom.

“I will give you some time to contemplate your future, Your Majesty. But do it quickly. I suspect Her Majesty will have something planned for when the plague abates.”

She didn’t fear him. She pitied him. Was so bloody certain of her eventual victory. That needed to change. She thought to light a fire under him. He would return the favour. His magic exploded from him. Theron turned around then, shooting out of his seat. He crowded her out from under the shelter of the covered walkway and into the mud, into the driving rain.

“You threaten to use magic to destroy my will.” He flooded her with his own. Her eyes widened in alarm. “You threaten to violate me,” he continued, letting his magic trickle through her muscles, her bones, seeking out her history of hurts. “To enslave my people as surely as you plan to enslave any child you get from me.” He found it then, her litany of healed bones, her scars, her brutal past. And yet he felt no pity. “Know this, Princess. You will not survive long enough to do so. I have found the past written in your flesh. I will shatter you long before you choke me. It is not I who needs to accept the predations of Viridis, but you who needs to use your guile to manage your mother.”

She eyed him up and down, scowling.

“You’re a fool, Theron.”

Her eyes caught on something above him.

“We’re done here,” she announced, pushing past him.

“No, we’re not,” he snarled, grabbing her wrist.

“We are being watched.”

He flicked his gaze upward.

Aurora.

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