Page 12 of Blood Sweeter than Honey

“Well, first and foremost, I think that offering to cover the cost of his mother’s burial and having a few of your sentries guard his mother’s home to prevent any theft or squatterswhile he gets his affairs in order would already be exceedingly generous.”

Wincing, I give Reginald a pleading look. “Is that all?”

“Why, yes, Your Grace. If we continue to give every person who comes here jewels from the royal coffers, it will be empty before winter. Already, we are left with merely half of what we had.”

Before your cousin bestowed the Duchy of Cerulia upon you. To rule a people who did not want you because of the daemon blood running through your veins, the horns on your head, and the tail decorating your backside.

At least now, I have earned their loyalty. Their acceptance.

Not merely bought it,but earned it by helping to rebuild this place with my own hands.

Well… at leastmostof their acceptance. I still glamour my horns and tail because it’s… less offensive to their delicate sensibilities. But I do at least leave myverdelumevisible.

A frown mars my face as guilt twists in my gut, and my eyes return to the world-weary male exiting the throne room. My eyes dip to my bejewelled hand, I begin tugging off one of my rings.

“At least give him this.”

Reginald heaves a sigh, murmuring so only I can hear, as I place the large diamond-encrusted ruby ring in his hand. “If you’re not careful, you’re going to run out of ringsandyour coffers will run dry. And then, who will you save?”

I don’t bother to make him aware of the fact that I am already out of rings.

I am a goddess of healing and fertility. The entire point of my existence is to save people and give life.

I don’t bother saying this. He already knows. I’ve reminded him about a thousand times since I was appointed Duchess Paramount by my cousin, Queen Theia, despite my mother’s daemoness bloodline and all my warnings about how inadequateI am for such a responsibility. My parents were killed when Caerwynath fell under siege, 18 years ago, at which point I was captured and forced to live in one of the Nameless King’s war camp prisons for two years until my uncle, the late King of Caerwynath, ended the war and rescued me. A few years ago, he retired, which meant his daughter had to give up the Duchy of Cerulia so she could take on an even bigger burden to take her inherited throne. Which is when she, surprisingly, appointed me as the Duchess Paramount to the Cerulian province.

Words that have haunted me for more than a decade echo in my mind yet again.

“Your royal blood means nothing if that’s all you have to give. So what else do you have to offer me, girl? A pretty cunt?”

The guard who’d uttered them, Lorne—the same one who’d given me a great many of the scars on my back, using his magic to ensure they never faded—has remained a permanent resident in my mind. A ghost, even if he is still alive.Thanks to me.

When my uncle and his men had come to rescue me, he’d given me the choice to decide Lorne’s fate. Lorne had looked at me with hard eyes, already accepting his death, and I still hadn’t had the heart to kill him, even if it wasn’t by my hand.

By the power ofAkash,I was gifted with the power of healing and fertility. For all intents and purposes, I am a goddess of life.

While Lorne had beaten me on numerous occasions to within an inch of my life, usually at the orders of his superiors, I had still only ever been able to see him as little more than a broken male.

On the occasions he was given the night watch, he would often get drunk, and I would hear admittedly fascinating stories of his travels all over the Bellorum realm’s lands and seas with the Nameless King’s army. And in the rare and fleeting moments of drunken vulnerability, I also learned about his hardships.

Like how my father’s men raped and killed his wife and daughter when he was out at sea.

So, despite the vicious beatings he dealt to me, he never violated me in the same way my father’s men had to those he loved most in this world. When he was on duty, I was never violated by any guard, soldier, or fellow prisoner, nor was anyone else under his guard. And when they’d taken my wings to prevent any further attempt at escape, he, of all people, had protested. They’d ignored him, of course, but at least he’d smuggled in drugs to help me deal with the pain—both emotional and physical.

Which is so much more than I could say for the other prison guards.

Though it was likely one-sided, I had considered him something of an ally and friend.

When my uncle laid his hand on my blood-crusted, wingless shoulder, and asked me with one single word which individuals deserved death,“Who?”

I’d asked for Lorne to be set free.

And I refuse to let myself feel guilty for the others whom I hadn’t spared. They’d more than earned their violent death.

Still, Lorne’s condescending words haunt me because, in some fucked up way, I’d admired him. He travelled the world—something I still haven’t done but have always longed to; he’d been through hell, survived, and protected me in his own twisted way, despite my lineage. He’d knocked the teeth out of more than one guard, usually someone new who hadn’t yet learned of his wrath and came searching for a taste ofroyal flesh and blood.

Since then, I have felt like I have to constantly prove my value to people by what I can do for them.

Still, Reginald is far better suited to the Duchy than I am, but as a minori wielder born of common, mixed fae, human, andorc blood, he is thusly ineligible. No matter that he is wise, kind, and his emotional constitution is not made of fucking putty, like mine.

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