Page 43 of The Crimson Princess
I’m stabbed with a brutal sword that cuts two ways. I’m overwhelmingly relieved that Toren has spoken the truth to me, but equally as devastated by my father’s actions. “That’s a yes.” The assumption is sandpaper ripping a path down my throat. “And now he chooses the druids over the vampires.”
“Betrayal festers and Toren has had centuries for it to do so. I suppose I can see why your father would expect a knife in the back.”
“Do you think that’s Toren’s intent? Revenge?”
“No,” he says easily, “and while that opinion is not based on the inner workings of Toren’s mind, it is based on observations. The vampire king is devoted to his kingdom and unlike his father, who craved the conquering of neighboring worlds, he has never shown that to be true in his own behaviors.”
“His brother—”
“Is a greedy monster. I know. Another reason I do not believe Toren wants or needs another enemy to conquer when he has his own blood to contend with. And let me add, that while betrayal festers, the need for revenge is far more impatient than the centuries that have passed.”
“Princess Satima.”
At the sound of Idris’s impatient voice nearby, I remain focused on my father’s trusted guard. “Thank you for your valuable insight, Mikhail.”
“At your service and, princess, before you go, I am not suggesting the vampire king is or is not your enemy. I do not know. As with anyone, guard yourself. Guard your kingdom.”
I offer a short nod, and with the thread of caution Mikhail has reinforced in me over Toren, I walk toward Idris, a confrontation with him inevitable but manageable. The one that will follow with my father, on the other hand, is far more explosive. King Killian will bury me alive in a grave of submission if I allow it to happen.
Chapter twenty
TheminuteIjoinIdris, he lambastes me. “Your father will not be pleased you kept him waiting.”
I used to think he was nothing but a jerk, but now I am certain, he hides his weak magic behind bombastic behavior and bullying that won’t work on me. “Are you sure he won’t be far more displeased at the way you disrespect the future queen? And are you sure, I won’t remember this very moment?”
“If you’re anything like your mother, it won’t matter.”
His queen is barely in the Third World’s Nirvana, and he disrespects her. I want to poke his eyes out with my magic, but I am, in fact, my mother’s daughter and a bigger gale than that. “You never got to experience what my mother was like as a singular ruler, but I can promise you this, you would have discovered a kind heart and magic so fierce the Third World feared her entry.” With that, I step around him and walk toward the gardens.
He catches up to me in a few steps. “And how powerful are you, Princess Satima?” It’s not a true question. He says these words as if to mock me.
I take his bait and throw it right back at him. “Why don’t you spar with me and find out for yourself?”
Judging from the way he bristles, it’s not the response he expected, “I do not think your father would approve.”
“I think he’d be eager to watch.” I pause at the edge of the gardens, “but if you’re worried about looking bad, he doesn’t have to know.” My lips curve and I add, “It’s an open invitation. I’m notafraid.” I pause for effect. “Are you?” I don’t wait for his answer. I’m already moving again down the path to the gardens.
This time when he catches up to me, he’s zipped his lips. Silence really is golden.
The formal table comes into view, and my father lowers his coffee cup to level me in an irritated stare. “What took so long?”
“Prior notice would have avoided my tardiness,” I close the space between me and him and slide into the seat to his left, and my cup is filled instantly. I thank the server, who turns out to be Evie, and who I now realize rushed off to the kitchen. “Thank you again, Evie.”
She gives me a tiny incline of her chin, while Idris settles in the seat across from me, silent no more. “I’d think the princess would be early to rise.”
“If I hadn’t been forced to deal with the werewolf infestation no one knew we had until early morning, I would have been up early.” In other words,him.
“Most of us don’t skulk around in the forest,” he says, sipping from the cup that was apparently filled before my arrival. His tone is defensive and if he thinks my father won’t catch that he’s sadly mistaken. As I’d learned hard and fast in my youth, my father is a master of subtle observation.
“They’re not solely in the forest,” I point out. “They’re in the foresten masse, which means they’re in the villages en masse. I’m terrified for our gales and what they will think of their king if they find out the danger the weres represent.”
He eyes my father. “Are we certain these are rogues? The werewolf king rules a society and now controls their shifting.”
I set my cup down with a clank. “Considering they were shifted and trying to eat me, yes, we are certain. Give me a little credit here. They’re Third World rogues living among us.”
“How?” he demands, his hands on the table, fingers curled into his palms. “There’s not more than a hairline fracture in that portal your father protects.”
“Right now,” my father states, “they’re here. Focus on getting rid of them.”
