Page 12 of Prize for the King
Father Saius raises his arms, his voice gaining a pompous quality as he says the final blessing over us.
“The vows are made, the rites are said. Let Goddess Lirande bless the married couple with the light of her wisdom, so they will learn from each other, and let Goddess Amiya shower them with blessings of fertility and love. I pronounce Magnar the Tyrant to be the divinely blessed heir to the throne of the Kingdom of Farneer, and Princess Caliane—his lawful wife, the future queen of Farneer.”
Hoots and shouts break out behind us as the Agnidari soldiers celebrate. I risk a glance at my father. He watches me with hard, pain-filled eyes, but he no longer weeps. I want to go to him and tell him that I’m sorry, and that I saved him at least. I would do it again, even with the prospect of… whatever will happen tonight. I don’t want to think about it.
The Tyrant raises my hand slowly, bowing over it, and I lose sight of my father. My new, unwelcome husband presses a long, respectful kiss to the back of my hand, the way courtiers do, except no courtier would ever look at me with such insolent, possessive eyes.
I hate that expression on his face, and I hate that I am the one who’s caused it. He should suffer for everything he’s done to my people. He should die.
“Hold up your end of the bargain,” I growl, clenching my hand into a fist as he pulls away.
He shrugs and looks over his shoulder. “Untie the half-sized king and give him back his weapons.”
My heart beats faster as I watch the Agnidari take off the restraints from my father’s wrists. He really does look small next to them, but that barely matters. He won’t die today. And I will live, too. It’s so much more than I hoped for when dawn goldened the world today.
“Father!” I cry out, choked by relief, gratitude, and pride.
I saved us. And for this one glorious moment, it doesn’t matter that I’ll spend the rest of my life as the Tyrant’s bed warmer.
“Father!”
I try to rush to his side as he takes the gag out of his mouth, an Agnidari throwing his belt and sword on the throne for my father to pick up. But the Tyrant holds me back, his hand firmly on mine.
“Stay, pet.”
I turn to him in a fury, fed up with this man and his disrespect. “For the final time, I am not your pet! Call me something else, or nothing at all. We don’t have to speak. Now let me go.”
His brows rise, but he’s not offended by my outburst. Instead, he seems appreciative.
“I see what they meant by raising children in a manner befitting kings and queens. Very well, dear. I will no longer call you pet unless we’re fucking.”
I flinch back, the word jarring, filthy,wrong.My face heats with a blush, shame squirming in my lower belly. He laughs, shaking his head, but when his eyes fix on something behind me, that expression freezes on his face. His mouth opens, sharp teeth bared.
I turn just in time to see my father charging us with his sword leading the way. But it’s not aimed at the Tyrant or Khay.
The sword points right at my belly.
IV Negotiations
“You will not take my prize!”
I am frozen to the spot, uncomprehending, baffled. I’m not even scared. I should be, seeing a man charging at me with a sword, but I’m not. He’s my father. He’d never harm me.
There’s movement, everything happening so fast, I don’t even notice how I find myself on the floor. I gasp from being pushed by a hard, male arm. I look up in time to see the Tyrant face my father, his hands empty. I wonder idly if he’ll die.
But he can’t, can he? “The Tyrant never once lost a battle. He can duel twelve men at once and walk away unscathed.”
He moves so fast, it feels impossible, and the sword, instead of going in his gut where it was aimed just a second ago, slides harmlessly between his arm and side. He grabs my father’s hair with one hand and brings his face down onto his raised knee.
There is a sickly crunch. Blood. My father drops the sword, and the Tyrant grabs his head with both hands, releasing a wild, primal roar. He pulls my father’s head back, baring his throat, and brings him down onto his bloodied knee.
This crunch is louder. Sicklier. My father goes limp in his hold, andthe Agnidari lets him fall to the floor, breathing hard. He pushes hair that fell loose around his face off his forehead and throws his head back with a beastly growl.
I can’t move. Somehow, I know what happened, but a wild, stupid hope clamors in my chest.
He’ll get up. If only I don’t look at him, if I don’t see it, he’ll get up. Any second now. He’ll be fine.
When I hear a long, high-pitched wail, stretching in the horrible silence, it takes me a moment to realize the sound comes from my throat.
