“He impregnated one of his whores!” I shout, the ice around my temper shattering.
He blinks in surprise. “Tyndall?”
“Of course, Tyndall,” I seethe, eyes blazing. “Who else?”
My saddle opens his mouth, but then closes it before he can speak. Beside us, the fire continues to crackle, teeth gnashing on the letter I’ve fed it.
“Spit it out, Jeo.”
“Well, it’s just…” His hands run down the front of his white tunic, like he wants to smooth away what he’s about to say. “I thought he was the impotent one.”
I clench my teeth, my gaze turning so cold it could rival Sixth’s storms. He’s lucky. If I did have magic in my veins, I would strike him down where he stands for daring to say such a thing to me.
“So it’s my fault I don’t have a child, is that it?” My tone is so deathly low that surely it reaches the depths of the ground and seeps its way into hell.
Jeo’s contrition does nothing for me. “My queen, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Get out.”
He rears back, blue eyes widening. “Malina…”
“I won’t need your services tonight, Jeo. Leave.”
Turning, I face the fire again and stare down at the demonic force, watching it lick and mangle everything into cinders. My ears follow the sound of Jeo’s footsteps as he walks out and closes the door behind him, and only then do I let out a sigh.
I expected anger and a political move from Tyndall once he realized I was trying to take Sixth from him. I expected a Divine-damned response for all the hard work I’ve done to overthrow his rule right out from under him.
But no.
He’s ignored all of it, as if I’ve done nothing. As if the quiet treason I’ve committed doesn’t matter at all, and none of my moves are worth his attention. He didn’t even deign to threaten me.
Instead, he instructs me to formally declare a pregnancy and then shut myself up in my chambers for the next six months. When I come out, it will be with a babe in my arms. With an infant that isn’t my own. His whore’s child, passed off as a prince or princess.
In his words:
You will do this so that you may finally do your duty to me as my wife, and I shall be able to claim a legitimate heir.
My eyes burn, but I don’t blink. I let my irises become consumed with the reflection of the flames.
I know the true threat for what it is. There’s no doubt that he knows what I’m doing here, but he plans to strap me with his bastard baby.
You will do this, or you will no longer be useful to me as a wife.
Useful. That’s all that’s ever mattered to him: whether or not I was useful.
I don’t even notice that my hand drops down to my stomach, that my nails dig into the flesh there. The flatness that belies a barren womb.
If he truly believes I would ever take his whore’s baby and pretend it was my own, then he doesn’t know me at all. No, if I can’t have children, then he can’t either.
I’ll rip Highbell from his grasp and crush his hopes of claiming an heir.
After all, he did it to me first.
Chapter 9
AUREN
Yips and howls wake me up.
Peeling one eye open, I glance at the glass balcony doors. I forgot to close the curtains before I fell asleep last night, so the gentle dawn light is filtering in, the color like a dollop of cream over a tin cup horizon.
At the sound of more barking, I sit up and climb out of bed, shoving my feet into some slippers and pulling on the robe I left lying on the armchair. I make my way over to the balcony, my palms coating the knob in gold as I open it.
When I step outside, the cold morning breeze greets me, moving the loose strands of my hair. There’s a light dusting of snow on the ground, my steps leaving a trail of footprints as I walk to the railing and look down.
The commotion is coming from a pack of excited dogs racing around, nipping at each other in a wooden pen built against a small stone structure. A smile lifts my lips as I watch them roll in the snow, tongues lolling as they yip and spring.
Two men are down there with them, dressed in such thick furs that I’m surprised they aren’t waddling. One of the men disappears into the building that I assume is the kennels, coming out a few seconds later dragging a dogsled behind him.
With a whistle, the shaggy haired dogs rush over to him, tails wagging while he hooks them up to the sled. I realize they’re a hunting pack when I see the other man loading arrows and blades into the back.
Once the dogs are all strapped in, another shrill whistle pierces the air, and both handlers stand upright on the footrests as the dogs race off. The dogsled heads for the mountains standing sentry behind the castle, and I watch them until they disappear.