“You are the king’s shadow. Should you not be at his side?”
“Today I am the pet bird,” he said dryly, “and so I prefer to perch.”
Nadiya joined him at the marble rail. “I know for a fact you are his heart.”
“Who told you that?”
“He did. The day we met. And every day since.” Alucard’s gaze slid toward her, and Nadiya surprised him, for the first of many times, by laughing. “Honestly, you think I don’t know that I’m wedding you both?”
“Do you resent me?” he asked, bit the question off before he added as I do you.
“Why should I?” She downed the contents of the glass and studied it, as if it were a problem, a puzzle. “I have never understood why one person must be all things. I want to be a mother, not a wife.”
“Then why be queen?”
“Power,” she said, without hesitation, and Alucard must have failed to hide his reaction, because she went on. “Oh, not as you think it. I do not mean the power to command citizens or start wars. I simply mean the power to do as I please. To think and work and live as I like, with no one in my way.” Her eyes shone as she spoke with a hungry kind of light.
“So you do not love him, then?”
“Am I meant to?” she teased, but seeing the shadow in his face, she sobered. “I am quite fond of our king.” And Alucard liked the way she said our instead of my, and liked it even more when she added, “But I will never love him as you do, Master Emery. And that, I think, is fine with you. As it is fine with me.”
The queen looked down over the rail at the celebration below, as Rhy held court in the center of it all.
“We will each love him,” she said, “in our own way. I will give him what you cannot. And you will give him what I cannot. And together, we shall be a better kind of family.”
His chest tightened, but for the first time that day, it was not in anger, or envy, or grief. It was hope.
“Now come down from your perch,” said Nadiya, striding away, “and help me survive this party.”
Alucard straightened, and said, with a ghost of a smile, “If you insist, my queen.”
VIII
NOW
Nadiya set her tools aside and straightened, massaging her neck, and Alucard knew it was safe to speak again.
“The king was nearly killed tonight.”
“So I heard,” said the queen, as if they were discussing dinner courses instead of regicide. And someone else might have thought she was being flippant. But Alucard knew her better. Nadiya turned and walked away, disappearing into the next chamber. She didn’t tell him to follow her, didn’t have to. When he reached the second room, the iron tang of blood hit his nose, followed by the scent of citrus and mint, thin streams of smoke rising from tapers.
The assassin’s body lay naked on a stone block, the killing wound a bloodless tear in his chest.
“My queen, if you longed for company, you could have simply asked.”
“Oh, Alucard,” she said, rounding the body, “is that an invitation? You know you’re not my type.”
“Is it the manhood or the pulse?”
“Neither.” She plucked the glasses from her face. “Or maybe both.”
It was nothing but banter, as worn as a good pair of boots. Much to his dismay, Nadiya Loreni seemed perfectly content alone.
“But I am not alone,” she’d told him, more than once. “I have a husband, and a daughter, and a friend who haunts me while I work. I have all the freedom of a wife, the wealth of a mother, and the indisputable power of a queen. In short, I have everything I need.”
“And everything you want?” he’d pressed, knowing how it felt to be denied a dream, even when surrounded by riches. But Nadiya had only looked at him, amused, and said, “If I wanted a woman in my bed, Alucard, I’d have her. Believe it or not, I prefer to sleep alone.”
And so he believed her—because if Nadiya Loreni wanted something, she would not stop until it was hers.
Alucard approached the block, studying Rhy’s would-be killer. In death, the assassin looked young. A tinge of red streaked his cheeks, all that remained of the paint he’d worn.
Alucard’s gaze dropped until he found what he was looking for. There, against his ribs, just below the killing blow. Fingers branded into skin.
The Hand.
Anger bloomed in his chest at the sight of the mark. He dug his nails into the block. The air shivered, lanterns flickering around the room. Rhy’s voice came back to him, then, soft and sad and thick with sleep.