Chapter 29

THE TRAITOR

A roar of cheers and the beating of chests greeted Goll and Una as he escorted her into the great hall for the first time. The king had been absent from every meal since the army's return.

My sweet little spies in the servants' hall had told me the king and his soon-to-be mizrah had shared only one meal together since their return. But after the Rite of Servium, they hadn't once been in the same room. As far as anyone knew.

The ambassador from Issos trailed behind the royal couple, but I cared not. My only concern was what was happening between Goll and Una now. Their shared glance was filled with tension as I'd hoped and expected.

Yesterday, she'd escaped from the palace and had been caught fleeing into the woods toward the borders of her homeland. When the Culled caught up to them, Goll had appeared out of the woods and dragged an upset mizrah onto his dragon's back.

What I'd expected upon seeing her for the first time since that had happened was dried trails of tears, fury, and seething rage at the king for whatever punishment he'd doled out on her.

She appeared unharmed. In fact, she appeared absolutely beautiful. Radiant. As always. She was a vision, glowing like the goddess she was. But when she looked at the king, there was a tightness in her expression.

Good.

I laughed at Lykel's jest on my right while my sole focus was on the two making their way toward the dais. I was a good pretender. I clapped and applauded the king and his new mizrah as they stepped up onto the small stage, as Goll held out her chair for her, as he leaned over and whispered in her ear. She shared an unreadable look with him but did not smile.

The ambassador took a seat next to Goll, and the rest of his precious favorites surrounded him as always.

No matter. I would be sitting upon that dais soon. In the king's chair. I would hold court for my kingdom. And Una would smile at my whispers and blush at my touch.

I curled my fist under the table as I settled in to eat my meal, digging my claws into my palm, letting the pain relieve my anguish.

I'd already waited too long. I'd felt a surge of triumph when I'd discovered she was unhappy with the king and her anger for his arrogant, self-indulgent ways had only grown worse. Her unhappiness had been an encouragement, but I wanted the kingdom now . I wanted her now .

My pulse suddenly leaped as her garment shifted on her shoulder when she leaned toward him, revealing the very edge of a bite mark. Rage boiled like acid in my belly.

As always, King Goll took what he wanted. He killed King Xakiel and stole the throne when he should've died in that fucking dungeon. If he'd died there like he was supposed to, I would've ascended naturally when my lineage was known. That throne belonged to me .

Yesss, the Voice whispered. She is yours to take. The throne is yours to take.

I relished his presence. The Voice always gave me the reinforcement I needed. I stared at the black-winged royal princess. At least I wouldn't have to find a way to steal her from Lumeria. Xakiel had done that. All I needed to do now was kill the king.

"What's that face for?" asked Lykel, stuffing a bite of boar into his mouth. "Don't look so sour. That ambassador will be gone soon enough."

"Aye," I agreed, raising my ale. "I don't like their kind in our palace."

"The mizrah is their kind. Surely, you accept her." Lykel questioned me with hesitation, for it was known Goll would tolerate no defiance against Una's presence here. But that was an easy question to answer.

"Of course not," I told him honestly. "Princess Una is right where she belongs."

"Mizrah Una," he corrected. "And that she is."

I smiled and drank my ale. The drummers began playing music. Dancers draped in gossamer silk that revealed their feminine figures performed for the court, twisting and turning to the beat of the drums. Their horns were wrapped in red ribbons, trailing through the air as they leaped and twirled.

Dalya turned her gaze away, always modest when it came to lascivious displays at the feasts. I smiled to myself, remembering last night. She wasn't always modest. She would make a good concubine when I was king.

The audience watched the dancers, as did Goll and Una, whispering to one another. But I couldn't stop watching her. I tilted back against the wall behind me to fall farther into shadow, sipping my ale and planning my next steps. I only needed the right opportunity.

The ambassador stood and excused himself from the table, bowing to Goll and Una. The feast wore on while the drinking flowed. Some of the dancers began to sit in the laps of the Culled, always chosen first over anyone else.

At the end of the table where soldiers of the cavalry laughed boisterously, one of them with a raising of his tankard said, "My king! Your mizrah should give us a dance since we missed the show at the Servium!" Then he turned drunkenly to his neighbor, gripping his cock under the table. His neighbor's eyes rounded in fear, shooting up to the dais.

Suddenly, the laughter died. So did the music. Everyone froze.

"I beg forgiveness, my liege," muttered the cavalryman, his voice slurring. He realized his mistake quickly. But not soon enough.

Una remained still, her gaze on her plate, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Goll, however, stared at the offender, his glare nothing short of deadly.

One of the fae males at the cavalrymen's table muttered something to the offender. He quickly lurched to his feet and stumbled to kneel before the dais, bowing his head and pounding his fist against his chest in deference. "Forgive me, my king."

Goll slowly stood, no longer looking at the offender but letting his gaze sweep the entire room filled with about three hundred courtiers, councilmen and women, foot soldiers, cavalrymen, and the Culled.

"Hear me now," stated Goll in a low, lethal voice. "Let it be known now." His voice rumbled with a quiet fury. "Mizrah Una is to be respected. As the rightful vessel of my heir, she is sacred. Untouchable. Mine. Speak ill of her, you will regret it. Touch her, and you will die."

Then he lifted her gently with a hand under her elbow and guided her from the room. I cursed the offender, his friends guiding him to his feet. Not for his stupid, drunken slur that ruined the entire atmosphere of the feast, everyone sliding away from the tables, but because he'd taken her away from my sight.

No matter. She would be mine soon enough. And King Goll would be dead.