Chapter 14
Blue
There was a loud thunk and a startled cry. My steps were measured as I slowly walked toward him, unsheathing yet another dagger I had strapped to the underside of my breast. Holding it confidently before me.
I stared into the startled golden eyes of one of Prince Mikael’s personal knights.
I’d seen him before, shaved blond head, scarred upper lip, but it was his missing horn that had made him stand out most.
I cocked my head, he reached for the dagger I’d thrown with precision at the wrist of his sleeve, pinning him to the wall behind him. With a snarl of disgust, he tossed the blade at the ground. But he didn’t make a move otherwise. His gaze on me had shifted though, he seemed more curious than anything else.
“Just know, Sir Knight,” I said slowly, “I could have killed you if I’d wanted to. Why are you following me?”
He sighed, closing his eyes. “I should have known the moment you walked me on that ridiculous route that you were onto me. No man has ever pinned me to a wall before.”
I grinned at the note of incredulity in his voice and gave a one shouldered shrug. “I’ve been patient, answer my question. Why are you following me?”
Clenching his jaw, he grabbed hold of the hilt of his broadsword. I lifted a brow. “You won’t win this fight, Sir Knight, so don’t test my patience.”
His lips thinned into a tight line of displeasure. He had to be Prince Mikael’s lead knight, which meant he wasn’t used to being bested, ever. At least by his men. No doubt his pride was stinging. I almost laughed.
“You believe I am here to harm you, I promise you, mistress, that is not why I was sent.”
Crossing my arms, I stared up at him without flinching.
Why had the prince set a tail on me? Especially after insulting me and asking me to be his whore?
“I didn’t figure your Master to be so fragile. Perhaps he is not the man I took him for.”
He shook his head violently. “You do not know him. He did not send me to harm you, my lady—”
“I have no title. Blue will do.”
He frowned but quickly recovered. Father took me in, he paraded me out, but he’d never even afforded me a name or a title. I had no surname and not even a legitimate name. I was called after the color of my power. It was a deliberate insult.
His jaw clenched. “That feels wrong to me.”
I lifted a brow. “Are you trying to get on my good side?”
He shook his head. “Not once, since I became Master’s shadow, has anyone ever done to me as you’ve done. It is not sympathy I feel.”
“Respect then?” I laughed. “Do you take me for a fool?”
He said nothing, and for just a moment I questioned if maybe I was wrong. But none of this made sense.
“Why has the prince sent you to watch me?”
“Information. For what, I don’t know,” he finally answered with a shrug.
I didn’t believe him, he knew, or likely had a strong suspicion. But it wasn’t his place to question his prince. If I were Prince Mikael with an extensive network of spies at my beck and call, I’d have done the same. “And if I tell you to stop?”
He shook his head. “I cannot do that, mistress.”
I sighed. It seemed like whether I wanted it or not I now had a permanent shadow. “Why you? You are his personal knight, are you not? He should have at least sent an underling.”
He dipped his head but said nothing. I rather figured he wouldn’t.
“Don’t get in my way,” I said, then turning on my heel I headed out into the hall. Instantly the knight melted into the shadows. He was good at what he did.
I sighed, running my fingers through my hair one last time. If I really wanted to, I could kill the prince’s knight and send him back to the prince piece by piece. I had a tongue to collect after all. But I had to admit I was curious what “The Wise Prince” was plotting.
From the moment I reentered the great hall, I no longer fidgeted. I went to the end of the hall, standing to the side and out of the way of everyone. Watching who was talking to whom, body language, recognizing the subtle nuances of a tapping fan, the stroke of a finger down a laced glove, or even the gleam of greed in a duke’s eyes as he struck a deal with a baron from the bordering region.
I moved in and out of groups, ascertaining who was loyal to father and deciding who could be swayed to his side. Though this time I would make sure to share none of the particulars with father. There weren’t simply nobles who could influence the final push to claim the throne, there were merchants with pockets so deep they could buy their own countries if they had a wish to. And those were the ones I’d send Prince Mikael’s way.
Though after his insult of earlier, I had half a mind to walk away and watch the realm cannibalize itself. Gripping my fan in hand, I clenched it tight, swallowing a sigh of irritation. I hated this world of intrigue and pretense.
The doors were suddenly flung open and a procession of pages dressed in the royal purple of the emperor’s crest poured in. Horns blared, and male and female dancers soon followed, tossing out snow-white petals.
“All Hail Emperor Claude the Blooded Hand!”
As one, all nobles and ladies dipped into low bows. I too bowed, but I kept my eyes focused ahead.
And then there he was, the great and terrifying emperor.
He wore a robe of pure white basilisk feathers. Upon his head was a crown of glittering golden stars so mighty and large that it very nearly dwarfed his form, encasing him in a glowing golden aura.
The emperor had no irises, but nor was his sclera black. They were pure white. As all emperors’ eyes were before him. The emperor of Demonia could no longer see in the usual sense, he traded his vision for the second sight.
One might imagine such a powerful figure of Demonia must be tall, handsome, and intelligent. Emperor Claude was none of those.
His body was slight. Almost frail. He leaned heavily on the arms of his consorts. His face wasn’t the pale cream of a healthy pureblood but was tinged with blue.
The emperor was several hundred years old and sustained by dark magic. But even magic could not let you live indefinitely. His body had begun rejecting the “immortality” spells, thus why Father and every other prince of the kingdom now fought to ascend.
The emperor could probably reign another hundred years or so on the souls of others if I allowed it. But his latter years had brought madness with it, he was now a tyrant in every sense of the word.
In Demonia, the crown was never simply passed onto the firstborn, it was different than how things worked in the middle realm. To hold the crown, you had to be the best and brightest. You had to be ruthless, cunning, and above all, you had to have the right houses backing you.
It was a game of chess with real-world implications.
Once, the emperor must have been all those things and more, but now he was nothing, but a feeble man, and his court was full of ravenous sharks.
Every time the emperor stepped outside his region; he further weakened his grip on the throne. Soon even the sight of him would not be able to spare him the fate that’d befallen every other emperor that’d come before him.
But, if the emperor cast his blessing and that prince won, he could at least be granted a peaceful death. If, however, the emperor chose wrong, his fate would be both gruesome and humiliating.
The irony was—even as mad as the emperor had become—in the other life, Emperor Claude had at the final moment cast his favor upon Prince Mikael and not Father. A crime father hadn’t been able to forgive. I still heard the emperor’s terrible screams in my dreams.
Tonight, was the one thread I did not wish to change.
The emperor walked slowly, but proudly toward my father, who awaited him with a welcoming smile. Father had always loudly proclaimed his allegiance to Emperor Claude, never publicly casting aspersions against the reigning monarch.
The savagery of father’s attack upon the feeble emperor had been breathtaking. It was only then that I realized just how much my father had truly hated his own father.
Father was Emperor Claude’s only true son. The other princes had won their titles through war and strategy. Because of that father had always held a weakened position amongst many of the other nobles, most of whom believed he’d only achieved his title through nepotism.
Which had been true enough. Everyone knew Father was little more than a puppet prince, a noble easily controlled by the emperor who, though he would step down, would still have some say in the running of the West while the play for the throne rolled on.
They exchanged pleasantries, before Father deeply bowed, and held out his white-gloved hand toward a sitting area prepared especially for the emperor.
Emperor Claude passed with an imperious tilt of his head, and father was just about to follow when a footman suddenly crossed paths with him. No one else probably noticed the slight of hand exchange from the footman to father, it’d all happened so fast.
Father grinned, dusting at his pristine white coat, and the nobles around him laughed at the “clumsy” footman scampering off.
I narrowed my eyes as Father hastily read the note. His jaw clenched. The note turned to ash in his palm. Then fixing that phony smile back on his face, he went to join the emperor. As solicitous as ever.
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