‘Day 0: Every race has its maladies and afflictions, no matter the amount of care put into its lineage. My own clan had a small number of blind and deaf individuals, and our greatest trade route was managed by a mute human.

  Not in Nyarlea. None of the women here suffer from such impairments.’

  -Excerpt from Magni’s Memories

  Queen Nehalennia’s impassive mask was a practiced art perfected long before Melasia’s fall from the throne. Fury stirred in her chest and swam through her veins, and still she held her chin high, her lips thin, and her eyes forward.

  How dare he?

  She led Cailu to her quarters, the same four walls that had heard the sighs and screams of more than a hundred generations of Nyarlean royalty. Walls that had borne witness to Nehalennia’s ascension at Cailu’s hands. There were times when Nehalennia was certain she caught the scent of Melasia’s blood on the floor.

  This is a world we rule together, Cailu. Have you forgotten?

  Cailu closed the door behind them, then turned to face her. He positioned his arms behind his back and stood at attention. “Where do you wish to start?”

  Nehalennia’s eyebrows raised just a fraction. “First, I would like your apology.”

  “There is nothing to apologize for,” Cailu said, punctuating it with the barest shake of his head.

  Nehalennia’s mask cracked, and the left corner of her mouth twitched upward. “You appear in court, publicly announce your removal from the council without consulting them, shirk your duties by passing them to other men, support the rise of a second queen, and openly state your intention to kill another man should he not fit your expectations.” The tone she maintained with nobles skimmed the line of incredulity.

  “Where do you wish to start?” he repeated slowly, as if addressing a kitten.

  Another crack in the queen’s perfected mask, this time at the corners of her eyes as she narrowed them in frustration. “We need you on the council.”

  “No, you do not. We have repeatedly reviewed and discussed the untouchable tribulations of Nyarlea and have exhausted all possibilities of fixing them with the few hands available to assist. To name two, sugar is more readily available, despite the exorbitant price. San Island’s population is flourishing while the economy crashes, leaving many on the streets.”

  “These challenges take time. Your guidance—”

  “My ‘guidance’ is not enough,” Cailu interrupted, raising his voice. “We need more men who are willing to work with us in these endeavors, and now we have them. You will continue to receive reports from all three of us. I will ensure that Tristan and Matt understand how to contact you.” He rolled his shoulders and locked her gaze. “They are capable men, Nehalennia. I would not be here if I did not believe them so.”

  “Of course not. You would simply dispatch them if they were not up to your standards, correct?” She shook her head, clinging to the last pieces of her royal fa?ade. How dare he? “Shall I expect reports of further unorthodox duels that I must explain to the council?”

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  “Our discussion returns to Magni, then?” Cailu frowned. “You did not seem to hold such strong opinions of Ichi Island when Magni called himself ‘King’ and levied a ‘King’s Tax’ on his people.”

  “His actions did not threaten my position, Cailu. Men may call themselves whatever they wish. The existence of two queens, however, directly contravenes Saoirse’s Decree of one queen to rule all four islands.”

  “Naeemah was regarded as Queen of Ichi for many years before your rule without issue.”

  “Not with your backing,” Nehalennia snapped. How could his stare stay so cold? After all they had endured. After all he had done for her… “You offered yourself as my blade to wield, Cailu. You have served me well—”

  “You twist my words.” Cailu’s arms dropped to his sides, and he stepped forward. “Why do you act as if you will never see or hear of me again? You have everything you have ever desired: your throne, five successors with a sixth on the way, a council that works with you, rather than against you, three men ready to do what they must to rebuild your kingdom. So why do you look at me as if I’ve betrayed you?”

  Damn him. A sharp kick in Nehalennia’s stomach made her pitch forward. She clasped her hands around one of the tall posts of her bed and gasped with pain. When Cailu didn’t move to assist her, the mask shattered. Damn him!

  “Tell me, is Ichi Island where I shall call upon you henceforth?” She climbed up the post, straightening herself. “Showering your affections on your new queen?”

  Cailu’s eyes narrowed, and his expression darkened. “Affections?” The word rolled from his tongue like venom, and the barest glimmer of the stone-hearted man Nehalennia had trusted with regicide so long ago returned to his gaze. His voice dropped to an icy murmur. “Do you believe you had my affections when I agreed to help you usurp the throne?”

  Nehalennia’s fingers curled tightly around the post, and she dropped one hand to her neck. A creeping fear of history repeating itself inched into her rage. She touched the large sapphire at her neck—Enchanted by Master [Arbiter] Emberlynn herself—it would completely deflect one piercing blow from all angles before shattering. It brought her a modicum of comfort, but Cailu was clever, and that scared her.

  Cailu closed the distance between them and cupped her chin in his hand. “Look at me.”

  Nehalennia squirmed in his grip, but there was no combating his strength. She yielded and slid her gaze back to center until she found his. Had there always been such dark circles beneath his eyes?

  “You, Nehalennia, have served as just as much a means to an end for me as I have for you. Never once in our time together have I viewed you as more than an accessory to getting what I require. Look at me!”

  Nehalennia whimpered and reached for his wrist with one shaking hand. The courage she’d found in her anger evaporated, and a cold sweat broke across her back. She forced her eyes to his.

  “When I assured your ascension, it moved my personal objectives forward. When I answered your many calls, it was to ensure that I still held the greatest foothold in Nyarlea. When I shared your bed, it cemented your succession and my direct ties to the throne for years to come,” Cailu growled.

  The day Cailu slayed Melasia was one Nehalennia could recall with perfect clarity. There had been no emotions behind Cailu’s eyes; no tells in his body language that betrayed his thoughts. He’d moved with the intense, calculated precision of an executioner. Yet now, as Nehalennia searched his face, she found fury, exhaustion, and overwhelming contempt.

  “You have mistaken my ambitions for affection, and if you wish to keep your position, then you will never utter such slander again.” Cailu released her chin and took a step back.

  Nehalennia caught her breath. Her trembling knees threatened to cease holding her steady, and she found herself sliding slowly to the floor against the bedpost. A nervous laugh shaped by the heart-pounding uncertainty of anxiety escaped her lips, and she looked up at Cailu. “How many rulers will you overthrow, Cailu?”

  He peered down at her for a long time, seemingly scrutinizing every hair on her head, until he replied, “As many as it takes.”

  Without another word, he turned toward the door. His lavish red cape billowed behind him as he left Nehalennia alone with the scent of Melasia’s blood in the air.

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