Jessamine
Swift and painless. Obviously, she's setting someone up to die. Me. I've barely even had a breath in this place and she's already trying to kill me. What I don't understand though, is how she came to the decision that I'd even be at the ball.
Az clucks his tongue distastefully. "Your pacing is wearing holes into the ground."
"You're wearing holes into my couch with your tears," I retort, scowling down at him. I made a mistake letting him sleep on my couch. Now he's lounging around my chambers like we both own it, eating my food, snuggling my pillows and using my oils in his hair. He's acting like the brother nobody wants around.
"I don't think it's you," Mikkel says, turning over the note I rewrote in his hands. "If it was, she'd be making conscious effort to ensure your appearance at the ball."
Camilla nods, pretending to be wiping dust from my many dresses as she eavesdrops. Who would have thought the maid who called me bitter would love hanging around me? I must not be as unlikeable as they say.
Someone knocks softly on the door and Julian's head peeks through a moment later. "Luna Renae to see you, Your Highness."
Mikkel and I exchange quick glances. Conscious effort, he said.
My heart beats heavily in my chest and my fingers grow cold. I have yet to prepare myself for this meeting, emotionally. I cannot afford to let my emotions get the better of me, even if it is all I want to do. Let my anger guide the hands I'll use to rip her in half. I tremble as I force in a sharp breath. Az takes up the spot beside me, sensing the threat, his fingers closing around his sword.
She won't attempt something stupid. Not here. Not right now.
Schooling my expression into a mask of indifference, I nod at Julian. The door widens and the Luna walks in, her ladies' maids following behind her with a rather large box in their hands. Renae stops before me, and I am suddenly reminded of what standing in her presence feels like. I may no longer be a maid, or an Omega, I may be the daughter of a great king, but Renae embodies royalty far more than I ever will. She is regal and every bit of a terrifying queen.
She stares me down with eyes like Kier's and it is almost impossible to stare at her and not hate him too. They burn as her eyes narrow, taking me in, and her teeth are a pretty white when she bares her teeth at me in a horrifying smile.
"Your Highness," she greets and lowers in a bow.
Though, courtesy demands that I repeat it, I don't. I remain standing, my back straight as ramrod and my chin high in the air. "Renae. You look well."
There is no surprise in her eyes when they return to me, no loathing, no question, no suspicion. She knew, all this time, who I was. Who my father was. I stare at her and wonder what my mother could possibly have done to deserve being killed like that. The question sits on the tip of my tongue but I don’t ask it.
Renae’s smile is as sharp as knives. “You flatter me. I must admit, you look better than I last saw you, bleeding out on that field.” She giggles and I decide it is the most sultry sound I’ve ever heard. “You must pardon my son for banishing you. He couldn’t have possibly known a sniveling wretch would turn out to be a princess one day.”
Az’s grip on his sword tightens and for the first time, Renae glances at him. Her hazel eyes widen as she drinks him in, her gaze sharpening with each feature of his she takes in. I don’t like the way she’s looking at him. Like she’s found a new toy to play with, and from the way Az’s shoulders tighten beside me, I can tell he doesn’t like it too.
I smirk, leaning in to whisper, “Shall I let you in on a secret?” Her attention returns to me and I add, “I pardoned him, only because he begged for it. On. His. Knees.”
Silence falls and Renae bristles, something alien flashing in her eyes. Her fists clench and when she falls back a step, laughing, I know I hit a spot. It pleases me as well, and I join in, laughing as well, even if it’s the last thing I want to do.
Renae waves her hand toward the maids and they bring the box forward. “A gift from me. For the ball tonight.”
Oh? “I must apologize, Renae, but I have yet to recover from the journey—”
“Nonsense,” she says, waving me off. “The Alphas and Lunas, Lords and Ladies of great station are making their way over to meet the daughter of the man to whom we’ll owe our lives.” She reaches for my hands and I can’t hide my flinch as she smiles hopefully. “You must attend, for us. For Kier.”
My mind whirls in directions it really shouldn’t. What better way to piss her off than to attend the damned ball and not fall prey to her plans? I did miss the meeting with the council this afternoon. It’d be a good idea if I met with them and executed my plans of charming them all into my debt. That too, and I’m curious to find just who Renae is working with.
It couldn’t be Atticus, if the man himself sought me out to offer a deal.
Mikkel eyes me curiously from where he’s perched on the couch when I give her my word that I’ll attend and Camilla takes the box.
“It would be a terrible idea to still attend, despite knowing of her plans,” Mikkel says after Renae leaves and Camilla lifts the lid off the box. There’s a beautiful ombre gown inside, bleeding out from white to several shades of pink. Matching shoes are set beside them and Camilla picks each, cooing at the material.
My lips purse. “I know, and I need a date.”
Mikkel’s eyes narrow. “I’m a terrible dancer.”
I smile mischievously. “You’re a smooth talker too. I need that tonight.”
***********
Kier
I swear that the Goddess’s only purpose for creating Jessamine is to torture me. It’s the ball in honor of the Selection all over again, and she’s dancing with every man that isn’t me. It’s that dress. Her wardrobe is just fucked up. I’m going to die if she wears another one of those gowns. I’m going to fucking convulse if her thighs flash through those slits again.
My grip tightens around Moira’s waist as I pull her into my arms for the next step and she winces, eyes glittering like dark sapphires in the dim light of the room. “You don’t look well.”
Of course, I don’t. My head begun pounding the very minute Jessamine swept in, wearing a pale blue dress that clung desperately to her skin, and I wanted nothing more than to be that fucking dress. I want nothing more than to wear her. To drown my thoughts, I’d guzzled the wine faster than I ever had. Four goblets, and I’d worked up the courage to ask my Luna for a dance.
It is her I should be bothered with. It is her I should spend my nights with.
Now, the headache has become fiercer, my need to move and dance almost drunken. My skin feels too hot, bruised and sore all over. My gaze flits over to Jessamine as she accepts yet another dance from another male. Alpha Corwin. Odd that she would opt to dance with Helen’s father.
She whispers something to him, and together they look over at Moira and I. Alpha Corwin laughs, and so does Jessamine. They keep laughing. At me. The room suddenly feels far too hot and my stomach oddly queasy.
“Kier?” Moira calls out tentatively, and I blink, realizing she’s been speaking to me for a time. “Did you hear me?” When I shake my head, Moira’s eyes become clouded with worry. “You’re burning up.”
I scoff, giving into the music and twirling her so hard, she nearly loses her footing and falls into someone else. She apologizes and hurt shines in her eyes as she returns to me. I didn’t do it on purpose. I just…I can feel everything around me too clearly, see the world moving to quickly around me. I wish to catch up and she’s too slow. She opens her mouth, and her words evade me, the pounding in my head worsening with the music. A few soft words reach me though. “…get you to your chambers…a fever…”
It’s ridiculous, I tell her. I don’t fall ill. Not unless I’ve triggered an allergy. I’m fine. I tell her this, but the woman doesn’t stop nagging me.
So, I stop dancing with her, turning away entirely. Fuck, everything burns. The light stings my eyes, and I almost trip on Katherine’s dress. She eyes me warily and I notice how the color on her face brings out her eyes. I only flash her a grin. “Why, you look fetching tonight, Kat.”
Someone tugs at my elbows, pulling me away from them. “Goddess, how drunk are you?” Randale mutters, and in response, I trip on someone’s foot.
A servant. Her tray clatters to the ground and so do I. I don’t bother getting up. The floor is rather cold, as are the drinks that have poured and soiled my clothes.
Randale cusses and pulls me up to my feet. I chuckle. “I can walk, Randale.” My words are slow, and there’s sweat gathering underneath my collar.
“I really doubt that,” Randale answered.
I search the hall around me. “Where’s Lloyd?” He’s always much more fun than Randale. Randale stiffens, shadows darkening his eyes at the mention of Lloyd’s name and I wonder why that is. I wonder if I’m forgetting something.
“Moira says you have a fever,” he says instead and I frown. “I don’t ever get ill. She’s talking nonsense. She’s always talking nonsense. You know, last night, she almost talked me to death about how we have to make babies—”
“Shut up, Kier. They can all hear you,” Randale snaps.
I hadn’t realized I was speaking too loudly. My lips snap shut and my knees start to wobble. We are almost to the stairs when Mother blocks our path, worry etched on her forehead. I find the expression funny. I must be hallucinating or dying because mother doesn’t give a care in the world if I live or die. Not for a long time now. Not since I sent Lloyd away.
“Ah, mother,” I coo. “You lavish me with your affections today. Might you have me confused with a younger—”
Randale’s hand clamps over my mouth before I can finish my sentence. He cusses again and lowers his head towards my mother. “I apologize on his behalf, Luna Renae. He’s heavily drunk and not himself—”
My mother’s lips curl in displeasure. “You need not apologize for my son’s misbehavior. Hand him over. I’ll tuck him in myself.”
I wonder why they all assume I need to be in bed. The thought of being in bed turns my stomach. I’d much prefer the bath. A cold, freezing bath.
Randale hesitates, his eyes flicking between my mother and I. “Let me. It’ll be much faster—”
“Need I remind you I carried him until he could run? Are you scared I might harm my own son?” Her voice is harsh, much like whip lashes, and Randale moves me until her smaller shoulders are hedged under my arms, her hand wrapped around my waist. She nods at Randale as my head lolls left. “Get Moira. She’s by the gardens.”
I want to tell Randale that Moira doesn’t like the gardens very much, and it is highly unlikely that he’ll find her there, but my tongue feels like lead. I can’t lift it. My eyes shutter slightly and I realize moments later that Randale is gone and mother is moving. Moving away from the steps. She weaves behind the crowd as if to hide me from them.
She must feel ashamed of me. I tell her so. I tell her I hate her also. I tell her that I hate her for what she’s done to me and Jessamine.
Mother only laughs. “You could never understand, and now you’ve betrayed me as well.”
My head falls uncomfortably on her shoulder and I sniff in her scent of blooming flowers. It calms me temporarily. It is a scent I grew up knowing. It was home. Now, it is not. Home is violet eyes. Home is black licorice with the mix of spice and something audaciously sweet. A scent that tickles my nostrils even now.
“Take the passage. I will join you shortly. I must bid the Alphas farewell on your behalf,” she whispers, pulling away from me gently, and as she peers up at me, there’s grief in her eyes. “You were the only good thing in my life, Kiernan.”
I don’t know what that means. I stagger from her, walking towards the passage. There are a lot of turns, and I know one leads back to my room. Another leads outside. I can’t recall which is which. My vision is swimming as I walk in. There are no guards outside. Odd that. There are always guards outside.
The music ebbs the further I move into the passage. I stagger, my shoulder knocking into one of the unlit torches. Why are they unlit? I trip on the stick and laugh a little as I fall. I manage to pull up into a sitting position and I pant. My mouth tastes like poison.
Rushed footsteps echo from the other end of the enclosed path and I squint, trying to see the owner of the hands that grip at my shoulders. Owners. There are two of them. They pull me up and I croak, “Did mother send you?” Fuck, I feel like death. I can barely hear a thing or smell. My senses are fuzzy.
“Yes,” they say.
I relax, only to feel them tense at the sound of heels behind us. “Kier? Where are you taking him?” An oddly familiar voice says and I turn my head a little.
“Ah, my stunning vixen of a mate,” I comment, tugging uselessly at the hands that bind me. For some reason, I can’t feel Zephyr. He must still be mad at me. “You may let go. I must do as my lady bids,” I tell my companions gruffly.
But the man to my left says to the one on my right, “Take care of her quickly.”
I frown at that, confused and tired and hot and ill to my stomach. The male leaves and Jessamine suddenly cries. Pure instinct has me wrenching free and darting for her. I am stopped by a shove to my spine and pain erupts in my back, crippling me for a moment. I grunt, my fingers curling in the stone as I reach forward, crawling back to my growling mate. I can’t see her. I can’t see anything, but I know she’s fighting. She’s fierce. She’s so strong. Stronger than I can ever be. She’s so beautiful.
The thought makes me chuckle. I feel pity for the male. He doesn’t stand a chance. Hands grab me roughly, hurling me up and I groan, my head drumming viciously. I grip at the male’s shoulder and hurl him into the wall.
Something cracks, but before I can identify it, I’m falling.
Time loses me. I’m unsure if that sentence is correct. I’m unsure of anything other than the fact that I might really be dying. I pull at my clothes; they feel like chains dipped in larva. When they won’t come off, I start with my skin next, clawing at it.
Fingers are suddenly on my face, burning as hot as flames and I pry them off, snarling.
“Kier,” someone says softly. It couldn’t be Jessamine. She hates me. When she says my name, it’s like a battle cry, announcing my impending death by her hands. This voice is too soft to be hers, yet, it is hers. She smells like home and blood.
She pulls down my eyelid, both of them. “Stick out your tongue,” she orders me.
My head feels like an axe has cleaved it in two, and I’m too tired to fight against her order. I part my lips with great effort and push my tongue out. Nausea swirls about me, incited by the pain spasming through me. Her breath tickles my cheek as she leans in closer to properly inspect…my tongue? Odd, that.
I force my eyes open in time to see her eyes widen with fear. “Gods above. She poisoned you.”