The Dawn of the End Page 6

  Gods, this arsehole simply got worse and worse.

  Johan turned to Mars and spoke over his wife. “If you don’t want everyone to know you married a bastard, that your queen and the mother to your future children is spurious, then I’ll have my gods-damned, bloody treasure.”

  “I have no care who begat my wife,” Mars told him. “She has not changed in any way in my knowing you aren’t her father.”

  Johan looked stunned.

  Sadly, he recovered quickly.

  “Are you sure those clans and tribes of yours who aren’t so certain about your reign or the wife you chose will be as indifferent?” Johan asked snidely.

  “No,” Mars answered. “What I am certain of is that you will not breathe a word of this to a living soul. Not that first one. Not publicly. Not privately.”

  “I wouldn’t be so certain,” Johan sneered.

  “You are not blood of her blood. You are naught. Naught to me, but more importantly naught to her,” Mars returned. “I would have handled any necessary dealings with you with the understanding you are my wife’s family at the forefront of my mind. Since you are not, I can do as I please.”

  “And I can do as I please,” Johan retorted.

  “Not of you aren’t breathing after I slit your throat,” Mars replied calmly.

  Vanka gasped.

  Johan’s mouth fell open and he stared.

  Mars shrugged. “You no longer matter. And as such, do as you wish, and I shall do as I wish. Though, be warned, if you do something I don’t wish, I will do something you absolutely would not wish.”

  “You can’t threaten me,” Johan declared, but he’d lost his bluster and was now hanging on to bravado.

  “It seems I can.”

  Johan started glaring at him. “Well then, I’ll simply tell Silence.”

  “Did you not hear the part where I said you will not breathe a word to a soul?” Mars inquired politely. “But no worries. I’ll be telling her. I assume she’ll feel some relief that she is not of your blood. It will answer a great many questions she has.”

  Johan appeared extremely shocked and equally as offended.

  “She will be relieved she’s not of my blood?” he asked in full affront.

  “You’re a tremendously unpleasant man. You were an atrocious father. When she understands why, then yes. She will be relieved.”

  Before Johan could say more, Mars looked to Vanka.

  “Do you know who her father is?” he asked. “She might wish to meet him.”

  “I was…he was…” she finished on another whisper, “a Zee.”

  “I do not wish to hear this,” Johan spat at her.

  “You began this conversation,” Mars pointed out. “If you no longer wish to be a part of it, you’re free to leave.”

  “You’re detestable,” Johan hissed at Mars.

  “Interesting, you know how I feel,” Mars drawled.

  Silence’s not-father’s upper lip twitched into his nose repeatedly in a way that was odd and slightly amusing before he huffed off.

  “Johan!” Vanka called after him.

  “Find another chamber to sleep in tonight, wife,” he replied without looking back.

  Wishing to get to his own wife, Mars pressed a Vanka who was staring forlornly after her husband, “Do you know how to find this Zee?”

  “No, I…” Her head dropped, she studied the floor, and it seemed to take some effort for her to lift her eyes that were bright with unshed tears to his face. “He’s a Zee. He took what was offered. I-I found him comely. He…” She swallowed, shook her head then turned it, peering down the hall her husband had disappeared from, “He had the most beautiful silver eyes.”

  At these words, Mars took pity on her.

  “If you leave him, you’ll be welcome with us.”

  Her gaze shot back to his. “I couldn’t leave my husband.”

  So be it.

  He dipped his chin and made to move around her, but she caught his forearm and he stopped.

  “Are you really going to tell Silence?” she asked.

  “I’ll endeavor to delay, as this night is not the time to share such news after the day she has had. But she did not leave us unaware that something was brewing, and if she presses, I will not lie to my wife.”

  “You are a…a good man,” she said as if she didn’t believe her own words.

  “You are a weak woman,” he replied.

  She blinked and dropped her hand from his arm.

  “But anyone is capable of change for as long as they’re breathing,” he went on. “I urge you to find your way to that. I would gather you’d be much happier, no?”

  “He is a hard man, but he loves me,” she said.

  “A man does not whore his wife to another man to gain an heir if he loves her. You became pregnant. Thus, the issue with conception is clearly his. But even if it wasn’t, you take life as it comes and find happiness in spite of lost dreams. You just build different ones.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” she murmured.

  “My father was murdered,” he retorted. “He did not meet my lovely wife, whom he would have adored. He will not meet my children. He will not bounce them on his knee and tell them stories of their papa when he was a boy. Or how beautiful their mother was in her red dress when she was first introduced to his people. It is not easy for me to say, Vanka. And if you think that of anyone, that your choices were more difficult or more desperate or more limited than theirs in whatever circumstances they might have as compared to yours, and that is the excuse you make for making the wrong ones, you’re far weaker than I thought.”

  With that, he moved beyond her and down the hall, wondering how he would delay in telling his wife about this when just hours ago she’d talked three level-headed women, one who had taken an arrow through her shoulder, into storming a torture chamber in order “to watch.”

  This made his lips twitch, something he stopped them from doing when he opened the door to their chambers.

  He saw her first, coming his way.

  He saw their wee monkey second, scampering much faster across the rugs to get to her papa.

  Piccola climbed his pantleg and was cradling his neck by the time Silence arrived at him and demanded, “What on earth was that all about?”

  “How likely am I to talk you out of your gown and into bed so we can fuck fast and hard and then pass out?” he asked in reply.

  He saw a shift of interest in her eyes before she mentally set it aside and answered, “Not very likely.”

  Mars sighed, took Piccola from his neck and held her in front of his face. “Your mama is stubborn.”

  Piccola chirruped.

  He held their monkey to his heart and looked to his queen. “She agrees.”

  Silence crossed her arms on her chest and said a warning, “Mars.”

  By the gods, she was the most precious creature on the planet.

  He fought his lips twitching again, and did it thinking of the seriousness of this matter.

  Then he said quietly, “It has been a difficult day for us both, particularly you, and your cousin, who you adore. Can we not let Johan’s chicaneries make a bad day even worse?”

  “How is True?” she asked.

  “Beside himself with grief.”

  She worried her lips.

  Then she said, “He told me, Father, at the party after our wedding, that you were never going to let me come to Wodell again. Was that a lie?”

  By the gods, that man was foul.

  “Yes.”

  She looked to the side.

  “Silence,” he called.

  She looked to him.

  “I will promise, after your aunt is at rest, and when the time is right, I will tell you the fullness of my conversation with your parents,” he promised. “But for the now, let us find a good way to end a terrible day.”

  “Instead of making it worse?”

  He decided not to field that one.

  “Just tell me, did h
e hurt you?”

  Mars was confused.

  “Hurt me?”

  “He called you a lurch. I don’t know what that means. I’ve never heard it before. I just know he did not mean it nicely.”

  She was worried about him.

  She was worried that conversation was unpleasant for him.

  “You need to be naked in but one minute, wife,” he growled.

  Her eyes got large “Wh-what?”

  “Never mind,” he muttered, approaching her, “I’ll make you that way.”

  Piccola, very used to the mood that was now in the chamber, scurried off Mars to head to wherever she scurried to in order to amuse herself while they engaged in activities she had no interest in for they paid her no mind at all, no cuddles and no coos.

  And Mars took his wife’s mind off the day, the night, and everything but them.

  After he accomplished that, and did it thoroughly, they both passed out.

  87

  The Rule

  Prince True

  The King’s Study, Birchlire Castle, Notting Thicket

  WODELL

  “I will do no such thing.”

  “You will. The papers will be ready in the morn. The heralds ride out at seven sharp to share the king speaks at ten o’clock. By that time, the papers will be signed and recorded. You will make your announcement, then I will make mine.”

  “My wife’s body is barely cold, and you make a play for my crown,” he snapped.

  It was unfortunate his father mentioned his dead mother.

  Very unfortunate.

  And Aramus was not there with him then.

  Wallace, Luther, Bram and Florian—the latter two sporting bandages, Bram’s under his shirt around his middle, Florian’s over his trousers around his left thigh—were there.

  And they did not lift a finger or even open their mouths to stop True from rushing his father across his study and pinning him bodily against the wall.

  “Alfie took two arrows to protect her,” he snarled into his sire’s face.

  “That is his job,” his father spat back.

  “You dove behind a pew to save yourself, leaving your wife an open target,” True went on.

  “It is not in this country’s best interests to lose its monarch.”

  “Then why did you let this country’s true monarch take six arrows?”

  Wilmer spluttered in insult.

  “You will sign those papers,” True gritted.

  “I will do nothing of the sort!” Wilmer shouted.

  “You will either abdicate or I’ll take your crown,” True told him. “For on the morrow, if those papers are not signed, on the grounds of your incompetence, I’ll declare war on the reign of King Wilmer of Wodell. I will lead my guard to your guard. And when I do, your guard will dismount and lay their weapons down in surrender. Alfie cannot ride. That means, in front of all, the two hundred royal guard that protects this castle will lay down their arms to five men.”

  “They wouldn’t,” Wilmer whispered.

  “They will. I’ve asked each man myself and they’ve already vowed fealty to me. Now, do you want that spectacle to end your reign?” True asked. “Or do you want to share with your people that you are beside yourself with grief at the loss of your wife, beside yourself with mortification at your misreading of the true nature of your advisor, and you feel it’s in the best interests of the realm in this trying time to abdicate to your son?”

  “I will not be recorded in the Go’Doan tomes as the Dellish king who gave up his throne,” Wilmer bit.

  “Call out,” True urged, stepping away from him. “Call out now, Father, to the guard outside your doors. Call out.”

  Wilmer, breathing heavily in anger, scowled at his son.

  What he did not do was call out to his guard.

  “You know they won’t come,” True said quietly.

  Father and son stared at each other.

  Wilmer broke the silence.

  “I cannot believe you’re doing this to me.”

  “I cannot believe you let my mother die.”

  Wilmer closed his eyes tight and turned his head away.

  True drew breath in through his nose.

  Much more calmly, he asked, “Now, do you agree to sign those papers?”

  “I loved her,” his father said in reply.

  True’s patience, already unraveled, frayed even further.

  “That wasn’t the question I asked,” he pointed out.

  Wilmer looked at him. “I am grieving, son.”

  “So am I,” True returned. “The thing you don’t entirely understand, Father, is that what we feel, what we experience, what befalls us matters not. Someone has to rule. Someone always has to rule. We don’t get to retreat and take time to lick our wounds. We don’t get to snivel and rail. We must rule.” He paused to drive his last point home. “My mother taught me that.”

  Wilmer flinched.

  “Now, we are under attack,” True continued. “We must rout this Rising and set about doing it immediately. You allowed one of their own in this very castle to toy with you and loot our treasury to fund their efforts, a happenstance that not only lasted decades but ended with the queen being murdered. You want to retain the crown because you fear what will be written of you for posterity. I want the crown because I fear for the safety of my people. Tell me, Father, in those instances, who should wear that crown?”

  “You cannot possibly expect me to make this decision through my grief,” his father returned.

  “Have you been listening to a word I’ve said?” True asked.

  “True, be done with him,” Wallace called.

  “You haven’t been given leave to speak,” Wilmer clipped at Wallace.

  “I do not need your leave for I do not recognize you as my ruler,” Wallace shot back. “And not simply because my king does not make a man ask permission to speak his mind.”

  True studied his men, particularly Bram, who demanded to be standing right there even if he should be flat on his back in a bed.

  The arrow Bram took had not hit anything vital, but it had still gone through his midsection.

  They needed rest, all of them.

  And they needed this day to be done.

  “Let us go,” True said wearily. “We’ll finish this on the morrow on the backs of our horses.”

  The men nodded but hesitated as True moved their way, for they were preparing to flank him as they left.

  “I’ll abdicate.”

  All of them stopped and turned back to Wilmer upon hearing these quiet words.

  “Say that again,” True demanded.

  Wilmer leaned his way, his face twisted, and he shouted, “I’ll abdicate!”

  True let out a long breath.

  “And I will end this farce by sharing this,” Wilmer pointed to the floor, “precisely this is what Carrington warned me about.”

  True felt his blood freeze.

  The men around him shifted closer to him.

  “He smirked at me when I made his cell this eve,” True told his father. “Triumphantly.”

  Wilmer stared at his son.

  “He was delighted she was dead,” True went on. “He planned her murder and you can even speak his name?”

  Red crept up his neck as Wilmer spat, “You have what you want. Go.”

  “I’ll tell you this only once, Father. For her. Because she loved you. Because she put so much effort into propping up a fickle and wayward reign. Because she would wish me not to do it. Only for those reasons I do not send you into exile, never to have your feet touch the fertile Dellish soil again. But do not test that. That will be the only warning you’ll get.”

  True had no more to say and refused to hear another word.

  Thus, he turned on his boot and strode out the door with his men.

  The minute the guard outside the door closed it, True turned on Luther.

  “Get them to bed,” he said, jerking his head to Bram and Florian. He then looked ri
ght at Bram. “And I don’t want you out of yours for two full days.”

  “True—”

  True interrupted him “Promise me.”

  “I’ll want to visit Alfie,” Bram said quietly.

  Of course he would.

  “He needs time too, brother,” True replied in the same tone.

  Bram nodded.

  “All right, men,” Luther said, starting to herd them, “the king has spoken.”

  Florian shot Luther a look.

  Bram looked to True and shook his head.

  But they all moved away.

  True let out another long breath.

  “You’ll be wanting Farah,” Wallace noted.

  He looked to his man. “Yes. Though I hope she’s abed, asleep, and recovering herself and not perchance leading some charge against a Go’Doan temple with Elena, Serena, Silence and Ha’Lah riding at her back.”

  Wallace’s lips quirked only slightly before he said, “She’s not abed, True. She’s in a chair by Alfie’s bed.”

  True closed his eyes and dropped his head.

  But of course she was.

  “We will rally him,” Wallace vowed.

  True opened his eyes and gave them to his friend.

  “He’ll want the Poison.”

  “We’ll rally him, True,” Wallace said through his teeth.

  “His pride will not let him live a life where he has to depend on others, and you know it.”

  “Then we’ll find ways he doesn’t have to,” Wallace retorted. “If his cock works, we will rally him.”

  “A man’s manhood is not in his cock,” True replied.

  “Tell that to Florian,” Wallace returned. “His manhood and his brain are in his cock.”

  True shook his head.

  “And Bram,” Wallace went on.

  By the gods, True felt he might actually smile.

  “And especially Luther,” Wallace continued.

  “Please be quiet,” True begged.

  “And Alfie,” Wallace whispered. “Though, not the brain part,” he finished on a mumble.

  They held gazes.

  Then True nodded.

  “Get to bed yourself, Wally.”

  It was Wallace who nodded then.

  True watched him go.

  Then he lifted his chin to the two guards at his father’s study doors before he turned the other direction to make his way to where Alfie had been taken.