Devil's Punch

you. Make you give everything. That’s where the primitive instincts flare. When you growl mine and go savage, you need someone who will say it back—and mean it. You’ve always been searching for the iron fist in the velvet glove.”

No. Don’t do this to him. He loves me, not you. Don’t fuck with his head.

I banished her voice with a little more difficulty this time. Silenced her protests.

Desperation flashed in his face—not because I was wrong, but because I was right—and I had him. He couldn’t resist such bone-deep need. When he bent his head, I kissed him with every ounce of possession in me. Chance swept the desk with feral hands; then it was all heat and teeth, slick, hard friction, wild as a firestorm.

The Court Convenes

Two weeks after Shannon arrived, I held my first court.

I saw her relatively little, but she busied herself with the decorating. When that work concluded, I’d find something else for her to do. Anything to limit the amount of time we spent together; her questions were piercing, distracting, and I had no time or patience for her emotional needs. Chance had stopped worrying about that, at least to me, as I kept him too occupied in my bed to do much thinking. He was wholly mine now, owned in a way few consorts would permit. In the past, I recalled other lovers who had wanted a rival killed or to be raised to the rank of knight. He had no caste, so he never asked me for favors.

Everything was coming together beautifully.

On that day I sat on the throne with fierce anticipation. Greydusk had located a suitable crown—not the original, of course, but it shone with impressive brilliance as the servant announced the knight from each caste. I had been cautious enough to prohibit them from bringing their own guards into the audience chamber, so a muted rumble of voices came in from the antechamber each time the heavy doors swung open. Zet had sent a contingent of Hazo warriors to add consequence—and guard my person. Four of them on either side of the throne made for an impressive display. They did not speak, merely stared with unnerving intensity.

The throne room itself was glorious. The dark tile shone like obsidian and the new hangings added an air of gravity to the chamber. Other artful touches like rare sculpture had transformed the room, and now it was time for me to meet my public.

I was not surprised to see Sybella in the forefront of my first petitioners. This time, however, I looked her in the eye and felt nothing at all beyond irritation at how she had inconvenienced me when I first arrived in the city. She dropped into a low curtsy, her graceful neck bent, and I let her stay that way until her muscles trembled from holding the pose. The balance of power had shifted, and I gloried in the juxtaposition.

“Rise,” I said at last.

“Your Majesty.” Her smile was tight, but she had dressed for the occasion in her best stamped silk, matched with real gilt on the buckles of her shoes. Her hair was a dark river, intricately twisted, and her mouth had been painted into a red bow.

“I am willing to hear your oath.”

Her expression drew even tauter, revealing lovely bones. But then, the Luren were always beautiful, so it would be more interesting to encounter one that did not possess sheer physical perfection. I tapped my nails lightly on the arm of my throne, gazing down on her with an impassive expression. And my silent scrutiny made her uneasy. She shifted her weight.

“We heard how you treated Caim.” She meant to sound confident, even silkily threatening, but my regard unnerved her enough to unravel her best intentions.

“When he came to this hall, he knew how the encounter must end.”

“Why do you suppose he did not fight?” Recovering a little poise, she tested me, wondering how powerful I was in such a hybrid form.

“Because I would have annihilated his caste like the Saremon. He showed courage in accepting my judgment, and thus the Hazo prosper.” I gestured to the eight in positions of trust at either side of me. Not that I wasn’t constantly watching them for signs of conspiracy or rebellion. In the royal house, I was on my guard at all times. It did not make for restful nights.

My reign had barely passed into its infancy. Careless hands would bring everything tumbling down.

“Yes, I had heard you brought their stronghold low.” Anxiety flared again before she dropped her eyes, unable to hold my gaze.

Good for me, if she carried word to the others. Destroying the Saremon in the heart of their strength would give the other castes pause. I alone knew I hadn’t destroyed every accursed mage—unless the Saremon had come out of hiding to foment dissidence and insurrection. Yet if the worst came to pass, I would deal with it.

“Indeed. As I said, Sybella, I am willing to hear your oath. You harmed none of my party and did not interfere with my destiny.” Without further hesitation, she dropped to her knees, and I spoke the words as I had to Zet. “Do you swear to serve me in all things, to set my will above your own, and obey my commands without question?”

“I do so swear,” she whispered.

“Rise, Knight of the Luren. I have no orders for you at this time.”

One by one, they all came: the awful Aronesti with their wings and stench, the Birsael, the Dohan, the Klothod, the Mhizul, the Noit, and the Phalxe. They swore to me on bended knee, and most seemed sincere, at least in their fear. It didn’t mean they would keep their promises. They might all be plotting, using these pledges as a means to keep my suspicions at bay until they could strike in force. But for my personal recollection of assassination attempts, my thoughts might have sounded like paranoia.

I accepted their pledges and dismissed them. No caste would be welcome in the royal palace until some time elapsed and I sent my spies to test their loyalty. There might be more chaos on the horizon, more structural reorganization necessary before I could be content with the strength of my rule in the city.

Heartsblood, the Imaron knight, came last. He was a little smaller than Greydusk, but otherwise indistinguishable apart from the aura of tangible power he radiated. “You have shown my caste great honor,” he said in greeting.

He dropped to his knees without being asked. I read fear in his alien face and a silent question. Greydusk had been serving me faithfully since the beginning; would I reward him for that? It was not beyond the realm of possibility that I would wrest power away from Heartsblood and bestow it upon my favorite—a capricious decision, yes, but one worth considering. In ages past, I would’ve done it without a second thought. I let the knight kneel in terror for several long moments while I regarded him thoughtfully.

“How would you reward one such as Greydusk? He is my right hand.”

“There is no higher honor,” Heartsblood rejoined.

Ah, clever. I decided I liked this Imaron. With five slim words, he intimated that his own station was already lesser than the one Greydusk had attained through his own merits, and therefore an insult to him, should it be offered as a prize. In the same breath, he honored me; the compliment was well crafted— masterful, truly.

Amusement shone in my expression. “You are kind to say so.”

“I would swear my oath, if it pleases Your Majesty.”

“It does.”

He was quick again, this time when he knew the right words without my prompting. Heartsblood trotted them out as if he had been studying, but with every indication of sincerity. When he finished, I said, “On your feet, Knight of the Imaron. I am pleased with your alacrity. In time, I will host a ball to inaugurate this glorious new era. Until then, be watchful on my behalf and report anything that troubles you.”

“Do you expect insurgency, Your Majesty?”

Here, I hesitated. While his wit was pleasing, I didn’t trust him. “It is always best to anticipate trouble. That way one may be surprised for the better and prepared for the worst.”

The Imaron knight flashed a mouthful of teeth. “Spoken like a true queen.”