I roll my eyes, but Anissa pokes her in the ribs. “Bella!”
“Thank you,” Belladonna says stiffly.
The last thing I see is the excited flash of Anissa’s smile. In her eyes, once Malechus dies, they’re finally free to live their lives the way they choose. No more political marriages bound to separate them. Without Malechus trying to drive a wedge between them, they may love each other openly.
The second they’re gone, I breathe a sigh of relief and allow myself a moment to lean back against the wall.
The first part of the plan succeeded beyond my wildest expectations.
Now Belladonna needs to make her entrance and make it clear she had nothing to do with the attempted assassination. She’ll be shocked. Speechless. Then furious as she demands to know who this imposter is.
The fun begins when she realizes I’m the one using her as a pawn—and not the other way around.
Phase two of the plan needs to be set in place.
I have a horn to find.
A fae lord to revive.
And then a sister’s rage to quell.
Soraya is going to kill me once she realizes what I’d failed to mention.
After all, the ceremony wasn’t fake. Not even I dare circumvent something while the goddess is watching, and it doesn’t matter what names they gave if their blood is bound.
Mistmark just found himself married to the wrong woman.
22
Soraya
“Let go of me!” My skirts hiss around my legs as the prince of the Court of Blood drags me into a side chamber.
Malechus shoves me through the door and slams it behind him, locking us away from the curious guests. “Are you out of your mind? What have you done? You’ve cost us everything!”
“Cost you,” I point out, taking a step away from his towering rage.
“Cost us,” he hisses, advancing upon me. “Cost this entire fucking court. We cannot afford to go to war with Mistmark. I gave my word to Angmar of the Court of Storms that nothing would go awry. And now the fucking Lord of Mistmark is dying! His fae will arm themselves for war, and that frigid fucking wraith he has up his sleeve will come after me!”
I can’t help myself. “Ooops.”
He freezes. “What did you say?”
I shrug. Sometimes it’s best not to say anything at all. Besides, if I wasted my breath on words, I wouldn’t be able to sit back and watch a thousand furious emotions dance across his face.
And then his expression stills, his rage sliding off him like he’s locked it away. “You don’t care. You knew the risks associated with this—that Anissa would pay the price of your insubordination. But you don’t care.”
What can I say? That my cold dead wraithen heart would bleed for the two lovers—soon to be torn apart—but it turned to ice so long ago it barely beats anymore.
“But my cousin would care,” Malechus says, and suddenly he’s a hound on the scent of its prey. “Belladonna would die for Anissa. She would prostrate herself at my feet if it meant she could stop me from cutting her lover’s heart out of her chest.”
He’s figured it out.
Now to lure him closer.
“She would,” I purr.
“Who are you?” he demands, his dark eyes glittering as he snatches at my upper arm. “For you’re not my cousin.”
I let the glamor I’ve been holding dissolve, and it feels like I step out of Belladonna’s skin. The discarded glamor settles around my ankles like a shed snake skin, before it wisps into nothingness. “You’re right. I’m not. Remember me?”
Oh, this moment feels good.
His eyes widen even as I summon my dirk. The goblin-forged metal materializes in my hand, and before Malechus can recover from his shock, I drive it into his side. Right between the fourth and fifth ribs.
It’s the best way to a man’s heart, after all.
And it takes care of any nasty surprises like blood curses. They’re difficult to conjure when you’re trying to stop your arteries from gushing like a scarlet fountain.
His fingers dig into my arm, and we both go to our knees in a semblance of an embrace.
“Do you remember when you put me in that sarcophagus?” I whisper, caressing his face. “And I promised I would make you pay?”
“How… did you…?”
“Get free?” I purr. “I had a little help from an old friend.”
Malechus’s fingers snatch at the gossamer of my skirts. From the wheeze hissing between his ribs, it sounds like I might have hit a lung. Excellent. I slide the dirk free, and trail my bloody fingers over his lips.
“Shhh,” I whisper. “This won’t take long.”
Rage ignites in his eyes. He coughs blood. Definitely a lung.
I kiss him, painting the poison across his mouth—just in case he actually can heal the knife wound—and then I ease to my feet.
“I’d stay to watch, really I would, but I have a certain sleeping beauty to wake.” Grabbing a fistful of my skirts, careless of the bloody knife, I step over him as he slumps to the floor. “Do be a good little prince and die.”
I stalk out into the amphitheater just as Belladonna appears at the head of the aisle.
Perfect.
Her mouth drops open when she sees me and then her flowers fall at her feet. “Who are you?” she demands. Loudly. Half the guests crane their neck to look. “What is going on here?” Her gaze falls upon the dais, where half a dozen solemn fae stand around waiting. They took Mistmark elsewhere, sending desperately for a medic.
“Sorry, my lady.” I blow her a bloody kiss. “But I had a prior engagement with the groom.”
The entire hall falls into shocked silence as heads swing between the two of us.
“What’s going on here?” someone demands.
“Imposter!” Belladonna screeches, and I can’t help thinking she’s enjoying this a little too much.
With a wink, I throw myself into the crowd. Ladies screech as I trample through them, and someone calls out behind me, “Stop her! She’s an assassin!”
I don’t have my sister’s skill at parting shadows, but I have a
