The Fiery Crown Read online

  “Is that what that outfit is meant to be?” Con raised his brows dubiously, looking Ambrose up and down. “I thought maybe a night sky puked on you.”

  Behind me, Sondra snickered and Kara cleared his throat. Lord Dearsley, who’d been my father’s adviser before me, and was easily three times my age, looked pained at Con’s coarseness. Ambrose only cocked his head at Con, his raven familiar echoing the gesture with uncanny similarity. “Such petulance. I pity Queen Euthalia in having to deal with you. Lady Sondra, General Kara, I believe we’re not wanted.”

  At last. Though Sondra and Kara didn’t move until Con dipped his chin in permission. I wouldn’t let their fealty to Con first and foremost annoy me. Much.

  “What are Your wishes for me, Your Highness?” Dearsley inquired, bowing to me with pointedly elegant manners.

  “Please see to any of the petitions that don’t need My personal attention.” The ones that did … who knew when I’d get to them? Every day I seemed to fall further behind. The grind of the intensifying nightmares and fretting about Anure’s retaliation, on top of dealing with Con, made me inefficient and weary. Dearsley bowed again, more deeply than he had to, making a further point of showing respect, and departed.

  “Walk with Me, Conrí,” I said, moving away from the many hiding places of the dense flower beds and hedge mazes, and out to a semi-enclosed folly on the cliff overlooking the sea. With a short grass meadow all around, at least no one could hide close enough to overhear, and the surf against the rocks made for a decent noise screen. Con strode beside me, scanning the area in his hypervigilant style, ever ready for the least hint of danger. It irritated me. He was the enemy who’d come to my island, cornered me, and manipulated me into this marriage. Effectively he’d conquered me and Calanthe both. I tried not to let that stick in my craw, as we were supposed to be allies now, but I couldn’t so easily forget who posed the most immediate danger to everything I’d built and tried to protect. Con had a different agenda, and I harbored no illusions that he’d sacrifice Calanthe to get what he wanted.

  “I don’t think Anure will leap out of the bushes to attack,” I said, more tartly than I’d intended.

  “Forgive me if I take your safety seriously,” he retorted. “I recall making vows to protect you.”

  I bit back a sigh, regretting my words, and my resentment. No matter how we’d begun, the two of us needed to find ways to agree, not argue. Besides, I was the jumpy one, feeling the press of the dread future and Anure’s hot breath on the back of my neck. That had been true long before I even knew Con existed. “Thank you for that. Though My gardens are quite safe.” I said it to reassure myself as much as him.

  Con glanced down at me, a brow quirked meaningfully. “No venomous snakes in paradise, then?”

  “Just Me,” I replied. “I apologize for taking out My anger on you—and for My misstep in handing you the letter to read. I truly forgot. I did not intend to embarrass you.” Not for his inability to read, anyway. I’d wanted to call him out for his absence in court, for all the ways he’d turned my life and rule upside down. I didn’t often misfire that way. Except that I’d done it more often with Con than ever before. I had no idea what to make of that.

  “I have thick skin,” he replied, his rough voice softer. We entered the folly, and he turned to face me, gaze going to my mouth. “It wasn’t your fault—I should’ve said something.” He paused, an odd expression on his face as he stared at me. “You look nice today,” he said, as if that explained something.

  I raised one brow at the non sequitur. “How poetic.”

  “Yeah.” He snorted at himself, then frowned, thinking. “I mean, you look … gorgeous. And dangerous. Seeing you walk down that path, so beautiful and sexual—it made me stupid.”

  Unexpectedly, my heart fluttered with pleasure, despite his less-than-elegant phrasing. I’d heard plenty of flowery phrases, and that sort of court flattery rolled off me. Con’s words struck me to the core, probably because he meant what he said. But I tried not to let him see how susceptible I could be to his compliments, how his heated attention melted the ice around my heart. I couldn’t afford to be vulnerable to him or anyone right now. I had to be cold, sharp, and strategic if I was to save Calanthe. No room for weakness.

  “Thank you,” I replied, sounding far too stiff. To mitigate it, I added, “I was in a mood when I dressed this morning.”

  “Some presentiment of this?” he asked, holding up the missive from Anure. Not an idle question, either. Con was consumed with curiosity about my magic and nature—and I had yet to decide how much to tell him. My father would’ve said to tell Con nothing at all, that I had no reason to trust this man who cared nothing for Calanthe. A man who might use my secrets against me, if it served his revenge. Still, it hardly seemed like a workable plan to keep him in the dark with all we faced. Trust him or not?

  I didn’t know, so I said as little as possible.

  Besides that, I didn’t like to give voice to the forewarnings of death and destruction that plagued me nightly. The nightmares had gotten worse in the last few days, and that was saying something, as I’d already found them nearly unbearable. Then I’d begun to see omens of my own death in them, and that would be enough to unsettle anyone.

  Con didn’t know about the nightmares, and I intended to keep it that way. Something about the crashing and abandoned passion of sex with Con made our mornings-after strangely intimate. I was vulnerable in those moments before I’d armored myself for the day, my soft underbelly painfully exposed.

  Con didn’t seem to notice the effects of the dreams’ tumult. I must sleep peacefully enough, only shaken and drenched in a cold sweat when I woke just before dawn. To keep him from noticing then, I’d established a routine to take advantage of the Morning Glory’s imminent arrival. My ladies woke Con early and immediately spirited him out of my bed. He left thinking me still asleep, which gave me time to steady myself in the dreamthink. In that calming state of neither sleeping nor waking, I could find my center again, and rebuild the careful walls of thick ice that protected me.

  If only I could banish the nightmares as easily as I ordered Con removed from my bed.

  “Lia?” Con was studying me, trying to discern what I couldn’t afford for him to see. “Is it only the letter, or is something else wrong—what aren’t you telling me?”

  “Isn’t the letter enough?” So perceptive, Ejarat take the man. “Nothing else is wrong,” I added. A mistake, as he looked even more unconvinced, so I shrugged, deliberately raising my breasts in order to distract him.

  Sure enough, his gaze went to my bosom and rose again to my mouth. He seemed to consider a moment, then tossed the letter onto the nearby bench. Facing me, he settled his hands on my waist, his grip firm and nearly encircling me, the heat burning through my gown. He studied my lips. “I’d kiss you but that stuff on your lips looks poisonous as any snake.”

  “While I’m sure you’d be charming with your masculine beauty highlighted here and there with a bit of color, I don’t think this look would work smeared on your mouth.” I’d meant to take control of this exchange, to be lightly taunting, but I’d gone breathless from the moment he touched me. The corset bones bit into my ribs as I reached for a deeper breath, my breasts feeling as if they swelled in the tight confines, my nipples peaking. “Don’t look at Me like that, Con.”

  Dammit, I’d meant to chastise him, not make a breathless plea.

  “Like this?” He took his time scanning me, that fulminous gaze wandering over me, his smile lazy and full of hunger. His eyes came back to mine still seeking to penetrate my masks. From the beginning he’d been able to see through me far too well. I was fighting a losing battle, trying to keep him at a comfortable emotional distance. Just as I’d lost the battle to get him off Calanthe. And now, here we were, dancing this high-stakes waltz together.

  I returned the scrutiny, studying the strong-boned face, the eyes that should be brown but looked gold in most lights, the thick black
brows and pitted skin. He wore his hair long and loose as usual, but it failed to soften him in the least. He looked dangerous, too, and sensual—and like he wanted to eat me alive. Ejarat help me, I was no longer just teasing him, but had grown warm with my own need. Tempting, to forget everything but wanting him. Something else I couldn’t afford to do.

  He shifted one big hand to the small of my back, and raised the fingers of the other to my throat, laying them on the pulse there. My heart thudded hard, so he no doubt felt it. “So lovely and cool on the surface,” he murmured. He trailed his rough, callused fingers down my throat, then traced the upper curve of my breast beneath the lace ruff where the fabric met skin. “And volcanic beneath.” A shiver ran through me, and he watched my face intently. “Are you angry or are you more—”

  “Oh, I’m angry.” No way I’d let him finish that question.

  “At me—or at Anure?”

  “It can be both,” I tried to snap.

  Making a tsking sound, he bent closer, lips grazing my ear. “I know I piss you off, but I’m not the villain Anure is.”

  “No, but you’re closer and you—” I broke off as his teeth closed on my ear in a nip that arrowed straight to my groin.

  “Not as close as I could be,” he replied in a soft, meaningful growl.

  “We have observers.”

  “I know.” His words had a cryptic edge that gave me pause.

  “What—” I gasped as his fingertip grazed my nipple beneath the bodice, then moaned when he pinched it. “Con…”

  “They can’t see this.” Watching my face still, he slid his hand deeper into the cup of fabric, cupping my breast, his palm rough on my swelling nipple, a hint of a smile on his lips at my reaction. I was hard-pressed not to move in or yank away. He was testing me in some way, perhaps the extent of my anger and his. I’d only ever known sex with my ladies, which had always been a kind of tending, full of soothing caresses and gentle pleasure.

  With Con, our fiery natures tended to fan the flames in the other. I wanted to rage at him in my fury, tear at him with my nails and teeth—and I wanted to cling to him, to take him inside of me and have him hold me safe from the world and Anure’s threats. A distressing discovery about myself, and yet another development I didn’t understand at all.

  “Not now,” I said, asserting control with a bit of desperation. I pulled away, collecting my thoughts and purpose again. He didn’t protest, only examined his fingers, rubbing them together.

  “I wondered how far down the makeup went,” he said with a smile that passed for charming with him.

  I gave him an incredulous look. “How can you flirt with Me at a time like this?” Never mind that I’d started it. But I’d done that to derail his line of questioning while he … Realization dawned. “You were deliberately distracting Me.”

  “You needed a moment to regroup.”

  When I only glowered, he continued. “In a pitched battle, even the best soldiers can lose perspective. They can get rattled, making emotional decisions instead of calculated ones. Taking a moment to regroup can tip that balance back.”

  Rattled. Struggling to regain the upper hand in the conversation—wondering how the hell I’d lost it—I reached for my usual icy reserve. “I am not one of your soldiers.”

  Tipping his head, he smiled slightly. “Fair enough.” He nodded at the letter, all business again. “What does the Imperial Toad have to say?”

  I snatched up the envelope, using the movement to adjust my bosom and make sure my dress covered me as intended, then flicked my nails to undo the intricate folds of the missive. It unfurled in my hands like a carnivorous blossom, but one gone gray from rot. Oddly enough, I felt better able to face it now. Which I would not give Con the satisfaction of admitting. I read aloud.

  Darling Wilted Flower of My Wounded Heart,

  Oh, My rosebud—or should I call you a crushed blossom? Used up, soiled, chewed, and devoured by the worst of dogs. I can only hope you suffer for betraying your vows, and with the one you promised to capture for Me, a traitor who dares call Me an upstart emperor of a false empire.

  I feel confident you have many regrets, given that cur you married, and in a whore’s gown. You’ll never cleanse yourself of his taint, of your own guilt and perfidy, and Yilkay will never welcome you into the afterlife. On the bright side, you won’t face the goddess’s judgment for many years to come, because once I lay my hands on you—and that will be sooner than you think, My ruined former fiancée—I’ll keep you alive and remind you hourly of how you hurt Me.

  I’ll purge you of your false loyalties by scouring your precious Calanthe until only bare rock remains. Then will you come back to live with Me, and you will give me what is Mine. Sooner than you think.

  You could have been an empress. Instead you’ll be skinned and shredded, then fed alive to my dogs.

  All My fury,

  His Imperial Majesty

  Proud of myself for making it all the way through the vicious words without pause or my voice quavering in the least, I cast the thing aside. It lay there on the colorful silk pillows of the bench, fluttering in the sea breeze. If I’d had a dagger on me, I might’ve impaled the paper with it.

  Con had begun idly pacing as I read and now stood, his back to me, hands folded behind him as he stared out at the sea. “He meant to frighten you,” he said at last.

  “Oh, do you think so?” I replied with hair-curling sarcasm.

  He turned at last and looked at me, a different expression on his face than I’d expected. Not pity for my weakness, but a kind of compassionate respect. “Yes,” he said simply. “More, I think he succeeded. There’s no shame in being afraid, Lia.”

  I took a breath to retort, reaching for my pride and anger to shore up my shell of reserve. But his grave concern undid me, and I hiccuped instead. To my horror—and, yes, shame at my weakness—a small sob wrenched out of me.

  “Here now.” In a few strides, he had his arms around me again, pulling me close against him. Nothing sexual in it this time, no teasing, only comfort. And so help me, I clung to that solid strength as if he could save me. I wouldn’t weep—my heart had long ago frozen too solid to allow for tears—but the emotions tore at me with claws of grief and rage and … fear. I was so afraid. And a queen couldn’t afford fear.

  “You’re not alone, Lia. Everything will be all right,” Con murmured. “I won’t let any of that happen.”

  “This is your fault,” I managed to say while clamping down on the sobs. And still I held on to him like he could keep me from being swept out to sea, though the coming storm was so much greater than either of us.

  “His Imperial Nastiness never sent you horrible letters before?” He sounded gently amused, rubbing his big hands up and down my back, strangely soothing.

  “Of course he did.” Oddly, I laughed. And it loosened the tightness in me. “And always awful.” But Tertulyn and I had read them together, mocking them like girls pretending Anure’s threats would never come to pass. Now Tertulyn had disappeared and I’d shared the letter with Con. This was the first time, I realized with a wave of disorientation, that anyone but she knew the things Anure wrote to me.

  Con hadn’t laughed. He’d understood how I felt, maybe even before I did.

  “It’s a horrifying letter. It got under my skin, and I’ve been through terrible things,” he replied, holding me against him with unaccustomed gentleness, as if I might break.

  “I shouldn’t have read it in court,” I said, admitting the error. “Normally, I read his letters in private.” With a glass of wine or a generous pour of brandy to ease the pain.

  “Why did you?”

  With a sigh, I pulled away, determined to stand on my own feet. Calanthe depended on me. If I allowed myself to lean on a man who didn’t care about Her, then She would fall with me if—when—he sacrificed us in his game of vengeance.

  Con had crushed the netting at my bosom and I straightened it, thinking of how to defend my actions. I’d bee
n in a foul mood, and seething with annoyance that Con refused to attend court, and furious with myself for even caring. It had also occurred to me that the missive might contain information I’d want to keep from Con. I didn’t doubt he’d use Calanthe as a tool to get to Anure. “The messenger who brought it said that—”

  “What messenger?” Con shot out the question, startling me. “Didn’t the letter come by bird?”

  “No. That style of envelope is too big for a bird to carry. The messenger came by ship from Yekpehr. He arrived just as court convened.”

  Con swore and strode to the edge of the folly, cupping one hand to focus his strained voice. “Kara!”

  General Kara popped out from behind a tree at the edge of the meadow. Con gave him a series of hand signals—and the man saluted and ran off.

  “What did you tell him?” I demanded. I hadn’t known they could use signals like that—or that Kara was there—and I didn’t like not knowing things. Add it to the list, a wry voice in my head suggested.

  Con faced me again, eyes glinting with anger. “I sent him to the harbor to investigate and make sure all is secure.”

  “You knew he was there.” No wonder he’d sounded cryptic, and knowing, when I warned him we had observers.

  “Of course,” Con growled. “You’re guarded by my people at all times.”

  “I have guards,” I pointed out with acid disdain.

  “You have pretty boys and girls in fancy uniforms better for looking good than deflecting weapons.”

  “And I have My ladies,” I added, “whom I seem to recall defeated you handily.”

  He curled his hands into fists, jaw tightening. “With magic.”

  “Well, yes.” I smirked at him. “Not all weapons are made of metal.”

  “Magic alone can’t protect you,” he ground out. “You admitted that.”

  No denying that, curse it, so I acknowledged the point with a curt nod.