A Queen of Thieves & Chaos (Fate & Flame, #3)

“The armory.” A slow smile stretches across Zander’s lips. “There is more than enough to outfit them with helms, shields, and weaponry. It should buy us enough time with confusion. Good idea. Will they agree to this, Kienen?”

Kienen’s lips press. “If Her Highness orders it, so it shall be done.”

Zander turns to Telor. “What say you? Are you with us? Will you help us save Islor?”

Finally, he sighs. “If there is a battle to be fought at the rift, you know I will be there.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN




ATTICUS


I can’t recall the last time I was in the Goat’s Knoll this early. It’s filled with shadows, empty save for two couples in booths across the room. The air reeks of last night’s ale, making this dull ache in my head all the more potent.

“Where might I find the owner?”

“At this hour? You may not find her.” The hostess manning the door keeps her focus on the green leaves she hand-stitches into a corset.

“That is some talent you have there.” I set three gold coins on the wooden counter.

She blinks at them, but then returns to her work. “My lady does not wish to be disturbed before she comes down for the evening.”

I can sense her heartbeat racing with want. Bexley treats her mortals well, but this pretty young blond could sew a hundred gowns and never receive such payment. “Your lady.” So, Bexley is upstairs in her apartment. Perfect. I lean over the counter on my elbows, dropping my voice. “I don’t recall granting Bexley land or title in my realm, and my father and brother certainly did not.” How Bexley ever secured a prime business establishment like this one on Port Street, I’ve never cared to ask. I know little about the tavern owner, besides what I’ve had my mouth and hands on from time to time. Those parts, I know very well.

Finally, the servant’s eyes flip to mine and widen. And then widen more. “I … Your Highness?” She moves to put her work down, but I set my hand atop hers.

“No need for formalities. In fact, I’d prefer discretion.” It’s why I used the passageways behind the walls to leave the castle, why I donned my leathers and hid within my deep cowl.

Her head bobs, her breath shaky.

“It’s been a while.” I can’t recall her name, or how she tasted, but I do remember her pale green irises. “How are you?”

“I didn’t know you were … you that night.” Her cheeks flush a scarlet red.

“I wasn’t me that night.” I wasn’t the prince or the commander either. I was just an elven male looking for a release after my parents had been murdered and I had been duped. “Thank you for the information. I will ensure she does not punish you.” I set another two coins on the others. “And this is to ensure my visit here is never confirmed, nor discussed.”

She nods furtively.

I stroll past and up the creaky stairs.

The hall is narrow and dark and smells of rose petals, much like Bexley’s skin often does. I skip the doors to the left and right—an office and storage, and rooms for her most prized servants—and aim for the wooden door straight ahead, rapping my knuckles against it.

There’s a lengthy pause and then a sharp, “Who disturbs me?”

“Your favorite king.”

Another pause and then, “Enter.”

The inside of Bexley’s suite is as dark as the tavern below it, even with windows that reach to the ceilings. It’s all one room in moody grays and deep greens and hints of gold, with a sitting area in the center and her bed to the right. There’s no kitchen to speak of, but I imagine there’s one in the back downstairs. Bexley isn’t the type to stir a pot herself.

A gilded mirror on the wall casts my reflection as I approach the cast iron bathtub that faces a window overlooking the street below. Bexley rests within it, her back to me, her strawberry-blond hair pinned on top of her head. A curl of smoke rises from the pipe within her grip. “The king himself in my suite. What ever could you be looking for?”

I settle into the velvet green chaise beside the bath, giving me a clear look at her naked body that she does not attempt to cover.

She’s as beautiful and tempting as ever, her sleek limbs and ample feminine curves on display. But the dark circles under her eyes betray her calm. Bexley is tired, a rare sight, and one that suggests she hasn’t been feeding either.

She brings the pipe to her full lips and sucks on the end.

I inhale. “Sage and lavender.” Common herbs for sore joints. I wonder if it would help with my headache. “What ails you?”

“Life,” she croaks between an exhale, her red lips parting. “And all these fools at my doorstep as of late, issuing thin threats and empty promises in exchange for information.”

I adopt a lazy posture, my arm slung over the back of the chair, my thighs splayed, as if I’m unbothered. So she’s figured out why I’m here. I would expect no less. “And tell me again, which fools have visited you? Lord Spire of Fernhoth, you mentioned? Lord Danthrin of Freywich, Lord Adley …”

Her eyes narrow as she regards me, their violet color a richer shade than normal. “I would never meet with someone as insignificant as Danthrin.”

But Spire, she’s met, Rhodes already confirmed. Adley was a guess that she hasn’t denied, and that’s not a slip. Bexley never gives up information accidentally. She wants me to know.

“My skin felt oily after five minutes with that Kettling lord. Reminded me why I left that city in the first place.”

“You know, I was just thinking the other day … how well do we know each other?”

She bends her legs and lets her thighs fall apart. “Well enough that I can already feel the shudder you will make as you come.”

I smile at the taunt. “I realized how little else I know of you. For example, when did you live in Kettling?”

“Now you ask these things, after all this time.” She brings her pipe to her mouth again. A stall tactic to decide how to answer. “Many years ago.”

“And how long have you lived in Cirilea?”

“Too many years,” she says between a puff, her legs sliding back into a more discreet position. “How fare the wedding preparations?”

Steering the conversation away. I’ll allow it for now. “Dreadful.”

Her throaty laughter fills her apartment. “I thought you were smarter than to put Lady Saoirse on the throne beside you.”

“It’s almost as stupid as allowing her into my bed,” I drawl.

“And you believe this union will give you an advantage?”

“I believe it will give me my only advantage,” I admit. “I’m doing what I can to keep Islor together.”

She studies me through a shrewd gaze for several long moments. “The only one with the advantage here is Adley. You must not go through with the engagement, Atticus.”

“I will lose the east’s support if I don’t.”

“You do not have it, even with the union.”

“Is that a fact?” This is the first time Bexley has ever warned me so brazenly about anything. I have to assume she knows something.

“I never offer facts. And do not suggest bringing me forward to name names in your silly little court.”

“I would not dare. Who am I, but the king?” I mock.