If you may be walking to your eventual death with this marriage anyway, what does it matter if you speed it up?a wretched voice asked.
If Kadeesha had only herself to think about, she mightconsider listening to it. Maybe she’d successfully take out the self-styled high king who sought to own her, leave one less asshole darkening the continent of Nimani—or she’d at least die on her own terms while attempting the feat. But if she failed, which she likely would, considering the staggering power Rishaud wielded, then she would not be the only one to bear the consequences. Rishaud and her own father were monarchs of the Six Kingdoms, after all. Petty and vicious were standard traits for the lot. It meant if she crossed either, her treasured Nkita—including Leisha and Samira, who her father knew meant the world to her—would likely be made to pay for Kadeesha’s crimes simply to spite her. Worst, if she tried to kill Rishaud and failed, there was no way he’d let it go unanswered. There’d be no excuse Rishaud could allow Sylas to make and still save face with his own court and the other vassal kings when the news reached them. Even if Rishaud wasn’t a male who’d slaughter Sylas’s entire court in retribution merely to prove a point, the other monarchs would demand it regardless in order for Rishaud to keep his fearsome reputation intact and not seem weak—it was just the way of the fae. She couldn’t be the cause of something heinous befalling her people due to self-serving actions. So, Kadeesha sat on her throne, demure, quiet, and unobtrusive as Rishaud and Sylas reached over her to seal the finalized terms of her marriage contract with a handshake.
Chapter Two
MALACHI HAD ZERO PROBLEMS THIS MORNING. HEfloated amidst heaven, his cock between a pair of lush lips. Sure, he had endless court petitions to hear during the first half of this day. But his nobles, who eternally squabbled over nothing of true consequence, could wait an hour or so before he arrived at court to weigh in on their latest grievances. His companion, a curvy, dark-eyed beauty, had graciously woken Malachi up with a gift. Who was he to cut her good time short? Then there was the matter of the way she was currently rolling her tongue.
Yeah … he wasn’t emerging from his apartments anytime soon.
Of course, once he decided that, a knock came at his door. “Don’t stop,” he told his companion. “I’m engaged at present. Leave,” he called out to whoever was seeking him. There were only a handful of people it could be—no soul except one of his Cadre or immediate family would dare encroach on his personal quarters. When he spied the door of the adjoining sitting room swinging open, it unfortunately didn’t narrow the possibilities down. His Cadre—the five individuals who were like hissiblings, personal guard, and enforcers rolled into one—were as likely to ignore his wishes as his disrespectful cousin and auntie.
Malachi groaned when a male who bore his same dark brown coloring, soaring height, and much of his same chiseled facial features strolled into the sitting room. “What do you want, Trystin?” he asked his cousin. Trystin ignored the annoyance in his voice and walked casually into the bedroom.
Since Trystin was being an ass this morning, Malachi returned the pleasantries. He lay sprawled in bed and allowed his companion to continue what she was doing. He raised a pointed eyebrow at his cousin. “Never mind, don’t answer that. Since you’ve intruded, you can either join or get the fuck out.”
Trystin shot him the look that invitation deserved. He slid his hands into the pockets of his black tunic, unruffled. “Your attitude this morning wounds me, dear cousin. Especially seeing as how I came to be generous and deliver a warning that my mother, your terrifying auntie, is on a warpath. She’s on her way here to kick your ass this very second.” He jerked his head toward the woman who was leaning over Malachi in bed, Malachi’s hands tangled in her hair. “You should get rid of her—for her sake and yours.”
Malachi cursed, scrambling to a sitting position. “You’ve got to leave—” He didn’t get the full sentence out to the woman before Auntie Nychelle blew into his rooms. It was early enough that the slender braids she generally wore her hair in were wrapped up in a colorful silk headcap. She hadn’t even changed into a day gown yet either. Instead she was clothed in a floral silk robe and satin slippers. She must’ve woken up and come straight from her apartments to Malachi’s shortly afterward. Despite the rush, Nychelledidseem to have found the time to apply flawless maquillage, her mahogany cheeks perfectly bronzed, her eyeslined with black kohl paint, and her lips colored with a red stain. She walked into Malachi’s bedroom and paused at the foot of the bed, lips pursed like she’d sucked on the fruit of one of the luna bushes in the palace’s southern gardens. She narrowed a gaze at both Malachi and the woman in his bed. His companion had wisely scrambled off him when Nychelle entered and was currently covering her naked body with the fur blanket. Malachi was used to his auntie’s glowers that could cut a man down where he stood; he’d been receiving them since he was a young boy and hadn’t stopped getting them for one reason or another at twenty and six. But poor—he was near sure her name was Amandla—was receiving an infamous Nychelle glare for the first time. And his auntie sank all the power and authority that came with being an Ancient among faekind who’d lived for over ten centuries into the wordless lambasting.
Amandla yelped. “I—I—Forgive me, Queen Mother. I—” Amandla stammered.
“What’s your name, girl?” Nychelle snapped. “What cardinal bloodline do you belong to?” Nychelle turned to Malachi and hissed, “She is at least a noble of consequence with a great deal of power in her own right, yes? Celestials above, I swear. If you have abused your position and taken some servant or lower-born to bed, Malachizrien, I will relieve you of your precious jewels myself while you sit stupidly in that bed, nephew.”
“She is,” Malachi expressed quickly. “Amandla is a princess of Bloodline Niyarre. This is her first time visiting the court from our southern provinces. Her mother is the south’s Stone Warden.”
“My name is Arrenia, Queen Mother.” Malachi’s companion corrected his error, very unhelpfully.
Auntie Nychelle shook her head. She bent down and snatchedup the black gown that was near her feet. She tossed it at Arrenia. “Get dressed, dear, and go. I need to speak with my nephew.”
Arrenia stood, taking the fur blanket with her. She pulled the dress on over her head and had it mostly in place before allowing the blanket to fall from around her body. She righted the dress the rest of the way and fled the room. Malachi tugged the silk bedsheets over his lower half.
His auntie gave a little tut. “Be serious, boy. I helped raise you. I wiped your ass and bathed you, personally, for the first five years of your life alongside your mother.”
Malachi scowled—though he wasn’t surprised the old woman had veered wildly out of line. That was her usual operating mode.
Trystin snickered from where he leaned against the wall beside a crackling fireplace. Malachi shot his cousin, who was only a year his senior, a look that promised he would kick his ass later.
“Always resorting to violence is the mark of a brute,Malachizrien,” jeered Trystin, who used the obnoxiously elongated form of Malachi’s name simply because he knew Malachi loathed it. Trystin coolly adjusted one of the many silver rings etched with runes adorning his fingers, an act that fired back his own unspoken promise. Malachi’s cousin preferred honing his talents by scouring the great libraries of Nimani and other continents to accrue vast spellwork knowledge rather than making a battlefield or sparring yard his learning domain as Malachi did. That didn’t mean Trystin couldn’t hold his own in a fight. While Malachi knew hundreds of different ways to kill an enemy using raw physical strength or by shaping his void magic into a concrete weapon, Trystin knew as many ways to accomplish the task using some archaic rune or charm.
When they were striplings in their late teens, Malachi and Trystin had snuck out of the palace to visit a brothel for the first time without Nychelle knowing. Malachi also hadn’t made it known that the Apollyon Court’s crown prince was visiting the establishment. Some pricks had mistaken them for a pair of coddled, wealthy nobles. Malachi had then cut three of the would-be thieves down with a pair of void scimitars, and Trystin dropped the other two’s exsanguinated corpses at his feet without ever lifting a finger. Those bodies had looked like shriveled-up corn husks, brittle shells with nothing inside. Trystin’s skill with runes and spellwork, even as a stripling, was why he stood against the wall smug, unbothered by Malachi’s unsaid threat.
“Your spell casting will have to be quicker than my scimitars slicing your chest open,Trystinian,” Malachi informed his cousin.
Nychelle sucked her teeth. “I do not have the patience for either of your antics today.”
“How did I get drawn into your ire?” Trystin grumbled. “I haven’t done anything!”
She turned her icy glare on her son. “It happened when you inserted yourself into my intended business and tried to hurry here ahead of me to warn that one.” She stabbed a slim, stiletto-shaped nail at Malachi. Trystin might’ve been her born son, but Malachi was as much her child as his cousin. She was the only mother and father Malachi had known for the last nineteen years. His parents, the former sovereigns of the Apollyon Court, had been murdered in an attempted coup when he was seven. Nychelle, his mother’s twin, had killed the assassins who wrecked Malachi’s life before they could accomplish killing Malachi and wiping out his father’s line. His auntie had becomequeen regent after that, and Malachi had only ascended as king a year prior, when Nychelle had convinced the nobles comprising the cardinal bloodlines he was both of age and capable to take the reins. The transfer of power wasn’t complete yet, though. Many of the nobles were centuries old like his aunt and were having a hard time digesting Malachi steering the court at only twenty and six.
Nychelle stood before Malachi, massaging her eyes. “The cardinal bloodlines are aware of the way you cavort with their daughters without proposing marriage to a single one. They are growing insulted.”
Ah. So that’s what prompted this early morning visit. Malachi winced. Nychelle catching him with a princess of one of the cardinal bloodlines would garner him no leeway. “I’ll be more discreet—”
Auntie Nychelle held up a hand. “What it is time for you to do is cease being a whore. You’re growing too old for such behavior, and you’re king now, for Celestials’ sake. The nobles want a sovereign they can place faith in without worry. They want someone they can be sure will lead our people, protect our people, and ensure the longevity of the Apollyon Court. We may not be at formal war for the moment, but we both know our enemies only tolerate our existence. They’ve tried to eradicate our kind from Nimani before. They’ll start that agenda up again eventually.”
Malachi’s mood darkened. “Not while I wear the mantle of king. I’d love to see the Six Kingdoms try.” Especially given the fact that he had a score to settle with every monarch that ruled an elemental court and that prick Hyperion king himself: namely, that the seeds of the coup that had claimed his parents’ lives had been planted by those very sovereigns.
“Are you so confident about your position of strength?” Nychelle challenged, giving no quarter. “Because a king who does not have the utter allegiance, respect, and backing of his own nobles is a king who rules from a severely weak position.” Nychelle’s bald statement was like a dagger she’d thrust between his ribs.
