But she wasshitat poisons. Absolute, complete shit.
It’d taken him a moment to work out just how she’d done it. But halfway down the stairs, the itch in his brain had relented.The drinks.There was nary a soul in the room who had not drunk something, even if it was just wine or tea. And he hadn’t missed the servers either—her mother’s usual staff weren’t quite sobrawny.His jaw ticked. Where she had met and hired men likethatwas a conversation for another day.
And then there was the obvious, that little moment in the privacy of the canopy, her prying Scarzan’s jaw open until he wasunhinged like a snake. Pouring liquid down his throat until he choked.
It’d been startling. And yet, the beast in him had pulled at his lips until there was a grin. He liked her like that. Dress ripped and a murderous expression on her face. It suited her. Besides, the man deserved it.
The scent of desperation had tainted the barely lit tent. He’d even heard a tooth crack when she’d slammed Scarzan’s jaws shut. His delicate flower had been ready to wrap around that man like a vine, squeezing until his lungs gave out.
He’d known she was going to dosomethingto cause a distraction. He hadn’t expected her to kill a man. The ordeal with Scarzan had blinded him, left him off-kilter enough to believe that had been her whole plan.
Topp’s stomach rolled and he swallowed against the poison’s leftover nausea. He was just grateful he’d barely touched his drink. Otherwise, he’d still be on the floor with the rest of those poor folks.
He paused at the bottom of the stairs that led to his rooms. That had been an oversight—to think the chaos inside the canopy had been her true plan. No, in hindsight, it was obvious those particular actions had been the fruit of desperation and likely to pay off the House for her blunders. Her usual calculated self had disappeared in her panic and rage. Her real plans were always…more.
Because Elysia Parker never did things by halves.
He’d corrected her on the main export of another kingdom once, and she’d spent the next twenty-four hours putting together a lecture on why he was wrong. One hour into her lecture, he’d thrown her on the bed, not caring which of them was right if only she’d stop talking about lumber and maple syrup.
He knew that to some, her actions would be despicable. She had just killed a man, after all. Well, she’d started the job, and he’d finished it. There wasn’t a shred of remorse in his heart.
Scarzan had assaulted her and now he wouldn’t assault anyone else. Simple.
Topp wasn’t sure he’d live long enough to have kids, but the idea of selling his own blood—heavy revulsion filled him at the thought. It was weak. And it was shameful.
Scarzan had sold his daughter not only in place of himself, as Elysia believed, but also to gain access to insider games and muscle. Topp hauled himself up another flight of stairs. Rumor had it that the deal with his daughter had backfired.
Either way, the man was a waste of perfectly good air.
The memory of his hands on Elysia’s neck was a fire in Topp’s blood. As if a small man like him could kill a woman like her. If she was nothing else, Elysia was scrappy. She would do anything, be anything to survive—to an extent that Topp was only now realizing.
The sight of Scarzan attacking her had been enough to blow his eyes out. Glowing and pupils dilated. And then he was moving. Destroying all evidence of her assassination.
In truth, it was hard to say what had really killed Scarzan first—the poison, or the death he had wished to bestow himself.
It was a rare moment that he was glad for his position. Most days the crown was unwanted, a nuisance really. But when he’d been thrown from Scarzan, hand bloody with bits of the man still stuck to his flesh—well, for once he’d been grateful. Grateful for the privilege and protection of his name and gender.
He’d pushed his father’s limits since the day he was born. Woods instead of ballrooms. Animals instead of politics. Hatchets instead of swords. Quiet when he should speak. And loud when he was supposed to remain silent. It wasn’t a smallthing to cut down a foreign diplomat in the middle of a party honoring his departure. Yet, here he was, free and clear.
Twice, his crown had saved his ass tonight. Because no matter how infuriating or backward their fathers’ interpretations of Scarzan’s actions were, he had been able to quell that nonsense with the simplest of words. She was his. And they could not say a word against her if he spoke in her favor.
Too many women fell on the swords of men because their words were not held as true.
Two more flights of stairs. Soot, he needed some water. His mouth tasted awful.
Jack Parker, though.His lip curled as if he might snarl. The man could spin money and trades out of thin air, but Topp saw the way he watched Elysia. There was always an off-putting blend of loathful vigilance and something that wanted to be love—but was not—in the air when Jack Parker was near his daughter. It made Topp’s skin crawl.
He didn’t know what went on between the two of them. For years, he had thought they were thick as thieves. At some point, he’d noticed a shift. A bitter reluctance whenever her father demanded her assistance. That her mask was never more flawless than when she was by Jack Parker’s side. He’d always assumed she’d come to him if it was something bad enough. But after tonight, he realized how much he must have missed over the years, caught up in his own problems and goals.
If Elysia’s response was any indication, this evening was far from the first time Jack Parker had laid hands on his daughter. Their normal, sickeningly sweet public interactions had dissolved like sugar in water, leaving a sticky cloud of vitriol and violence.
Topp rounded the bend, coming up to the last flight of stairs. To be clear, he was furious with her. She was brilliantandterrifying. Her actions and deceit made him want to shake somecold, hard sense into her bones. A relentless pain in his ass, that’s what she was—killing diplomats at parties and betting her own self away at pleasure houses.
Not to mention, it seemed like she was dead set on getting herself killed. Like she thought she was headed for the executioner’s block anyway, so she might as well go out with a bang. Guilt landed heavy in his chest, stopping his steps. That was likely his fault. And hewasgoing to talk to her.
Just as soon as she led him to the rebels.
Thenthey could clear the air. He’d tie her down if he had to, but he’d make it clear he had no intention of making her collateral damage. A dark voice in the back of his mind questioned this. If there was anything,anyonehe wouldn’t give up to achieve his ends. But he pushed it away.
