“Draven,” he supplied.
“I hope to meet with you again,” she murmured, setting a hand on his chest, a sapphire pressed between her palm and his tunic.
His lips twitched as he set his hand over hers when she pulled away, the sapphire now hidden in his own hand.
Dahlia ignored the scowling soldier and lifted the hem of her dress, turning her back to the retinue of men. The halflings stationed at the door lifted the gaudy tent fabric so she could step inside. She frowned for a second before schooling her expression. They looked familiar. Odd.
The dimness of the king’s space and the scent of sweet smoke wrapped around her.
Randa sat in anactualthrone at the back of the tent with two women sitting at his feet like hounds, collars and all. Half-dressed women lay on chaise lounges with pipes and glassesdangling from their fingers. A square table laden with drinks, food, and drugs sat squarely in the middle of the tent.
It was decadent debauchery.
This was what he’d been doing while his men died for his kingdom?
While they starved? More than one man looked thin and gaunt.
Randa smiled at her, and it made her stomach twist. It was the smile of a man who liked what he saw and was used to getting what he wanted. The grizzled soldier stepped inside, and the tent flaps sealed shut.
The soldier knelt. “I have secured your daughter, my liege.”
“I can see that, Lord Brandon. You have done well. Feel free to pick one of my gems for the night.”
“I could not,” Lord Brandon replied, his gaze still on the floor.
“Then leave me with my daughter and take these whores somewhere else while we catch up, would you?” Randa drawled, brushing his loose auburn hair out of his face.
The grizzled soldier hardly spared her a glance as he retreated, the flock of women following in his wake. Dahlia kept her cool façade in place as they filed out until no one was left but herself and the king.
He smiled and waved a hand at the nearest gaudy couch. “Why don’t you sit down,Daughter?”
“I am content where I am,Father.”
He laughed, swirling the contents of his wine before tossing it back. His gaze was slightly unfocused when he met her eyes. “What a surprise you are. Allium was sure you would be dead by now, but I knew you were special. I saw the hardness in your gaze. You are a survivor. My dear wife did not factor that into her plans.”
“This has gone on long enough,” she replied. “Let us find peace before it is too late.”
“Us?” he retorted, leaning forward on his gold throne. “You are nothing but a pawn with no power. The Loriians thought to sway me with my dear daughter, but they don’t know you to be the worthless fraud that you are. Do you really think you’re any better than the street rats in Florrant who think to challenge us?”
So the rumors were true. The Asteran people had risen against the monarchy.
He grinned, and it raised the hair at the back of her neck; it was the grin of a predator.
Stay sharp. Don’t let him distract you.
“Don’t worry, darling girl. I’ll make good use of you, and when I am done, I’ll send you back in pieces for your king to put back...”
A thin line of red formed along Randa’s throat. The king’s eyes bulged, and he clawed at his neck. Lia just stood there frozen in horror as the Asteran king slumped into his throne, dead.
Her body flashed hot and cold as the Giver stepped from behind the throne, the razor-sharp garrote hanging from his bloody fingers.
Not possible.
He leaned against the throne, an indulgent smile on his light blue face. “Hello, my sweet flower. What a pretty queen you make. Shall we make a bargain?”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Dahlia
