Victoria twists in my grasp. “Youjustgot here.”
“It’s been twenty minutes,” Second says.
Victoria whips her face to the general of my army. “Not long enough, sir.”
I suppress a smirk.
“My apologies,” Second replies. “But I must get your queen to safety before sunrise.”
“Oh my gods, of course,” Victoria says, leaping from my lap.
“Language,” Ben scolds, and her cheeks flush. “Off to bed with you.”
She gives me a final curtsy. “Goodnight, my queen.”
“Goodnight, Victoria. Sweet dreams.”
She dashes away as I stand, and Emmanuel’s discerning gaze shifts from his deck—he always has one eye on his queen.
I jerk my chin, and he lays down his hand, the entire table groaning in response when he sweeps the pile of coins from the table into a pouch.
Emmanuel tosses Ben the coin purse. “Drinks and meals for the bar are on me tonight.”
Ben beams at my assassin. “They’ll be happy to hear it.”
“See you soon,” Em says, and we follow him out of the bar, every patron standing in honor as we leave.
Second lumbers into the carriage behind me. “Onward to Death, shall we?” he asks.
I grin. I always knew I’d love naming that stronghold for its intended purpose.
Castle Death holds the fence at our northern border, the one we share with Goreon.
“Onward to Death, my friend.”
Second’s palm bats the side of the carriage, and we jolt forward again.
There are three strongholds interspersed throughout my territory. Each castle represents the tenets of my command—Prosperity, Ruthlessness, and Death. Prosperity to those who obey the laws set to benefit all of us, ruthlessness to protect our kingdom, and death to those who challenge either of the first two. My main home is Prosperity because she’s lovely, and I like nice things.
Lost in thought, we stare out of the window as the landscape passes by. And after several hours, mist begins to crawl along the edge of thick pine trees, the forest growing dense the further north we travel into higher elevation and harsher climates.
Before the sun crests the horizon, we pull up to Castle Death in the whistling wind.
I open the carriage door with fervor and beeline for my second favorite place, which sings to the predator caged within me. The Gothic fortress, with gnarled vines draping its iron and stone façade, is the epitome of darkness.
The sunrise warning chimes from the towers of the stronghold as guards haul open the iron doors, the Night Kingdom crest embedded in the metal. I step into a hall of deep purple and black walls, strolling into Death as daylight breaks through the darkness outside.
Second drops his satchel on the floor, and Emmanuel sweeps past him, spinning in the foyer.
“I forget how much I miss this place until I’m here,” he says, staring at the ceiling, our wars illustrated in a moody, bloody mural down the long corridor leading to the throne room.
“Iknow,” Charlotte says, breezing past him in her trousers and coat.
I grin at her backside as she struts down the entry hall of Death. It’s rare to see Charlotte in anything other than her finest gowns.
I roll out my shoulders. “I need to rest,” I say and hoist my own case toward the royal rooms. We don’t keep steady staff at Castle Death, just guards. If we’re here, it’s for a reason, and we need warriors ready to fight, not staff to haul trunks full of gowns or dust the furniture.
After several stairwells, I step into my bedroom, pulling at the pins in my hair, and they quickly gather in my palm. I place them on the ebony dressing table and unsheathe the blade at my right thigh. I draw the other from my left and set my favorite daggers next to the hair pins.
