Damn him, Imogen cursed. He had foreseen this, had planned it even. Imogen had always known that he wanted the throne, but she’d always imagined that he would attempt to kill her for it. Instead, he had been moving his own pieces on his own board without her knowing.
“I cannot promise you this, Aengus. If there truly is a way for us to marry, I cannot do it now just after having taken the crown from Sloane. It is too soon.”
Slowly, he gave a nod. “Then, you must give me something else.”
“Aengus, I said that I will—”
“Your son.” He stood and thumbed the rapier at his belt. “He is the only threat.”
Startled, Imogen sat a little straighter in her chair. “I think not. He might not be pleased with my decision, but he has not even hinted at challenging me.”
“I’ve seen the look in his eyes. He wants the throne for himself. And if not him, then his future wife.”
Imogen narrowed her eyes. Thane had been insufferable as a boy, and she was not fond of his reputation for revelry. He still had much to learn. Choosing the Darragh girl as his betrothed had only highlighted his inexperience. Imogen truly believed that the kingdom was better off in her hands for the time being, but that did not mean she did not care for the boy.
He was her son. He was blood.
“Aengus, I warn you...”
Aengus let out a low laugh. “Now, see, you have given yourself away. You act as though you are as hard as the white stone that surrounds us. That nothing can make you break. Watching you all these years, I’ve learned how very wrong that is. He is your weakness. Prince Thane.”
Imogen’s hands clenched in her lap. “You leave my son out of this.”
“I’ve also spent years watching the lad. I know where he revels. I know where he goes alone and unguarded.” Aengus braced his hands on the table and leaned toward her. “I’ll accept that we cannot get married now, but I need something else. A position of great importance. One with power.”
Imogen seethed. He could not get away with this.
“It’s been you, hasn’t it? You’re the one sending the assassins after the girl.”
He laughed. “Unfortunately, I cannot take credit for that. I don’t care who the prince marries so long as I get what I want.”
Imogen stared at her former lover. Because yes, after this, she would never allow him to touch her again. Grinding her teeth, she stared into his eyes. He had played her in a way that no one else ever had. He would do anything for power, and she knew it. He would rip her world apart.
He would kill her son.
“Fine.” She punched the table, scattering the pieces once again. “You can have power. A place on the council.”
“I need better than that.”
“What then?”
But Imogen knew the answer to her question before she even asked it. Aengus wanted more than just a seat on her council. He wanted real power, the kind that he could taste. He wanted to be her right hand. The Grand Alderman. The second most powerful person in the entire realm. And then, if anything ever happened to her—and it would—he would be in the position to take her place. He’d found a way to sit on the throne himself, and this was it. And she would not be able to turn him down, for fear of what he would do to her only living child. Her son’s life was at risk, all because she’d welcomed the wrong male into her bed.
Aengus shot her a wicked smile. “Make me your Grand Alderman.”
31
Mariel
Mariel perched in the snow-sodden tree. She was halfway up its thick branches, and the sharp green leaves pierced her bare hands. To others, the yew was poisonous, but it had never done anything more than pierce her skin. A couple of droplets of blood fell, plonking onto the snow far beneath her.
No matter. The hooded figure scurrying through the Witchlight Woods was far enough ahead that she did not notice the splotches of red. Mariel squinted, watching the female’s hurried footsteps with keen eyes. She was heading further south, away from Tairngire and its surrounding mountains.
With a deep breath, Mariel leapt from her branch. Sun speared the trees, highlighting her route. She flew through the air, the icy air stinging her cheeks, the harsh wind whipping at her thick trousers. Her booted feet found surface on the next tree’s branch, and her fingers curled around a new set of sharp leaves.
Mariel had been keeping a very close eye on the happenings at Dalais Castle. The past few days had been a bustle of frenetic energy. Princess Reyna and that broody warrior had attempted to trap another would-be assassin. And she had smiled when Reyna had demonstrated enough competence for her plot to work.
Unfortunately, it seemed the would-be assassin was on the run now.
