Queen Inés of the joint Kingdom of Pyrenee and Basilica.
They’d signed the papers making it so. She’d brought the dowry he’d requested—all those little glass vials clinking the whole way, until they were finally carried down the gangplank and handed to Domingu’s guards. She’d brought gold, too, but that was the least of it. Most important, she’d brought herself and her willingness to become Domingu’s sixth wife.
It was transactional, really. And no one objected. Not about the fact that they were technically related—after all, Domingu was related to most of the noble houses of the continent. Not about the fact that ink was barely dry on the disownment of Taillefer. Not about anything.
And now they both had twice the land, twice the army, twice the power. Even better, their new joint kingdom sandwiched both Ardenia and the most populous part of the Torrent. Any rebellion against the newest kingdom could be easily suffocated.
Dowager no more, the queen’s heart lifted. She had every player exactly where she wanted them.
And now Inés stood shoulder to shoulder with her new husband on a dais in the great hall of Basilica’s onyx jewel of a castle, the Aragonesti. Swathed in a deep aubergine wedding dress embellished in gold and chocolate, Inés stood tall behind a great table dripping garlands of bougainvillea and stacked with summer bounty from both the sea and the land.
Scallops swimming in brown butter; fresh mangoes, fragrant and juicy; pheasants, roasted and brined; pickled pepper and red onion relish served with creamy avocados and pineapple rounds—no bananas as she did not want them browning and stinking up the spread. And, at each place, a gilded cup that had been filled with the famed white wine of the region—Traminer in all its sweet glory.
As the guests settled into the seats, Inés surveyed the scene. The kingdoms in attendance—Myrcell and the formerly separate but now joined parties of Pyrenee and Basilica—were grouped together in their previous alignments. In Domingu’s case, his ten children, some of their spouses, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, all sat together beyond the king’s left elbow. Her thread of the family web was sadly diminished, and few were left to invite. Guards of all three houses lined the hall—an equal number from Basilica and Pyrenee; many fewer from Myrcell.
The power in this room matched the sun above when it came to this continent. The absence of Ardenia and the Torrent did not matter, not when the majority stood together as one.
The queen’s cheeks warmed. Next to her, Domingu exuded a combination of secretive glee, amused condescension, and casual arrogance—fitting for one who had gambled and won so often that defeat was no longer a viable option, or even a consideration.
A sixth bride and more power than ever.
Of course he thought he’d won.
The queen smiled.
King Akil of Myrcell stood to give a toast, as planned. “Before we begin with this succulent meal, I would like to offer a toast to the man I consider to be my second father, and to his new, beautiful bride.” The young king’s smile sparkled across the distance, the brightest thing in the room.
Inés raised her glass high, catching eyes with Akil as she admired his handsome face from the dais. He had never seriously accepted her advances. That was too bad. Poor man.
“I will make my comments brief,” Akil continued. “Scallops are too precious to let cool before hitting our tongues.”
A few titters of laughter rolled around the room at the less-than-witty banter. Royalty and the sycophants who lived within its glow never missed a cue.
“What has happened here today is nothing less than historic in the vaunted tale of our continent—the joining of the outright rulers of two of our kingdoms. Though we mourn the unfortunate events that led to this moment—rest well, Prince Renard and Queen Nania—we must still celebrate and mark this unique situation, the first of its kind to occur in the history of the union of the Sand and Sky.” The young king raised his glass. “To the Kingdom of Pyrenee and Basilica! To the new Sand and Sky!”
“To the Kingdom of Pyrenee and Basilica! To the new Sand and Sky!” the crowd echoed, glasses held aloft. Royalty, noble guests, councilors, courtiers, and guards—Domingu had ensured that everyone would toast.
With a flourish, Akil finished his speech and took a long gulp of his wine. Domingu, too, drank from his preferred chalice—gilded metal in the shape of a bear paw. Ugly as sin. The king caught his latest wife’s eye and lowered his glass, sweet white wine glittering on his lips. “Inés, my dear, it is bad luck not to drink.”
The queen bared her teeth in a sweet smile. “I wouldn’t dare tempt fate.”
And, as Domingu started to respond, his queen tossed her full cup of wine directly in his face, aiming straight for his gaping mouth.
Herwine hit its mark.
The old king’s eyes went wide as he sputtered and coughed, instinctively trying to expel the liquid. A roar went up as everyone in the hall struggled to make sense of what their eyes had witnessed. Queen Inés further confused the narrative by cupping Domingu’s chin, smiling into his eyes, and leaning close to whisper in his ear. “Did you really believe I would be so stupid as to fulfill your request for Taillefer’s effects without investigating them first? Did you really think I would drink thispoisoned wineand die quietly? That I would let you murder me asyou killed Sendoa?”
Just then King Akil coughed violently, choking and sputtering. Theattention in the hall now turned to Akil—his handsome face blank, lips flecked with white foam—as his wife, Sumira, screamed in horror. The young king dropped like a stone, smacking his skull on the edge of the table and into his wife’s lap. Blood pooled into her pale green dress as she fainted.
Domingu was next, the king’s bear paw chalice falling from his fingers as his free hand clutched at his throat. Inés did not release Domingu’s chin as he thrashed, words burbling up through the white foam on his lips. “No…”
“Yes.”
The queen tightened her grip. Looked him right in the eye. “You must have thought yourself safe. That I neededyoufor my plan to work—just as you needed me all those years ago. That I would have been comfortable living in fear of your older children, who waited so long to rule but never would if I gave birth to an heir to our joined throne. But I am no stranger to contingency. As it turns out, thanks to yourobviousplot, I do not need a man for my plans or to rule.”
As Inés spoke, the effects of the poisoned wine cascaded in waves around the hall—bodies falling, horrified screams, a rush toward the barred doors.
The queen released her grasp on her second husband and long-ago mentor, and his body fell limp against the banquette. She nodded to the guards in Pyrenee uniforms who stood stationed behind the set of tables where Domingu’s kin were stirring in panic.
