The Warlord’s smile twisted. “After Talmage killed your regal black wolf friends, burned their castle to ash, and christened the Torrent on the backs of the citizenry withyoursupport?” He did not reply. This only sparked amusement on the Warlord’s face. “Jericho Talmage needed a recess. And thus he retired.”
“Retired?”
“Oh, was that not what he was supposed to do?” She punctuated her false surprise with a coquettish laugh. “Ah, yes, your handshake agreement—you would support him in felling the Otxoa, and then within a few years’ time you would relieve him of the burden of leading and rescue the Torrent for yourself, bringing the headless nation into the fold to expand Ardenia’s borders and influence. Yes?”
The Warrior King did not deny it.
“And this was supposed to be that meeting. You are seven years too late for Talmage. Therefore, you get me.” She reached up to pat his colorless cheek. “Lucky you.”
Sendoa’s molars ground together as he inhaled thinly through his nose, watching this woman who was not the one he married. No, the teenage bride he’d wed had been demure, quiet, solemn—their arranged marriage always seemed to be much more of a duty to her than to him.
“Do not put this solely on me. There would be no Torrent without you,before all this.” He gestured to the silken drape of her deep blue gown and matching scarf used to cover her face. “Or has power made you completely forget what it was like to be a teenage girl, betrothed to a man whom you’d been ordered to kill?”
Geneva inhaled deeply, her firelit eyes skipping away. There was no way she’d forgotten—no matter who she was now or how many years stood between them then.
The plan was pure Domingu. Installing his kin within the walls of each castle, awaiting instruction. He’d handpicked from his brood those who had the best potential. The right age for a possible match. The right temperament. Deep within the Aragonesti, he gave each one the right training, without the knowledge of their parents, siblings, minders.
Then he waited for the right timing.
To place one child in each castle.
Years between them, and each of their doorways into another kingdom different.
An arranged marriage—Ardenia, Pyrenee.
A governess for the dowager and her lonely son—Myrcell.
An unplanned death, and, later, another suggested match—Torrence.
And, once everyone was in place and no one was prepared: Mass, coordinated regicide. Kingdoms taken by force by a man who’d taken everything that way.
Domingu had managed to keep it from being too obvious—rather than being the father-in-law to the entire continent, he simply used the most unobtrusive means.
Sixteen-year-old Geneva had laid it all out to Sendoa on their wedding night. Crying in her chambers. Insisting it was best the king did not see her, know her, spend any time alone with her.
And so Sendoa did what he must.
He told his closest friend first—Lotyoa, whose brother was betrothed to one of Domingu’s more distant kin. But Lotyoa didn’t believe such a thing could happen and didn’t want to, joyfully awaiting the arrival of his second child.
Dowager Queen Tiya was too lonely to listen.
And Louis-David was too smitten with his wife’s bosom to care.
“I was the messenger, but you wielded the knife. You supported Talmage. You murdered the royal family.”
“That was not his order. He was to disrupt—”
“You cannot give orders to those whose knees do not bend to you.”Her teeth were bared. “And no matter your regrets, that is what happened. The rebellion you sparked burned yourdear friendand his kingdom to ash. And though Talmage went too far, you and your fearsome army did not ride in to avenge Lotyoa’s murder because,what? The goal was still achieved? Domingu’s plans of coordinated regicide passed as his fear of a similar people’s rebellion crept in. And so you let the Warlord reign untouched, using that fear to keep the most dangerous person on the continent in check. Funny how little lives are worth when they pay for your success.”
There was no defense. It was true.
Once death had taken the Otxoa, the strategy was to keep Domingu from striking until it was time to claim the Torrent for his own. And one day give it to the boy whom he’d hidden in his stables in the chaos. Cushioned with a new name, lies, and love from those who knew the truth.
But giving Torrence back to him would be much more difficult without the Torrent in his possession until the boy came of age. He’d never told Geneva of Luca’s true identity. Not once. Not even after Amarande’s birth and the connection they’d made in that. And yet she’d inserted herself in his reformed plan anyway.
And so the Warlord’s lips quirked smugly. Unaware of Sendoa’s end game. Not power for himself, but putting things as right as he could after as wrong as they went.
“You see,” she said, confident that she held the upper hand. “You came here to execute a deal you made with a man who is no longer here. He entrusted the title of Warlord to his second-in-command—a woman, much likeyour own.” Of course she knew—he’d always suspected. Still, he said nothing. “And then she entrusted it to me. He told her everything of course, and she told me. But that knowledge does not bind me to the original deal, does it?”
