Wicked Honey

Chapter 5 - Bitter Dawn

Chiara tosses her hair, defiant, lips opening with a retort—but the King cuts her off.

"Oh, no. There'll be no new bride waiting in the wings. I'll give you this little rebellion, for my love of you—but if I so much as think you've found yourself a back-up...that person is gone forever, do you hear me, daughter? Gone. And you'll be under room-arrest until your proper wedding."

Crossing her arms, Chiara gives a curt nod. "Fine. In fact, Papa, I'll promise to happily go along with anything and everything you plan for me in the event my wife should lose at any point in the Trials. But you must promise me not to interfere with her in any way, nor to illicit harm against her or to incite anyone else to do so."

Wiping at his eyes, the king extends a hand—and the threat in his smile is so much like his daughter's that for a moment I think I might throw up.

What the absolute Lutra-loving fuck is going on right now?

"It's a deal," he says, extending his meaty hand to the Heir Premier. "So long as you also swear you won't interfere with the trials or participants in any way yourself."

Smirking, she takes it. "I so swear."

Balling their clasped hands together for a moment, they release each other then beat the spot over their heart with their freed fist.

"Before the eyes of Lutra," says the King.

"And bound by Aijur's wrath," intones his heir.

Then she turns from him and takes my hand.

"Come, wife," she says. "Let me show you to our chambers."

~~~

"What the fuck just happened?"

I wrench my hand away from Chiara, whirling on her the instant the door to her suite closes behind the three of us. Though they're anything but, the words come out polite, almost sweet—my survival instincts and conditioning warring with my shock and incredulity.

Never let yourself appear undone or poorly affected by anything a noble says or does to you. Always be polite, always courteous. They have enough power over us as it is. Don't ever give them the satisfaction of shaking you. Don't ever give them an excuse for punishment or rebuke if you can help it.

I'm grateful for the clarity of my memory, that I can keep my father's words so close. But they haunt me, chide me, every time I defy them.

"Did you think I wouldn't recognize you, just because you changed your face? Traded your eye for a new tongue?"

I laugh. "I didn't even consider that you'd remember me at all. Of all the children you must have tormented—"

At that she laughs. "Oh yes, I was an awful little bitch, wasn't I? But no, I didn't have many other friends back then. Never have. Not real ones, anyway."

I can feel my eye go wide. "Is that what you thought? That we were friends? I had no choice but to put up with you. And how? How did you know it was me?"

Her expression twists before settling back into its usual smugness. "Your song's barely changed since last I saw you," she says. "And besides, I've a stronger Blessing than most. The things I can hear in a person's vitei would surprise you." Her lip quirks up.

"But don't worry, this is good for both of us. I can help you get your revenge. I can protect you, inform you. With me at your back, you have a much better chance of winning, of clearing your father's name....and of killing mine. You may even get away with it. And when it's all said and done, I'll abdicate the throne to my sister and we'll both be free."