Drothiker

39.

The enormous doors behind Alpenstride and Azryle shut.

Vendrik watched as the color leeched from the human's face, leaving her paler than the morning sky, even as she disciplined her features into neutrality. Ryle remained impassive, shoulders and chin high, hands held behind, watching everything, missing nothing.

Alpenstride frowned. "Your desperation for me to accept this bargain is showing, Your Majesty."

Otsatyas above, annoying Azryle had been one thing, but speaking to the Enchanted Queen in such manner ... Vendrik had yet to decide whether the human was utterly foolish, or overly confident. He supposed the latter automatically resulted in the former.

Queen Felset simply said, "Don't let my desperation turn into something tortuous for you, foolish Grestel." There was no amusement today, only an intent to butcher in his queen's tone. Vendrik grimaced. "Or for my ripper."

At that, Alpenstride's fragile jaw began working. But the prince remained unbending beside the human.

The Duce of Tribes snickered. "You two have grown quite closer than any of us would have anticipated."

As if Deisn Rainfang's voice was a poison, Alpenstride's eyes grew lively with that irreverent ire he'd only witnessed directed towards Azryle before. "I'll let you know when I give a shit about just what you anticipate." Her voice was calm, deadly. Maycusen, perched on the throne arm beside Vendrik, bristled. Indeed, the position of the Duce of Tribes equaled to any ruler's. And Alpenstride's boldness ...

Human Wolf—no other title could have described Syrene Alpenstride more.

Vendrik felt power rising in Felset. "Prince."

Azryle seemed to have straightened, though he remained frozen.

"Why was the Duce of Tribes found tied in a slave's chamber?" Her voice was calm, gentle. But the demand in her tone was hostile.

Azryle only moved his lips when Alpenstride cut him off. "Why don't you ask her?" She crossed her arms, utterly calm. "Why was she in the woods hunting us, veering baeselk."

The sorceress hissed through her teeth. "I was sent by Her Majesty herself."

Alpenstride didn't spare her a second glance, her eyes were trained on Felset, confronting silently. "But is Her Majesty aware you have a passion for her assets?" A glance in Azryle's direction at that.

Rainfang bristled.

But Felset's mejest erupted.

Alpenstride fell to her knees the next moment, hand going to her straining neck. Vendrik could have sworn something passed over Azryle's face, but it was gone the next heartbeat.

The human's face grew scarlet, a few veins at her neck corded from the strain. Her hand went from clawing at her neck to clutching at her chest.

Queen Felset had closed her airway.

Moments passed, no one moved, no one blinked. Vendrik willed to look away, but Felset's hold had him watching as Alpenstride fell to her side, tears rolling down her eyes. Then—

"You're going to kill her," snapped Azryle. Snapped—at the queen who held his leash. Vendrik couldn't so much as blink to warn him.

"Ah." Was it fury, annoyance or amusement saturating Her Majesty's voice? Vendrik couldn't tell. "But shouldn't you be grateful—you never wanted a duel after all, Prince. As I recall, your words had been: I could use my time in countless better ways."