A day in Thescan turned into days, and though Frederick tried, he could not confirm where Arabella was being kept. By the fourth sunrise, despair began to weigh upon him with the heaviness of a boulder. He would have to go to the dungeons and see for himself if she was being kept there.
But Saebane had eyes everywhere.
The Hendlemark soldiers set up camp on the castle grounds and in the villages. Looking at their numbers, Frederick knew now that they would have never won. It had been foolish to ever try. But why they had so many numbers still made him shiver. And now Saebane and Rycard's undead army were in his kingdom, mingling with the living citizens of Thescan.
Many of the enemy soldiers would visit him throughout the day, bringing with them requests from Saebane, and none of them seemed right. Some of them had a smell so odious they would make Frederick's eyes water, many of them smiling absently as if they no longer had anything to lose. But as disturbing as they were, they were not the ones to worry about.
The prisoners from the Spiderweb were given free leave to roam about the castle halls, and they traveled in pairs wearing distinctive black-and-red leathers. When they saw Frederick they bowed with respect, many of them thanking him for his part in their freedom. And all of them were so polite, offering their assistance. They almost reminded him of the courteous vampyres he'd met at his birthday ball. But these things were criminals of the worst sort. All of them had a strength that far surpassed his own, and all of them reported directly to Saebane.
Gigantic spiders crawling through his castle halls ...
Frederick would have to find a way to squash them all.
But Urnald kept him busy all day, working hard to appease the Thescan generals. None of them were pleased by the new arrangements and they made their distaste abundantly clear. Urnald spent hours begging them to stay, and Frederick was forced to go with him to try to undo the damage already done. Not that he could bring himself to offer a word of help.
This was his father's grand plan. His father's fuck up. This would be for Urnald to sort through, and Frederick sat back and watched day after day as the generals gave them Hell.
Today would be no different, and already a fight had ensued, Urnald doing his best to soothe it.
"And what happens if we don't agree to this?" one general dared to ask. "What happens to us then?"
The others said nothing, merely waiting for the answer.
Saebane stepped forward but Urnald stuck his arm out, halting him. "Nothing happens to anyone. All right? Thescan will still be Thescan, but we need you now more than ever. We must work with the Hendlemark force as one. They are our allies now."
"You don't mean that at all, Urnald," Gweneth interrupted. "Why are you spouting such drivel? Frederick, surely you don't believe it."
No, he didn't, but he was finally sick of this, and he tasted the bitterness of his words to come. "The House of the Moon has taken the throne for the first time in two centuries. Yet you dare continue to waste my time with these petty squabbles?"
All the generals straightened.
"This is all your doing as much as it is ours," Frederick continued. "You are the ones who assisted Prince Urnald to usurp the Gentle King from the throne. I had no part in it—yet you dare question me? If there's some other king you prefer to serve, then I'm all ears. Have you forgotten your loyalty to the House of the Moon already?"
He turned his gaze upon each general and assessed them one by one. "I have things to do, and the tasks are endless, so if your allegiance no longer lies with my father—with me—then state it now so we may personally escort you to the dungeons and be done with it. I tire of days of this. Don't you all fucking tire of it?"
Gweneth watched him throughout it all, saying nothing but she didn't have to. Her eyes said everything: Frederick, you've gone mad.
And he had.
Night after night, he stayed in his seat by the empty fireplace of his room, glaring into the abyss. Thoughts of Arabella devoured every second until sunrise—wondering where she was, what had become of her, how he could find out. But with Hendlemark patrolling the castle and the Spiderweb in the shadows, he knew his every move was being watched.
His mind had been plagued with the thoughts of finding her when daylight warmed his hands. He'd been jarred from his thoughts, blinking down at the knife in his hand and the cuts on his arms. He didn't even remember drawing his knife to make them ...
Yes, he was going mad. Something had to be done. He needed to find her—but how?
How.
He looked at all the generals who had served him well with a sudden hatred that made him want to throw them all in jail. They were wasting too much of his time, and every second without knowing what had become of Arabella was beginning to crush him with the force of a planet.
"Remarkable," Saebane murmured. "Perhaps you are the right king after all."
"You are all dismissed," Frederick said hoarsely, the cuts on his wrists itching beneath his cuffs. "We will reconvene tomorrow. You will advise Urnald of your final alliances, and this will no longer be up for discussion from this day forth."
Without waiting for further word from anyone, Frederick turned and left, and he didn't have to look behind him to know Urnald and Saebane had followed.
"Absolutely incredible," Saebane said in an awed tone, joining his side.
"My son is a born leader," Urnald said proudly at his other side, making Frederick want to thrash him.
"What are we doing next?" Frederick asked, hoping that whatever Saebane wanted with him was done so he could sneak away to the dungeons as soon as possible.
But it would be heavily guarded by Saebane's soldiers when he made it down there. They might not grant him entry—even if he was the king of this place. He needed an excuse to go inside. A good one.
"We have one meeting left for the day, then ..." Saebane said. "Then we are to discuss what is to be done with the Gentle King."
The Gentle King. Frederick was so distracted that he hadn't even spared a thought for that bastard. But he was alive, and that needed to be rectified soon. "Then by all means. Let's get this meeting over with."
Saebane wended through the halls, leading the way to the part of the castle he'd made his own. Urnald occasionally filled the silence with menial conversation, and Saebane made all the polite responses while Frederick volunteered no remarks of his own.
After a while, Frederick realized—"We're heading toward the queen's quarters? Are we visiting with Queen Dorothea."
"No," Urnald said quietly.
Frederick paused. "What has happened to her?"
"She took her own life on the day the House of the Sun went down."
None of them said anything for the rest of the way. Frederick didn't know how to feel though he should have asked what had become of her sooner.
His mother's sister. His blood aunt.
Gone.
A proud woman. A vain woman. A woman he bitterly hated.
But she didn't deserve the end she met. An end his mother also met, both sisters given over to suicide. And Frederick wondered if Urnald even cared. Or was she a means to an end like everything else in his life. And did she die realizing that?
Rycard stood before the doors of the former queen's quarters.
"Has our guest arrived already?" Saebane asked.
Rycard gave a smile that seemed to make him cringe. "He's ready."
A man sat at the queen's round table, and the red light streaming through the stained glass revealed only fragments of his features. He appeared heavily bound in chains, a guard in every corner behind him.
They all arranged themselves around the table to sit before him, and a faint taste of bile tinged the back of Frederick's throat as he recognized who they'd joined.
Drognese Rathmore. The most dangerous criminal of the Spiderweb.
"Now, gentlemen," Saebane drawled, "surely our guest doesn't need to be restrained so gracelessly. I'm sure he won't hurt us." Saebane raised a brow in silent question.
Rathmore tilted his head, as though deciding something, then nodded.
"Marvelous," Saebane commented, and with a wave of his hands, all the chains vanished.
Rathmore groaned as he rolled his shoulders. "What is it you want?"
"Today I want us to talk freely," Saebane said. "Honestly."
"And what should we talk freely about?"
"First, some wine." Saebane gave the order to no one in particular, and within minutes they all had a goblet before them. Rycard—so stupid, so trusting of everything Saebane did—was first to take a sip. Urnald and Frederick left their goblets untouched.
"Let me be the first to introduce you to the kings of the new world—this is King Rycard of Hendlemark. And next to him is his brother-in-law, King Frederick of Thescan. Beside him is his father, the honorable Prince Urnald. And I am Saebane, son of the old gods, and I plan on ruling over the entire Star once I get to sip from the Chalice. Under my reign, this land shall know prosperity and unity once again."
All thought wiped from Frederick's head. So that was what Saebane wanted. He wanted to sip from the Chalice. And if he did that ... gaining more powers along with the ones he already had ...
He would be unstoppable.
Saebane smiled. "Naturally the other rulers will be resistant to these changes, but we will take their approval by force or else crown new rulers."
Rathmore raised a brow. "It's as simple as that?"
"It's as simple as that."
"And what do your plans have to do with me?"
Saebane leaned back into his seat and steepled his fingers. "They say you were one of the best royal advisers in history. King Wilhmen never lost a war. They say it was all because of you, Lord Rathmore."
Rathmore's lip twitched at the corner, no trace of that monster he was fabled to be on his person. He appeared so civilized. So normal. And that was what made him lethal. "You call me by my old title. No one has addressed me as a lord in centuries."
"It could be your current title if you want. The choice is yours today."
Rathmore rubbed his freed wrists, leaving them all to sit in silence for a while. "What are you offering me exactly, sir?"
"Yes," Frederick said, turning to Saebane. "Just what are you offering him?"
Rycard's lips twitched with a nervous smile, and Frederick itched to punch through his teeth. "Saebane's methods are unusual, but there is always a good reason. Just trust in him."
Saebane nodded. "Lord Rathmore, I am looking for an adviser. My own adviser. They say that you were invited to many courts and that you provided advice to many kings. A tactician. Strategist. Those who were smart enough to listen to you flourished. Those who didn't, perished. I would very much like to flourish in this new world, for I know little of it."
Rathmore raised a brow. "I know as much of it as you might."
"Your methods were flawless," Saebane insisted. "You and I will discover much in this new world. Together."
Rathmore considered his words. "Surely you've heard of my crimes."
So, he wouldn't even try to deny them. Arabella had been right. And too late, Frederick realized he was in the presence of an evil that might be worse than Rycard or Saebane. For men like them were ruled by power.
But men like Rathmore thrived on something else entirely. Something inhumane. And though Frederick knew he'd made a mistake, the gravity of that mistake was only beginning to make its weight felt.
A power-hungry force like Saebane aligning with one of the evilest men to act out of boredom and entitlement like Rathmore.
Yes, Frederick's mistake was about to cost people their lives.
Saebane leaned forward almost conspiratorially. "Consider your crimes pardoned."
"Why?"
"I want to see how your mind works. Maybe it doesn't work at all. Maybe I need someone whose approach is a touch unorthodox." Saebane conjured a ball of light-blue magic in his palm. "I need a strong court. A powerful statement. An untouchable reign. I need brilliant minds and I need fearless fighters. This is your opportunity to reclaim what you lost. I don't care if your crimes were real or false. Your results were real. Arabella said it herself."
Something unnerving shifted in Rathmore's eyes at the mention of Arabella. "She did, did she?"
"She did," Saebane said with a sincere nod. "I used my power to force the truth from her, and from her I learned that out of everyone in the Spiderweb, you have the most intelligent way of thinking. She told me you made kings and great rulers. That you had a vicious streak but that your plans were faultless. Flawless. I don't see a sadist and a strategist as mutually exclusive. I want both those things in one person. And I want you on my side."
Rathmore folded his arms.
"You could have whatever you want," Saebane said. "Wealth. Estates. Leisure to enjoy whatever past-times you like. You need only ask."
"The sun."
"The sun?"
"I am at a disadvantage being a vampyre. I cannot go out in the sun. But if you are a sorcerer, then surely you can help me bypass such a shortcoming."
"Indeed," Saebane drawled. "I can't have an advisor only available to me for half a day every day. Give me a day or two to figure out a spell, and then I can grant it to you. Anything else?"
"What about her?"
"Her?"
"Her," Rathmore repeated. "The Widow Queen. The others from the Spiderweb say you've taken her prisoner and hidden her away. If you've no use for her, why not just give her to me? I'll find uses."
"No," Frederick cut. "She is not on offer."
"Frederick," Urnald growled.
"He's right," Saebane said, glancing at Frederick. "I was her first husband, so she is still my current wife. She belongs to me." Amusement twisted his lips. "That being said, it doesn't mean I won't need to pass her around from time to time. She is a right vexing bitch with a rotten temperament. I won't always have the patience to teach her a lesson."
Saebane assessed Rathmore. "But I sympathize with your need to punish her, so I tell you what: if she does something to really fuck me off, I'll let you discipline her on my behalf. Your methods are said to be quite inspired, and vampyre resilience is a marvel to behold. Mar the skin and it grows right back."
Rathmore grinned, but it did not reach his eyes. "I'll just have to hope she fucks you off, then."
Rycard and Saebane laughed. Even Urnald forced a chuckle.
Frederick was ready to murder them all.
"But don't fret," Saebane continued. "I will provide you ample opportunities to get your hands wet should you accept my offer. You will never be bored. For whatever you wish to do to our enemies is of no consequence to me."
Rathmore tilted his head. "You would give me free rein over your enemies?"
"Our enemies," Saebane said. "But you are not to harm a citizen of our stark alliance. The rest, I give you free leave to handle. Enemies, conspirators, traitors, criminals—do what you wish. They deserve nothing more than what you're rumored to enjoy in those past-times of yours."
Frederick shook his head, and his father glared at him with warning. Be quiet.
"An adviser," Rathmore said slowly. "A right-hand position. A partnership with a king. It's a rather intimate thing you offer me. How can you even be sure that you can trust me?"
Saebane raised a brow. "Should I not trust you? Arabella said she had no memory of you betraying any king you've ever worked for. Just that you punished one when you didn't get what you deserved. You and I won't have that problem so long as we set the terms of our partnership early."
"This ..." He scratched his neck. "This seems too good to be true."
"I need what only you can do, Lord Rathmore," Saebane insisted. "I need someone to make my empire great. I need someone to put the fear into the hearts of all who oppose me. I can't do it on my own."
"I cannot be your only choice."
"No," Saebane agreed. "Others will come. But I want to try with you."
"And if I decline this generous offer?" Rathmore pressed.
Magic ignited within Saebane's eyes and hands. "Then it's time to say goodbye. Forever."
Rathmore stared at the blue glow that surrounded Saebane, silently analyzing him. "Are you very powerful, then?"
"My father was one of the old gods," Saebane said. "I am the closest thing to a god that walks this earth."
"Except for the Widow Queen."
Saebane drew back, all magic extinguishing from his body. "Yes. She is my match in every way."
Saebane's words gave Frederick pause, causing his body to tighten with awareness.
Match—mate.
Not all mates are good for one another, Arabella once said.
Was this creature—Saebane—a powerful sorcerer the mate to Arabella? Had fate been that cruel by bonding the pair of them together.
Rathmore sighed, bringing Frederick's mind back to the conversation. "Are we still talking freely?"
"I hope you and I always will be. So just ask what you want to ask. Nothing offends me."
Rathmore delayed, then finally he said, "They say you need only command it, and a man becomes your slave whether he wills it or not. Yet you came here and asked me to join you. You didn't command me to do it with your power. Why?"
Saebane gave him an assessing glance, the shadows of his face more prominent than ever. "I can control you physically. I can even force you to answer any question I desire. But I cannot force your will. I cannot make you want to help me. So, I don't want any assistance from you to be forced. It is easier for me to negotiate fair terms with you. And if you don't want to work with me, then you won't."
"It doesn't seem like much of a choice," Rathmore said with a smirk. "The alternative is death."
"Think about it," Saebane said. "Join me and reclaim your place in the world. There is power for the seizing and bloodshed for the letting. It would be a shame to let all your talents go to the grave."
Rathmore shrugged. "What is there to think about? I accept."
"I knew you would." Both men stood and shook hands. "Welcome to my court, Lord Rathmore."
"And what do I call you?" he asked. "Your Grace? Your Majesty?"
"No. Just call me by my name, for no other name will ever hold more power."
"Hear, hear," Rycard said, raising his goblet. "To Lord Rathmore."
"To Lord Rathmore," Urnald said softly, raising his own goblet.
All eyes turned to Frederick, and it took all his strength not to gnash his teeth, his entire body on fire with repulsion for the four men who shared this room with him. But he steadied his composure and reached for his goblet, raising it in a brief toast.
"To making kings," Rathmore murmured, his eyes never leaving Frederick, as though recognizing his adversary in the room.
Fredrick resisted the urge to drain the contents of his goblet in one swallow. "And to making enemies, My Lord."