King of Battle and Blood (Adrian X Isolde #1)(92)

I would be content, if I were free to conjure spells and teach, but Vada says my gift is too powerful to waste. She puts too much faith in these would-be kings, men who say they should rule a kingdom because their blood is different, though they bleed red like the rest of us. She thinks they will use our magic to predict drought and famine, but my king—he has the heart of a conqueror.

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Today the king asked if the High Coven would support an invasion of Zenovia. I asked him how that would help his people, and when I did, he said I was here for my prophecy, not my opinion.

He does not understand that they are one and the same.

The High Coven did not agree to support the king in his wish to invade, and though I believe the right decision was made, I am filled with such dread for my present and future. King Dragos will murder me. I have foreseen it.

I shared this woman’s dread, and it kept me turning pages.

My days in this life are waning. I do not have the heart to tell Adrian.

Our love will damn this world.

I felt numb with shock. Suddenly, I could connect every instance when Adrian had spoken about the witches, defended their magic, talked of their wish for peace. He had done so with such reverence, and I had never considered that it had been because he loved one of them.

He had loved Yesenia.

It was not that I didn’t believe what Adrian said about High Coven. This did not change what I had learned—what Violeta had said or the accounts I’d read in the library from Dragos’s reign—but it hurt to know that I held the journal of Adrian’s lover. That she had written in these pages, that she had professed her love for him here, and that everything he was doing now—conquering my world—was still for her.

She was his world.

And if she was his world, what was I?

Once again, I found myself asking a question I hadn’t in a long time—why me?

I let the book fall from my hands, my shock leeching the color from my face as I struggled to reconcile this new information with how Adrian looked at me, with the words he had spoken to me. I had to reason that he could also care for me and love her, but why did that suddenly not feel like enough?

I thought I knew myself, but I didn’t. I’d once been Isolde, princess of Lara, a woman who could not be swayed by pretty words or a pretty face. A woman who would not marry and would rule just as well. Then I’d been betrayed by my people, and I’d come to rule a land of monsters—a sparrow among wolves indeed.

This Isolde, the queen of Revekka, had been blinded.

A knock at the door grounded me, and I bent to pick up the book.

“Are you ready, Isolde?” Ana asked as she opened the door, and then she paused. “What’s wrong?”

I could not recover enough to lie.

“I know about Yesenia,” I said, because I was certain she knew too. She was Adrian’s cousin, and she had existed just as long as he had.

“Isolde—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She just stared, and I shoved the book back into the drawer, along with my knives, shutting it so violently, it shook on its legs.

“It’s not what you think, Isolde.”

“Then what is it?” I snapped, looking at her. She was pale, and there was a moment when I felt terrible for bringing this upon her when Isla was at the forefront of her mind.

“Adrian cares for you.”

It was my turn to flinch. “I think he loves Yesenia.”

“You cannot be angry with him for avenging her death,” Ana said. “He watched her burn at the stake, and when he tried to fight, they whipped him. He almost died.”

A thickness gathered in my throat. I’d touched those scars, traced them with my own calloused fingers. They were raised and jagged, and they covered every inch of his skin.

“That night, he not only lost the love of his life, but he also lost his king. Adrian had been loyal to Dragos, a member of his Elite Guard.”

“He should have been more discerning then,” I said.

Ana looked devastated by my comment, and her distress hit me in the heart.

“You don’t know what it was like,” she said, her voice quivering. “We were all… None of us saw it coming.”

Yesenia had, which meant she had kept the knowledge from everyone, including Adrian.

I swallowed the pain and the anger that had gathered in my throat. “Ana—”

She shook her head, silencing me. “We will be late.”

She did not wait for me, and I did not blame her. I had been insensitive. She was right. I did not know what it was like to live during the Burning or the Dark Era, and I was not personally connected to anyone who had lost their lives. It was not for me to judge how someone should behave or what secrets they shared around something so traumatic.

Still, I was hurt. I could admit that to myself. And when I was hurt, I wanted to fight.

The great hall was once again packed, wall to wall. Mortals and vampires alike crowded around tables or huddled close together, making room for those who wished to dance. When I entered, someone began a chant.

“Long live the queen!”

It continued, and people bowed, though I could not help feeling like I was surrounded by enemies: people who felt Adrian was distracted by me, people who had expectations of me that I could not meet. I was a threat to everyone’s agenda.