Two Dark Reigns (Three Dark Crowns #3)(99)

“This is the right place.”

After a time, they fall asleep beside the fire. Even the bear. Before Arsinoe drifts off, she murmurs, “I’m here, Daphne.”

And Daphne is there as well, with something else to show her.

In the dream, Daphne stands before a mirror dressed all in black. The light from the candles is low, and she wears Queen Illiann’s veil over her face. She holds two cups, and behind her, in the reflection, Arsinoe sees Duke Branden, seated on a bed.

I know what is in his cup. Daphne, what are you doing?

“Illy, what is taking so long?” Brandon asks, and Daphne nearly spills the poison, her hands are shaking so badly.

They are in a room in the Volroy that Arsinoe has never seen before, and Daphne is dressed as the queen.

You’re taking it into your own hands. Luring him off somewhere quiet, to kill him. Is this how Henry became king-consort? Was it all you?

Impatient, Brandon rises and comes to wrap his arms around her waist. “We will be married soon.” Arsinoe’s skin crawls. “Could you not wait?”

Thankfully, Daphne twists out of his grasp. She steps quickly away and then turns, thrusting out the poisoned wine.

Well, that’s not at all obvious. And to think the Arrons make it look so easy.

Branden hesitates. This was a foolish plan. He must suspect her, with her strange silence and trembling wrist. But then he sighs and takes the cup.

“A moment alone together,” he says. “Before the ceremonies and the crowds.” He raises the cup to his lips, and Daphne and Arsinoe hold their breath.

“But that will be our life, I suppose,” he says without drinking. “Or rather, your life that I am party to. No one has explained my duties as king, after all. Am I to oversee the servants? Manage certain accounts to the crown? Or is my only function to get you with child? Except that is not attributed to me either. Whatever grows in your belly is the fruit of your . . . Goddess.”

At the last word, something changes in his tone, and he looks at her and smiles.

He knows.

“Your first mistake was refusing to touch me,” he says. “All Illiann does when we are alone is paw at me like a whore.”

“Don’t call her that! Don’t you ever call her that,” Daphne growls as he reaches out and yanks the veil from her face. But Branden does not respond. He simply sniffs the cup.

“Whatever it is it cannot be detected by scent. Far better than anything you Centrans could have crafted. So you must have gotten it from one of these heathens.”

He steps closer.

“What would it have done? Made me choke? Made blood pour from my eyes and nose?”

Daphne, run.

“Why don’t we find out?”

Daphne shouts as he grips the back of her head and pushes the cup to her lips. She claws at him as the poison splashes against her neck and chin, and she and Arsinoe fight together in panic. It is a strange sensation, being so afraid of the poison. But in Daphne’s body, Arsinoe may become the first poisoner to know what it feels like to die by it.

Is this what causes the war, then? Between the island and Salkades? Was it the murder of the queen’s dear friend?

Arsinoe searches Branden’s eyes and sees pure glee. Glee and something worse. Something near lust. The sight of it adds shame to her fear. An odd mix of shame and rage, that he would enjoy doing this to Daphne so much.

Inside the dream, Arsinoe twists and screams like she did before, trying to break it. She does not want to know. She does not want to live it. The cup that grinds against Daphne’s teeth grinds against Arsinoe’s. Branden’s hands around Daphne’s throat make it impossible for Arsinoe to breathe.

“You will drink it,” he barks into her face. “You will drink it in the end!” His long fingers pry her lips apart, and he tips the poison to her mouth.

“Get away from her!” The shout came in tandem from Henry’s and Illiann’s throats. Startled, Branden lets go, and Daphne falls to her knees. She drags a pitcher down from the bedside table and splashes water against her face and neck, flushing out her mouth and spitting onto the floor.

“Get away from her,” Illiann orders as Henry draws his sword.

“Are you going to allow them to treat me this way, Illy? I am your chosen king.”

“King-consort,” she corrects. “And perhaps you are not.”

“Illiann,” he says, his voice soft, cajoling. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand all,” she says. “I am the queen.” She folds her hands atop her skirt. “Lord Redville. Please escort the Duke of Bevanne down to the cells.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You cannot imprison me! I am not one of your subjects. My father and my cousin the king will never allow it.”

“I care not what the king of Salkades thinks of what I do on my island. Lord Redville, take him.”

Daphne and Arsinoe watch silently as Henry points his sword at Branden’s chest.

“Don’t struggle. It’ll be better.”

“Very well.” Branden lowers his head and steps past Henry, but at the last moment, reaches for the iron beside the fire. He spins and swings it, landing a glancing blow across Henry’s jaw.

Henry!

Blood runs from a deep cut, and Henry falls to the floor as Branden raises the iron over his head.