Lady Smoke (Ash Princess Trilogy #2)(73)

The men who would demand proof of my virginity, slighted because I don’t trust them. I could laugh at the irony if I weren’t so angry.

“No slight intended, of course,” I say sweetly. “In the meantime, I would like to be able to visit Prinz S?ren in the dungeon at my leisure to ensure that he’s being treated fairly.”

King Etristo’s expression turns icy once more.

“My dear, now I am beginning to feel slighted by your lack of trust.”

I keep my smile pasted on. “Again, not my intention, Your Highness. But I do think it’s necessary for my peace of mind.”

King Etristo grits his teeth, but after what feels like an eternity, he nods. “Very well.”

I dip into a shallow curtsy before turning and walking out of the room, my Shadows at my heels.



* * *



—

Artemisia, Heron, Blaise, and I barely have time to settle back into my room before Dragonsbane thunders in, her expression a storm cloud. For a moment, I think she’s angry about S?ren being arrested, but of course that’s ridiculous. If she had her way, he’d still be in the brig of the Smoke.

“You shouldn’t seek an audience with the King without me present,” she snaps. “Do you have any idea how foolish you’ve made yourself look?”

I let the venom in her voice roll off my back.

“The King arrested my advisor and I handled it,” I say coolly. “I daresay I got further than you would have, since you do little more than jump when he tells you to.”

She reels back as though she’s been slapped. For a moment she looks like she wants to skin me alive right here, but I hold my ground.

“I have Astrea’s best interests at heart,” she tells me. “And it is in Astrea’s best interests not to insult the most powerful ally we have.”

I can’t help but snort. “He isn’t an ally,” I say. “If he was, he would give us troops himself. He merely sides with whoever can get him the most money. If the Kaiser was willing to pay enough, he’d turn on us in an instant. Right now, my marriage dowry is worth more, so I have some power. I’m going to use that as best I can, and if you don’t do the same, you’re the fool.”

“Theo,” Artemisia whispers, a warning I don’t heed.

Dragonsbane’s eyes are full of ice-cold fury. “Leave us,” she says to my Shadows, her voice barely louder than a hiss.

“We stay with the Queen,” Heron tells her firmly.

I meet Dragonsbane’s stare without flinching. I’d like nothing better than to keep my Shadows close right now, but I have a feeling what Dragonsbane has to say isn’t anything I want anyone else to hear.

“Go on,” I say. “This won’t take long.”

“Theo…,” Blaise cautions.

“Go,” I repeat.

My Shadows exchange wary looks, but they file out, leaving me alone with Dragonsbane. I would be lying if I said I didn’t fear her still, but I’m careful not to let it show—she can sense fear and she preys on it.

“The Kaiser made an attempt on my life,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “Here, where King Etristo promised me safety. A man is dead because he underestimated the Kaiser’s reach, and instead of looking for the Kaiser’s real agent, he’s arrested S?ren. Meanwhile, whoever actually gave that girl the poison is still out there, and it’s only a matter of time before they strike again. I’m not safe here.”

“No,” she says, voice level. “You aren’t safe here. But you don’t want to be safe.”

At that, I can’t hold back a laugh, but even I am surprised at how biting it comes out. “Are you saying I want to be murdered?”

Her expression remains placid. “I’m saying,” she says slowly, “that you want to be a queen, and that is not a safe role to play.”

“I don’t want to be a queen. I am a queen,” I correct her. “And that is a fact that you seem to forget unless you can use it to your advantage.”

Now it’s her turn to laugh. “Queen of a country that doesn’t exist anymore,” she says. “A queen without a crown, without a throne, without a coronation. What, exactly, do you imagine you’re queen of? Three silly subjects who follow you like a mother duck because a man told them you were special and they were silly enough to believe it?”

I stumble back a step, but she isn’t done.

“I’m trying to help you, but you’re too stubborn and self-important to understand that,” she says, her voice rising. “Gods, you’re just like your mother.”

It isn’t the first time someone’s said that to me, but it’s the first time it’s been an insult.

“Don’t talk about my mother!” I don’t realize I’ve shouted until I see the look of surprise on her face and her eyes dart warily to the door. “My mother was fifty times the person you are,” I continue, careful to keep my voice low.

She looks at me for a long moment before letting out a sharp bark of laughter and crossing to the wine cabinet. She spends a quiet moment picking out a bottle and uncorking it and pouring herself a glass, filled nearly to the brim. She takes a long swig, draining nearly a quarter of it, then looks back at me.