Blessed be the Wicked (Dark Maji #2) - Kel Carpenter Page 0,1
the newcomers—her pale lips curled into a brutal smile as she sat up.
“Yes,” she said. “And it looks like you’ve brought”—she paused, crinkling her nose in distaste—“uninvited guests.”
Axe grinned happily and plopped herself on the hard arm of the chair. “Just as you asked,” she said. “They’ve got quite the party too.”
“Do they?” The Queen said, taking them in.
Axe flashed her a bright smile and winked. Quinn blinked at the odd girl, not sure what to make of her.
“Lazarus Fierté,” Imogen started, pulling at Quinn’s attention. “Thorne of the mountains sent a hawk informing us of your impending arrival. We expected you, but not quite this soon.”
Lazarus stepped forward, crossing an arm over his chest, his hand over his heart.
“Queen Imogen,” he said with a respectful nod, before lowering his arm. “Yes, I’m afraid we had to move the timeline of our arrival.”
“I can see that.” Imogen tilted her head to the side and said nothing more as she waited.
“Thank you for allowing me an audience on such short notice. I know it is customary to request one in advance,” Lazarus continued, his voice exceedingly persuasive. The man could make a woman drink poison from his palm with a smile. Quinn admired that about him.
It took a certain ruthlessness to befriend an enemy and kill them with a grin.
Imogen sighed and crossed one leg over the other, her pale shirt bunching against the pile of cushions at her back. To the side, Axe smirked and watched the proceedings with curiosity. Quinn narrowed her eyes on the girl as Lazarus spoke once more.
“I’d like to request a private audience,” he said. “As the future king of Norcasta, it would be more prudent to discuss my proposal in a more . . .” Lazarus paused, scanning the throne room pointedly before finishing, “secluded setting.”
The Queen sighed and leaned her head back as if already tired of his presence. She flitted her attention from Lazarus to Draeven and onto Vaughn, where her only reaction was a slight narrowing of eyes, before settling on Quinn. Quinn stared back unflinching, regardless of propriety.
She could almost hear Lorraine’s terse voice telling her to mind her manners and show respect. Instead of annoying her, a sliver of worry crept inside as she thought about where Lorraine might be right now, and in what condition.
Quinn’s expression hardened with resolve, knowing that concern was for another time.
“Rather than your proposal,” Imogen said, “I’d like to know why there are several dozen men dressed in Ilvan colors lying dead just outside my city.”
“Madara—” Axe began, the girl’s eyes shooting to her mother’s with slight befuddlement.
Imogen raised her hand, stilling any further words from Axe. “Now, now, Tesora, let them answer my question.”
Axe frowned but backed off, and Quinn noted the interaction with interest.
“As heir to the Norcastan throne, I have made quite a few enemies for myself and my vassals,” Lazarus answered. “I apologize for the inconvenience, and I can assure you that the men lying dead outside these walls are no citizens of yours. They are nothing but mercenaries—hired to dispatch me and my party.”
“Hmmmm.” Quinn did not like the way the woman hummed. It was far too condescending for the alliance Lazarus wished to broker. “Yes, I have heard that Claudius had a new heir,” she said lightly. With a wave of her palm, she gestured for one of the servants standing to the side. The man stepped forward and held out a challis that she took from him. Drinking deep from the cup, Imogen sighed and licked the wine stain from her lips. “So,” she continued. “That must make you the dark prince?”
Quinn frowned. Lazarus’ lack of response, however, didn’t deter the Pirate Queen. She held her challis out and stared down at him. “As the dark prince,” she said, “you mean to tell me that you led criminals—imposters—to my doorstep?”
“They have been taken care of,” Lazarus replied.
Quinn recalled how vividly they’d been dealt with. She’d never forget the sounds of their bones snapping and their screams echoing out into the void. Something had changed in her that moment.
Because she’d never be able to go back now that she knew how much she craved it.
“Nevertheless,” Imogen said, “involving me and my people in your petty Norcastan squabbles before you have even been granted an audience is a serious offense, Lord Fierté.” Her voice came out hard and biting, a clear warning that she was not to be trifled with.