Chapter 143: 143. Court IV
Maisie
A wave of horror rolled through the crowd.
My blood was ice in my veins, but Soren didn’t break his cool stare or betray a shred of emotion as he said, "I’d be very careful of whatever accusations you throw next, aunt."
She cocked her head. It was in that same manner all the Blacks did, and when she spoke again, it was to the crowd. "Did you know Richter Adams was Silas Thorne?"
The choked gasps that went around the hall made me realize just how popular that name must have been around here. Where there had been hostility in the hall before, it was now replaced with hatred. And vengeance.
"Did you know Silas Thorne consorted with Margaret Hunt? He was her favorite because it was him who delivered the killing blow to your mother at her order."
My breath hitched.
Soren flinched. "That has nothing to do with Maisie—"
"It has everything to do with her, boy," the Queen said. "She has brainwashed you, wrapped you so tightly around her tiny fingers that you have not only abandoned your duties, but you have forgotten the sacrifices that were made to keep you alive. Your brothers I may forgive for this little act of foolishness, for they are bound to you and your wishes. But you, Prince Soren, have committed a grave sin to your own people."
Her dark gaze slid toward the crowd. "Your Prince has taken the daughter of a man who murdered us into his bed and he has placed a crown on her brow."
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the jostle, the brimming violence tipping the air.
There was a shift happening here and now, and I realized it as I looked in every eye that pressed against me from all sides.
She was ostracizing me, making me into an outcast before I could ever get a chance to become one of them. And she was gunning for Soren, belittling him before his own court.
I caught a glimpse of silver, and I saw Tessa. Her head was held high, her smile dark and satisfactory as the Queen continued.
"He has lied to the crown."
The murmurs grew louder.
"He has colluded with rogues and Exiles who have committed treason and connived with his brothers to kill one of our own to cover his tracks—"
"Mother—" Mercer started, but the Queen ignored him.
"In light of this disgrace," she said, "you are hereby declared unfit for the throne."
The air was sucked out of the room. Even I felt it like a blow.
Soren went perfectly, terrifyingly still. "You can’t do that. You cannot dictate on the succession. You are regent. The throne belongs to me—"
"The throne does not condone traitors whose idea of loyalty is whetting their cocks between the legs of murdering spawns," the Queen smiled. "Adrian discovered your truth and to correct your err, you had him killed, indirectly causing harm to your Queen, your own blood. Your conduct has shown poor judgment. Your loyalties are compromised. I was willing to give you a different chance and I’d hoped you had changed, but it is clear you have fallen completely off course."
She raised her chin. "The council has decided to hold off all talks of succession indefinitely."
The hall hummed with shock. Some keened with delight, others looked sick to their bones, but it was clear from their gazes who they thought was to blame for all of this.
Me.
And if I listened hard enough, someone was whispering that I be thrown into the dungeons.
My heartbeat rushed in my chest. Why did I always find myself in these kinds of situations? Was I maybe cursed or something? Maisie Adams, never accepted, doomed always to a bad stroke of luck?
And Soren? Why did he have to suffer on the basis of a lie? Would either of our lives have been better if we’d never crossed paths?
Then the Queen lifted a finger, shunning the hall. "As for Chastain."
Quinlan looked up slowly, wiping the blood off his chin. His eyes still brimmed with murderous anger.
The Queen’s smile was sweet as poison. "For striking down another without unjust cause and your lack of remorse, your title is suspended. Your rank is diminished. And for your insolence, you will be punished publicly."
Punished publicly?
"A hundred lashes," she said.
My heart stopped.
"And should you continue to display this vulgar attitude, the count will reset." Her smile widened. "Again. And again. And again. Until repentance finally finds you."
"No."
The word tore from my throat. I knew what this was. I’d lived through the same kind of hell. She was trying to humiliate him. Break him.
I shoved against Jericho’s arm.
"No, you can’t do that. He was protecting me—"
The Queen’s gaze found me.
The rest of the world disappeared.
Those black eyes settled on me with the same detached interest one might give an insect pinned beneath glass.
"You should be thanking the goddess that your bond grants you immunity and protection. Without it," she said with contempt, "I would have torn your heart from your chest the second you showed your face here."
That wicked thing inside her slithered along the words, punctuating every threat with a growl. "As things stand, the only value you possess is your fertility."
Jericho growled.
The Queen’s power slammed into the room.
The marble beneath our feet cracked.
"Careful, Ivanov."
The warning hung between them.
Then her attention returned to me. "If you wish to prove your loyalty, then continue doing the one thing you appear uniquely qualified for."
A pause.
"Spread your legs. Bear heirs." She smiled at the fine tremors that flowed along my arms. "Give the crown sons. And when that duty is complete, relinquish every claim you possess to the throne and disappear quietly. Forever. That is the closest thing to mercy you will ever receive from me."
The hatred burning in my chest nearly blinded me.
"You will never be accepted here," she continued. "You will never wear the crown, let alone, sit on that throne. You were never suited for it. You may have been elevated from the status of a nobody, but you will always be an imposter. A thief. A useless nobody. And I will ensure as long as I breathe that you become nothing more than the filth you are."
