Heavy is the Crown: A Gothic Grove Novel, page 25
Another shrug. “Is it so hard to believe I want power? My father had no interest in giving it to me. Jax is the exact same. You grew up with me, you know how it was. I don’t want to be powerless anymore. Bring me with you, and I’ll help you take down the gates and hand you Gothic Grove.”
His eyes narrow again, head tilting. “Why? Why would I do this deal when I can just take what I want?”
“I’m a princess of Hell. You don’t think I know things? Those grimoires you stole, that Cordelia provided you, they may be powerful, but they aren’t me. You have me, and you get the Harbinger and your brother back. I am destined to be more than what those dragons want me to be, more than what my worthless father thought I should be. You are my best bet at achieving that.”
He lets out a low chuckle, the sound radiating evil. “With me, you’ll be a fucking queen.”
He slams his mouth into mine, destroying what little soul I kept when I pushed the bond away. He pulls away from me, assessing me. Seemingly satisfied with what he sees, he snaps his fingers, and Cordelia appears. Her skin has a gray hue to it and the makeup she has on is doing little to cover the cracks in her skin as it flakes away. Necromancy is a dangerous business and not something that lasts long. I glare at her as Oisin runs his hand up and down my arm.
Lady Ornate steps out next to Cordelia. She looks smug until she sees the placement of Oisin’s hands. It’s easy to see she did not foresee me coming willingly.
Oisin’s voice pulls my attention from her. “Ladies, bring your queen to her chambers.”
He steps back and swings his arm toward the portal where the two women stand, bidding me to move forward. One more breath of my mates’ scents, and I send strength up my spine as I walk back into Hell.
Shadow
“Something isn’t right. Something was wrong with her; we never should have left her alone,” I say, my chest pulling tight. I rub my hand on it absently, back and forth, in time with my dragon pacing inside me. I shake my head. “This is wrong,” I mutter.
Drago goes to open his mouth, when I hear the distinct caw of Samhain. Spinning around, I see his massive body looms in the distance—not his normal, small raven body but his truly massive size, only slightly smaller than my dragon. Panic bleeds off the familiar as he lets out screams that no longer sound like caws. No, they sound like a warning of death.
“Ava!” Drago yells, fear and panic in his voice, because we both know Samhain wouldn’t leave her alone, wouldn’t be searching us out, unless she was in danger.
I move to shift, but before I can, I’m hit with excruciating pain and fear. It drops me to my knees, stomach heaving and head spinning. Drago is somehow still standing, though barely, but breathing rapidly, his eyes dilated and his face ashen.
I am reminded why it is so costly to love someone this deeply. Because in my heart, in my soul, I know we’ve just lost our mate.
PART 3
INTO THE BELLY OF THE BEAST
THIRTY-SIX
There are many individuals who control death.
– Priestess Codex
Ava
Hell is almost exactly as I remember it, and yet entirely different. When I left here, I was young, naive, and all I wanted was to live in freedom. Now, I’m not sure who I am as I return.
Cordelia and Arcanna’s mother dropped me unceremoniously into a spare bedroom as soon as the portal had shut. The room itself is bland, the only thing standing out against the dull creams of the wall is the grand four-post bed in the center of the room made of whirls of black steel, the ends coming up in jagged points that look sharp enough to kill. It’s the most dangerous thing in here, and something tells me that is by design.
A fire crackles in the hearth on the other side of the room, illuminating a dark oak desk with two sitting chairs. One or two books lay atop the desk, giving it the illusion that someone could study there. I move toward the armoire stationed next to what I can only assume is my bathroom, but with the door to it locked, I have no way of knowing. I guess they think I won’t ever need to pee. Opening the armoire, I find nothing but slinky dresses and lacy garments that have me rolling my eyes to suppress the vomit threatening to come up. As I’m shutting the wardrobe, Oisin strides in, followed by two young women.
“Is the room to your liking?” he asks. His voice feels like oil on my skin as he surveys me from head to toe. That red eye gleaming with hunger and cunning.
I plaster on the fake smile I’ve learned to wear so well. “It’s a little plain, to be honest,” I reply, folding myself down into one of the chairs.
He lets out a laugh. “You always did have extravagant taste. Don’t worry, after our wedding, you’ll be moved into my wing, but for the sake of the kingdom, we need to uphold the idea that you are still a virgin. No need for them to learn that their queen is a whore.”
The fact that Oisin believes that means he never knew me. Anger pulses through me, but I say nothing, playing the obedient pet. A role I’ve played well most of my life. I smile pleasantly but offer no comment.
Oisin seems pleased with my lack of response. He snaps his fingers, and another person moves into the room. “This is Harrowlena. She is a priestess in training, but for now, she’ll be your handmaiden.”
I hold back a gasp as I take in the young woman standing in front of me. Covering from the bridge of her nose down to her chin and halfway up her cheeks is a metal mask. Crafted to appear as lace, the contraption is held to her jaw via brass-looking screws. Her silver hair is bound back in a simple ponytail, revealing the device in its fullest. Her eyes remain locked on the floor in front of her bare feet.
Utilizing my distractedness as I look on in horror, Oisin plants a firm kiss on me that my entire body wants to revolt against. It’s all I can do to contain my shudder of disgust, but he pulls back with a smile. “My staff will attend to you. You’ll be dressed for dinner this evening to meet my subjects. They'll want to know their queen has returned.”
He turns from me and calls, “Harrowlena.” The young girl moves up next to him cautiously, her violet eyes finally connecting with my own as Oisin pets the top of her head. “Tonight needs to be perfect; make sure it goes off without a hitch.”
She gives a nod of her head, those haunted eyes cast back to the ground as Oisin lets his hand slip down her waist before he moves away. The other two women stand in a row, silent. “These two will be at your disposal as well; anything Harrowlena cannot help you with, they will. They will come to me with updates on how you're settling in,” he adds. The subtext is easy enough to read: These are my spies and you would do well to remember that.
“The young priestess will be more than enough,” I counter.
But he gives me a patronizing smile and shakes his head. “No, no, only the finest for our queen. I’ll see you tonight, my dear!” And with a final wave, he exits out the door he came through. It’s not lost on me that the lock engages the moment he is out the door. He doesn’t trust me, which is fair, but it will make my time here more difficult. I need to find those grimoires and get the fuck out of here. If I manage to kill Oisin, that will be a bonus.
I turn toward the silver-haired woman. “Harrowlena, is it?” I ask the priestess. She nods. The women behind her unlock the bathroom, and one begins to draw a bath while the other busies herself with cleaning and readying various cosmetics for the evening. I tilt my head in question at the priestess, my eyebrow raised. “And does that mask come off?”
“Your Grace,” one of the women says behind me, “Harrowlena is not allowed to remove the mask unless his lordship allows it. She is a danger to herself and others without it.”
I glance between the maid and the priestess, curiosity tugging at me. “And why is she dangerous?” I ask, not missing the way those violet eyes flash with a profound rage. Too quick for anyone else to notice, but the contrast between how meek she was with Oisin and that anger makes me think she is not as compliant as these women.
The other maid clears her throat as she exits the bathroom, the cloying smell of roses now seeping out amongst the steam escaping the room, immediately making me long for Drago’s scent. “She is a banshee, Your Grace. Now, if you please, we must get you bathed and ready.”
My eyes widen a fraction. Banshees are rare women, their powers passed down through a very select line. Stories of the power they hold claim they have the ability to level entire civilizations with one scream. It’s why the kings of old hunted them down and destroyed most of them. I have certainly never met one before, nor to my knowledge has Jackson. I keep my eyes trained on hers before I offer her a small smile.
Before I can make a move to head toward the bathroom, an older woman with graying hair pulled up in a high bun walks in. The two young maids suddenly snap to attention. All of them wear the same uniform dress, simple black with a white apron around the waist. Each of the younger two has their brown hair pulled low in a bun at the nape of her neck. The picture of modesty.
The eldest clucks at me in what only can be described as pity.
“Oh, sweet dear.” She delicately places her arm around my shoulders in a motherly fashion, pushing me toward the open bathroom. “I know how scary this is. Master Oisin told us what’s happened, but don’t worry, he’ll fix you right up.”
I clear my throat, unsure of the story he’s given the staff. “What do you mean?”
She looks at me with sadness plastered on her face. “Those dragons took you. Your brother is trying to steal the throne. Lord Oisin told us how scared you were when it first happened. He was heartbroken when he found you and realized they had brainwashed you. But he’ll fix it. As we speak, he’s working with the Fairmore witch to counteract it.” She pauses for a moment as she looks over at the younger girls.
So, that’s the story he is giving, that I was kidnapped and brainwashed? A storm is brewing under my skin as she continues to talk. A storm that makes me want to rip Oisin’s heart out of his chest and feed it to Shadow. Visions of my hands turning black as I feed him my mate’s death magic penetrate my mind before I’m pulled back out of them by the older woman’s annoying voice.
“My name is Pearl, and this is Ada.” She points to the youngest one, who told me Harrowlena is dangerous. She has brown eyes to match her plain brown hair. She curtsies but otherwise ignores me and goes about tidying the already pristine room. “We’ll be attending to you from here on out. Master wants to make sure you get to know us, so you feel comfortable. Oh, and of course, you met dear Harrowlena.”
It takes every fiber of my being to avoid lashing out at her. “And the other girl?” I bob my head toward the one still preparing for my bath. “What's her name?”
“My name is Elspeth,” she says as she walks in with a pile of towels, back straight as if she’s got a rod pushed through her. Unlike her counterpart, her eyes are a bright aqua blue that stand out against the brown hair.
“Your bath is ready, milady,” she says briskly. The two girls move to strip me, but I bat their hands away with a hiss.
“I’ve got it,” I say before I can think better of it. The smell of roses is starting to make my head pound relentlessly. All I’ve smelled is Shadow and Drago over the past few months, their scents grounding and calming. The roses make me want to throw up. I quickly begin to disrobe with the sole intent of dunking myself in the bath before fleeing, when I hear the sharp intake of breath.
Glancing up, the violet eyes of Harrowlena are locked onto the wicked scar that spans my belly. Her eyes flash up to mine, a strange look moving over her face before she schools it again.
Pearl moves in behind her, pushing the priestess to the side. “Those animals,” she says, disgust woven into her voice.
“It wasn’t them,” I growl without thinking. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I need to play this part better if I’m going to make this plan work.
“Oh, dear. I know you believe that.” She pats me on the shoulder before gently shoving me toward the bath. “That tattoo is atrocious, too. Oisin will hopefully get that removed.”
I almost ask her what tattoo but look down before opening my mouth, and curling around my right thigh is the tattooed form of Buttercup.
The women spend hours scrubbing and polishing every portion of my body. My patience is running thin as they chatter around me like gossiping birds. They remind me of my mother’s help. I never hated my attending ladies at the palace, but they had never been mine. They were my mother’s, first and foremost, meaning anything that happened was brought back to her. These women were no different, they just reported to a different jailer.
When they remove the pink from my hair, returning it to the blonde I had as a child, it takes everything in me to hold back the tears. Whatever magic they’ve used has also forced the side-cut to grow out to match the length of the rest of the hair. The person in the mirror looking back at me is one I had hoped to avoid, golden hair wrapped up in intricate braids atop her head, a small golden crown tucked into it. It gleams with a red jewel in the center. My only saving grace is Buttercup on my body. She’s kept the panic at bay. Though I have no memory of her planting herself on me, I can’t help but let my finger stroke over her every so often in thanks.
Pulling my attention back from Buttercup, the older woman walks in with a blood-red dress. The younger girls rip the towel from my body despite my shout of protest and shove me into a red thong before they wrap me in the sheer tank-top dress. It flows long, down around my ankles and outward into a pool of red behind me. Next, they fix a golden collar around my neck, a leash attached.
“He cannot possibly mean for me to walk out like this,” I say, taking in the sheer dress. Nothing is left to the imagination, my tits on full display, that golden leash hanging down between them. Ada walks over, holding a black lace cinch that she positions over me from behind, the boned piece of fabric covering my breasts and stomach. I can barely breathe in it once she is done lacing it up. “Ah, so he just expects me to suffocate for all of dinner,” I mutter under my breath.
While the other women coo at “how beautiful” I look, I watch Harrowlena. She fidgets with her linen pants. All priestesses in training wear loose linen pants, with a bandeau wrap around their breasts and a long linen jacket over it. She is wearing cream, marking her position as high priestess in training. At some point, she put her own crown on, a golden sunburst similar to my own, and her long silver hair is unbound in loose curls. Her pale, almost translucent skin is unblemished in the areas that are exposed. But I would bet money she is hiding bruises and scars under those clothing articles.
She clears her throat in awkward response to my gaze, and I quickly school my features, returning my attention to the other women.
“Tonight, you’ll be introduced to the court,” Pearl begins. “You’ll sit with His Grace and greet those he wishes you to. After that, you’ll be brought back here. I’ll be here waiting for you and will attend to you overnight.”
“I don’t need anyone overnight,” I grumble, but she waves me off. I glance at Harrowlena. “Why can’t she attend to me?”
Harrowlena blanches at my tone. But Pearl explains, “As a priestess, she is readying for the full-moon ceremony.”
I frown at them. Despite not knowing the girl, there's something about the priestess that makes me see a kindred spirit in her. It makes me think I can trust her, and I would rather have her with me than one of Oisin’s little spies.
“She’ll ascend to high priestess once her first Cycle happens,” Elspeth says. “She receives her instructions at night.”
My stomach sours and white-hot rage pushes through me at the implication. Harrowlena averts her eyes from mine, cheeks turning a deep crimson.
“Ladies, go ahead. I wish to speak with Harrowlena alone,” I say, channeling my mother’s voice and father’s confidence. The three maids look uneasy, obviously stuck between my orders and Oisin’s. “Do not make me ask again,” I growl, allowing a little wisp of my power to push out. They scurry out, leaving me with the priestess.
I pick up the length of my skirt to keep from tripping over it as I head toward the door, pushing it firmly shut behind them. I don’t turn toward the young woman as I start talking. “I’m going to take a calculated risk here and trust you. Trust that maybe we are on the same side. And maybe it’s because you’ve got a fucking metal mask on your face and I’m in a collar. Or maybe it’s because it’s being insinuated that my soon-to-be husband is going to try to fuck you. But either way, I want you to know that I will do everything in my power to protect you.” I finally turn and face her.
The girl’s violet eyes take me in, raking over my body in a strange way before finally locking back on my own. She gives a small nod. The only confirmation I need.
“Now, let’s go raise some Hell.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
We are the life blood of the young royals while they are without mates. Without us, the royal magic cannot be replenished.
Even with the Well, the rituals are unknown to all but us.
– Priestess Codex
Jackson
(“FATE BRINGER” – In This Moment)
Being the king of Hell should come with perks. It should be filled with parties, plenty of drugs and alcohol, and most importantly, beautiful individuals to keep you warm at night. It should most certainly not include being covered in fucking demon blood that smells like a rotting corpse. It also should not mean walking around in these gods forsaken sewers below my own damn kingdom. Although, truth be told, I think I prefer this to managing the politics that come with ruling.
Another Carnargion demon slinks from the shadows, its body barely formed before it’s shooting out at me. Carnargion are the cockroaches of our city. They have little brains and care only for their next source of food, which unfortunately seems to be me right now. I slash out with my sword, allowing the black blade to pierce the demon in front of me. Its shrill shriek of pain no doubt summons others toward us.
