Page 71 of These Vile Hearts
Tonight is the night.
The king will be drinking.Iwill be drinking. Everyone’s inhibitions will be lowered. People will be gathering and laughing, keeping the guards distracted as I convince the king to whisk me away to his rooms like I convinced him to take me to that hidden balcony at the masquerade. Getting him alone is the key.
My gown is a vault of weapons hidden beneath a lovely drapery—a crimson bodysuit with a sweetheart neckline and Castor’s gift strapped low on my hips, hidden by a full skirt that buttons at the waist. I holster my golden dagger and throwing axe, then tie on a silk pouch filled with a vial of insulin, a syringe, a meter, a lancet, and test strips. My blood sugar is sitting at a comfortable 120, something a feast is sure to change.
Juggling testing my blood sugar and dosing for dinner will be a challenge all on its own.
Not much longer, I assure myself.
When I arrive at the citadel after a stomach-churning samara flight—because fuck running between districts in this gown—I find Tamarind waiting for me just inside the gates, standing like he has a rather large branch shoved up his ass.
“You left the king’s side?” I say by way of greeting. “I amstunned. What if he needs to use the toilet and has no one there to assist him?”
For once, he actually speaks, venom coating his words like a candy apple. “No golden gown tonight? How will the king recognize you? He can only see in shades of gold, you know.”
“Wow.Where has this snark been hiding?”
He ignores my question, waving for me to follow him down the gilded road leading around the throne room and into the palace front doors. Inquisitive dryads and arborfae watch as we walk by, a cloak of whispers billowing behind us.
Before we reach the doors, Tamarind takes my arm, pausing me. “You would do well to remember that the prince will be in attendance. King Castor told you what he’s like. How he…enjoys the company of mortal women.”
“Yes, I am well aware. But I’ve also heard the king himself enjoys the company of mortal women.”
Tamarind’s brow creases. “He doesn’t—well, not inthatway.”
“In what way does he enjoy their company, then?”
“In a…respectful…proper way.”
“Is that why he’s come to visit me every day?” His increasing discomfort fuels my words. “Because he is trying to be respectful and proper toward the mortal he thinks tried to kill him? Or perhaps because he’s learning my weaknesses so he can get me where he wants me?”
“You’remortal,” he says through his teeth. “A dryad king needn’t learn your weaknesses to get you where he wants you.”
“Why would he visit me every day, then? Why bother? Surely a king has more to worry about than a young mortal woman working in a dryad sex house.”
Every inch of him is tense. Loose black locs frame his narrow face, tinged with fury. His left hand grips the hilt of the scythe sheathed at his waist. “Perhaps he sees something in you,” he remarks, dangerously quiet. “Something that intrigues him.”
I tilt my head. “You’re not jealous, are you, Tam?”
His jaw clenches like he’s biting down on words he shouldn’t speak. “It’s time you joined the rest of the guests. Just be wary of the prince. He’s been known to say whatever it takes to get what he wants.”
“Don’t worry.” I pat Tamarind’s shoulder. He stiffens, and I laugh, pulling my hand away. “I can always smell a liar.”
His hooded copper eyes spark like struck flint. “Can you?”
A pair of servants leads our group of about twenty guests into a grand sitting room just outside of the dining hall. Everything here is massive and unbending, emanating the same aggressive masculinity that my old gym in Arborfell did. Aureate pillars shoot to a ceiling held by rigid beams of russet wood hung with golden chandeliers. Solid oak chairs and iron love seats clearly meant for looking at but not sitting on are arranged in right angles around tables holding gilded bowls filled with perfectly ripe fruit no one eats.
I pick up a golden apple, expecting it to be heavy, but it feels like any ordinary apple you’d find in a mortal grocery store. I’ve heard tales of fairy fruit, but I thought that was just misinterpreted lore like so many human accounts are. Perhaps I know less about the fae than I thought.
Tamarind departs, moving to stand along the wall with the other guards, an onyx buoy in an ocean of gold.
I’m not sure if it’s because I’m mortal or an honorary Magesté orchid, but it feels as though the attention of other guests is disproportionately fixed on me. They glance my way, faces lighting with repressed glee as they turn to whisper to one another behind cupped hands. I’m certainly the most mundane of the lot. No horns or antlers or tree bark skin to speak of. I’m approached by a water nymph with webbed fingers whose bluish skin glistens like a dolphin’s. Her eyes are the spherical shape of an amphibian’s, and while one remains on me, the other flicks to the left and right, taking in the rest of the room. When she speaks, her voice makes an odd gurgling sound. “Have you tried the auric wine, Maddox?” she asks me. “Divine. Like nectar of the tree gods.”
Before I can say I haven’t or ask how she knows my name, she is pulled away by a dryad whose antlers are coated in thick yellow moss and who begins loudly complimenting her pearl necklace.
Taking a goblet of auric wine from a passing server, I stroll along the perimeter of the room, pretending to admire paintings adorning the walls. Judging from their crowns and regal postures, these are portraits of all the previous kings. All kings, no queens. Gods forbid they catch their husbands cheating and burn down another forest.
When I reach the second to last portrait, I am unable to continue forward. A slow-forming knot gathers around my stomach as I take in the deep brown skin, black irises, and cheerful grin of the former king. Cyperus Sempervirens. His eyes were kind. Warm. I wonder if my father ever had the chance to look into them. I wonder if his actions would have been different if he had.
