“You …,” Teren says, his words trailing off as realization hits him. “You are sending me away? Out of Estenzia?”
Giulietta arches an eyebrow at him. “You are asking me to repeat myself?” she says.
“Your Majesty, please.” Teren takes a step closer to her. “Everything I do—everything I have ever done—is to protect your crown. You are the one true queen. There are times I may act rashly, and I deserve to be punished, but I do it in the name of the crown.”
“I expect you to relinquish your quarters and your armor by tomorrow.” Giulietta gives him a look of disinterest. This, Raffaele thinks, more than anything, makes Teren wince. “You will set out with several patrols by tomorrow evening, to secure my rule in the south. If you truly care for me, you will obey this order. Do you understand?”
Teren’s voice hardens. “Your Majesty,” he says. “I am your best fighter. I am your champion.”
“You are useless if you ignore my commands.”
Teren grabs Giulietta’s hands. His voice lowers, turns tender. “Giulietta,” he murmurs. Raffaele watches in fascination. Addressing the queen by name? He has heard plenty about their affair, but this is the first time he has ever seen it on display. Teren bends down toward her, close enough for his lips to brush her cheek. “You will kill me if you send me away.”
Giulietta turns her face and pulls away, separating herself from him. She tilts her chin up. Her eyes are ice cold. Raffaele watches Teren’s expressions shift on his face. The young Inquisitor is realizing, for the first time, that he may be unable to sway her mind. Teren stares at Raffaele, then turns desperately to Giulietta.
“I love you,” he suddenly says, his voice urgent. “I’ve loved you since I was a boy. I would kill a thousand men for you.”
“I don’t need you to kill a thousand men, Master Santoro,” Giulietta says. “I need you to listen to me.” She gives him a look that borders on pity. “But you were always an abomination. You always knew, Master Santoro, that this could never last.”
“It’s him, isn’t it?” Teren snaps, pointing in Raffaele’s direction. “He has hypnotized you. It is his power, don’t you understand?”
Giulietta’s eyes harden at that. “Do you insult me?”
Teren swallows, then continues, “It’s true that I am unworthy of you. But you forgave my abomination in return for my loyalty—and I will carry that loyalty with me to my grave. Please, Giulietta—”
Giulietta holds up a hand, and the Inquisitors behind her tighten their grips on their crossbows. Teren stands with his shoulders hunched. “You have until tomorrow night to leave Estenzia. This is a command. Do this, Teren, if you truly love me.”
Tears well in Teren’s eyes. Raffaele grimaces, feeling the Inquisitor’s dark energy twist in the familiar pain of heartbreak. “Giulietta …,” Teren whispers, but he says it this time in defeat.
Finally, he bows his head. He falls to one knee before her. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he says. He stays there until Giulietta dismisses him, and then he storms out. His cloak remains on the floor.
Giulietta watches him go for a moment before she turns back to Raffaele. “Go,” she says. “Gather your Daggers. Remember that if you go back on your word, I will make sure the malfettos suffer for it.”
Raffaele gives her a bow. The capital weakens. We close in. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Sometimes, love can bloom like the tiny flower hidden in the tree’s shadow, found only by those who know where to look.
—The Courting of a Prince of Beldain, by Callum Kent
Adelina Amouteru
Enzo died in the capital’s arena. That is where the Daggers will go to revive him, and so that is where I now go with my Roses.
Violetta and I wait in the shadows of the arena’s lowest pits, where the underground tunnels let baliras into and out of the arena’s center lake. Here, where enormous wooden gates and levers cast strange shadows down the tunnel, we can hear little more than the hollow churning of water and the occasional squeaking of rats. Sergio and Magiano stay elsewhere in the arena, on alert for any signs of approaching Daggers. A full day and night pass. Lightning forks over the sky, and the storm continues on, raging relentlessly in a tirade that Sergio doesn’t have the ability to stop.
On the second night, Magiano drops in and shakes water out of his hair before he sits down beside us with a sigh. “Not yet,” he mutters, tearing into a wet piece of bread and cheese.
“What if the Daggers don’t come?” Violetta whispers to me as she blows her warm breath against her hands.
I don’t answer right away. What if they don’t? They are already late, according to the plans we’d overheard from Gemma. Perhaps Raffaele failed in his mission at the palace, and the queen had him executed. Perhaps the Daggers were captured. But then we would have heard something, I’m sure of it—news like that would never stay secret for long. “They’ll come,” I whisper back. I untie my cloak, drape it around both of us, and we gather it around ourselves as tightly as we can. My toes feel cold and damp inside my boots.
I wish you were here, Enzo, I add to myself. A memory returns of the heat his touch could bring, the warmth that he could send bubbling through me on a cold night. I shiver. Soon, he will be back. Can I bear that?
Magiano sighs loudly and leans back against the canal wall. He sits close enough to me that I can feel the warmth coming off his body, and I find myself savoring it. “Sergio says you have more mercenaries gathering behind you. Why don’t we retreat to somewhere outside of Estenzia and mobilize whatever allies you’ve gathered? Then we can figure out a way to strike at Teren and the queen when they least expect it.” He gives me a wry look. “Do we really need to be here?”