To Kill a Kingdom (Hundred Kingdoms, #1)

by Alexandra Christo

TECHNICALLY, I’M A MURDERER, but I like to think that’s one of my better qualities.

It’s my biggest secret. People know me as the siren hunter, and those at court utter those words with amusement and fondness: Oh, Prince Elian, trying to save us all. If they understood what it took, the awful and sickening screams sirens made. If they saw the corpses of the women on my deck before they dissolved to sea foam, then my people wouldn’t look upon me so fondly. I would no longer be a prince to them, and as much as I might desire such things, I know better.

THE KETO PALACE LIES within the center of the Diávolos Sea and has always been home to royalty. Though humans have kings and queens in every crevice of the earth, the ocean has only one ruler. One queen. This is my mother, and one day it will be me.

Though sirens live for a hundred years, we never age past a few decades, and soon daughters look like mothers and mothers look like sisters, and it becomes hard to tell how old anybody truly is. It’s another reason why we have the tradition of hearts: so a siren’s age is never determined by her face, but always by how many lives she has stolen.

I stare back into the mirror at the prince before me. Immaculate and cold, barely a glint in my eyes. As though I’m untouchable and I know it. Madrid was right; I do look princely. Which is to say, that I look like a complete bastard.

There’s nothing in the world but pain and the rare moments that exist in between.

“Lies aren’t answers.” “But they sound so much better than the truth.”

“You should pay less mind to fairy tales, Elian, or that’s all you’ll become.”

When he leaves, I think about whether that would be awful, or beautiful. Could it really be such a bad thing, to become a story whispered to children in the dead of night? A song they sing to one another while they play. Another part of the Midasan legends: golden blood and a prince who once upon a time sailed the world in search of the beast who threatened to destroy it.

So many of them yell and nod, pledging their lives to me with a smile. Like it’s all just a game to them. With every new hand that shoots up comes a whooping holler from those who have already agreed. They howl at the possibility of death and how much company they’re going to have in it. They’re insane and wonderful.

Her eyes are sharper than ever and narrowed in a way that tells me there are very few of my secrets she doesn’t know.

It will mean the end of the life I love. The end of the Saad and the ocean and the world I have seen twice over and would see again a thousand times. I would live the life of a king, as my father has always wanted, with a snow-born wife to rule by my side. An alliance between ice and gold.

“That’s the thing about risks,” Kye says. “It’s impossible to know which ones are worth it until it’s too late.”

It’s said that’s why we turn to sea foam when we die, that it’s not a curse to erase us from the world but a blessing from Keto to ensure a human can never take our hearts.

“You know,” he says, approaching the cell, “I think I might like you. Thing is”—he taps his gun against my prison—“there’s a difference between liking someone and trusting them.” “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never done either.”

“You promised that you would set me free!” I shout to his retreating figure. “I promised you more comfortable living arrangements.” Elian’s hand flickers over the switch. “I’ll get Kye to bring you a pillow.”

“That was this morning,” he says, as though it’s far enough in the past to be forgotten. “Try not to hold a grudge.” The grin he gives me is beyond taunting and I sneer, not deigning to reply. Instead I breeze past and make sure to knock my shoulder as hard as I can into his. The sooner I have his heart, the better.

In spite of myself, I edge closer to Elian. There’s comfort in his presence and how relaxed he disguises himself to be. As though he could belong anywhere if he truly wanted to.

She hisses the last part. The raw and scratchy way her voice pounces on the Midasan, like the words aren’t enough to convey what she’s feeling, makes my head swim. So much inside of her that she can’t get out. Thoughts and feelings there are never enough ways to show.

“Well?” Lira presses. “Are you going to take the deal?” “I told you I don’t take deals,” I say. “But maybe I’ll take your word instead.”

“Just so you know,” I say to Lira, “if you’re lying, I might kill you.” Lira tips her chin up, eyes defiant and too blue for me to look at her straight. At first I’m not sure if she’s going to say anything back, but then she licks her lips and I know it’s because she can taste the sweetness of whatever insult she’s about to throw. “Maybe,” she says as the light whimpers against her skin, “I might just kill you first.”

Lira catches my eye and when she sees me staring, her smile fades. I’m angry at myself for that. I never seem quick enough when it comes to watching these moments for long enough to pick them apart and see how she works. Why she works. What angle she’s working.

“Licorice,” I tell her with a smirk. “And you didn’t answer my question. Are you ever going to grace us with your voice?” “Believe me, I’d like nothing more.” I settle back in my chair and open my arms. “Whenever you’re ready.” “I’m ready for you to tell me everything you know about the Crystal of Keto.”

“Ever the cynic.” “Ever the pirate,” she retorts. “You say that like it’s an insult.” “You should assume,” she says, “that everything I say to you is an insult. One day the world is going to run out of luck to give to you.”

Let him watch. If Madrid has her way, the next time he sees me, I’ll be as much of a pirate as he is.

I step back and Lira pounces to her feet again. We eye each other like hunter and prey, and I cock an eyebrow, daring her to move toward me. Lira smiles impishly in return and picks up her fallen weapon.

We continue on that way, swords arcing through the air, our breath ragged. Soon there’s sun in the distance, or perhaps even moonlight. Everything is muted and as Lira swoops her blade down on mine once more, I let it all fall away. My mission, my kingdom. The world. They exist somewhere other than in this moment, and now there is only this. Me, my ship, and a girl with oceans in her eyes.

I fasten my jacket over my chest as the wind picks up speed and quicken my song to match the pace. It’s an odd sensation to be able to sing and have nobody suffer a consequence for it. To use my voice in the complete opposite way it was intended, with neither death nor sorrow in its wake. Leaving behind nothing but a melody. I feel at peace.

And then there’s Elian, who gave me a blade instead of stabbing me with it, standing behind me now. The mercy he practices and the loyalty he has earned are both ideals that my mother would sooner burn out of me—because mercy is never an option, and loyalty is always taken—but those very emotions my mother said made me weak seem to make him strong.

He’s a warrior who is my opposite in every way and yet, in some ways, maybe fierceness alone, we seem to be the same.

Kye smirks. “It’s not good form for someone like me to sleep on the floor. I’m practically an aristocrat.” Torik casts him a blank, unimpressed stare. “You’re an aristoprat,” he says.

I remember rightly,” he says, with a look that is far too smug, “you were willing to sacrifice your life for a necklace.” “I was willing to sacrifice yours first,” I say.

“Poison?” I muse. “Were you keeping that around for your future wife?” “It’s not lethal,” Elian says. For a killer, he seems oddly offended at the idea. “And no.” He pauses, then turns to me with a half smile. “Unless you were my wife.” “If I were your wife, then I’d take it.” “Ha!” He throws his head back and pockets the vial once more. “Thankfully that’s not something we have to worry about.”

“You’re right,” I tell him, trying to shake the melancholy from my voice. “Spending a lifetime with you would be a sacrifice.” “Oh?” A glow returns to Elian’s eyes and he smiles as though the last few seconds didn’t happen. Erasing whatever parts of his past he doesn’t want to remember. “What would you be losing?” he asks. “If I married you?” I stand to tower above him, pushing away the unraveling thing inside me. “I suppose it would be my mind.”

Maybe the weight Elian carries is born from the shackles of a royal life and a kingdom that is unwanted but needed all the same. It’s something I can understand. Another similarity between us that I’d be blind not to note. In the pits of our souls—if I amuse myself with the notion that I have a soul—Elian and I aren’t so different. Two kingdoms that come with responsibilities we each have trouble bearing. Him, the shackles of being pinned to one land and one life. Me, trapped in the confines of my mother’s murderous legacy. And the ocean, calling out to us both. A song of freedom and longing.

Some people burn so brightly, it’s impossible to put the flames out.

“Just remember,” she says, blue eyes glistening, “if you want this scum to believe you and I could be together”—her voice echoes with shameless disbelief—“then you need to take off that ridiculous hat.” “Just you remember,” I say as we step out from behind the shrubs and approach my lounging rival, “if we’re caught, there’s no way in hell I’m risking my neck to save you.”

“I’ll kill him for this,” Elian says. “You should make sure he doesn’t kill us first.”

Either way, you have to take his heart, I think to myself. What other choice is there? “If the necklace is that precious,” I say, “we should have just killed Tallis to get it.” “You can’t just kill everyone you don’t like.” “I know that. Otherwise you’d be dead already.”

Elian glances at me and his smile fades as he takes in my restraints. The undamaged beam ready to take me down with the ship. He looks at his tied hands, his thumb still painfully dislodged from the socket. The room that is too bare to make use of. The girl he can’t seem to save. “Go,” I tell him. Elian’s eyes harden. Darken. That green disappearing under a whirlpool of anger. “Being a martyr doesn’t suit you,” he says. “Just go,” I hiss. “I’m not just going to leave you here.”

Outside, his crew could be dying. The men and women he calls family marking their lives as forfeit to save their captain. And for what? For him to surrender his own life to save the very monster he has been hunting? A girl who has been plotting to steal his heart from under him? A traitor in every sense of the word.

If nothing else, I won’t stand by and watch someone else lose their kingdom just so I won’t be alone when I lose mine.

“Elian.” My voice takes on a murderous calm. “I—” “Run!” I scream, and to my surprise, he does.

Elian left because I told him to and he would have stayed if I had asked. He would have died, perhaps, if I would have let him. But I didn’t. I salvaged some small part of myself that I forgot existed—a part I was so sure my mother had gutted from me—and I let him go.

I don’t think about whether I’m relieved because I still need him if I’m going to overthrow my mother or whether it’s something else entirely.

I say the first thing I can think of, mirroring his words to me from Eidýllio. “I’m pretty sure I got rid of you already.”

They came. Not just for their captain, but for the stowaway. The strange girl they found floating in the middle of the ocean. They came for me.

When he turns back to me, his eyes flicker over my face. His lips tense to a thin line as he notices the scrapes burning into my cheek. The

“What are you doing here?” I ask. He shrugs. “What I do best.” “Getting on my last nerve?” “Saving you,” he replies, picking up his sword. “This is the second time. Not that I’m counting.” It’s the third, actually, if we count how he pushed me from Rycroft’s path on the deck of the ship. Elian may not be counting, but I am. “I can’t believe you came back for me,” I say.

I rush to her, skidding underneath her frail body before it cracks onto the wood. I catch her head in my hands and she lets out a choked sound. There’s blood. Too much blood. Every time I blink, it seems to pool farther and farther until the entire right side of her dress is soaked through. I lay my hand on her rib and press down. She’s right: it’s not warm. Lira’s blood is like melted ice running between my fingers. The harder I press, the more she shudders. Convulsing as I try to stop any more of the cold seeping from her.