Queen of Roses (Blood of a Fae, #1)

by Briar Boleyn

“How good of you to come and watch, Arthur,” I said coolly, crossing the yard and ignoring the pain from my arms, my back. “Were you looking for me?”

“I’d have preferred you found it at the temple, but I suppose you aren’t in any danger here at least,” Arthur said, consideringly. “Surrounded by knights and guards. It’s the safest place to be.”

“Yes, you do not seem to get on well with Draven. Despite his heroic rescue,” Arthur observed. “Very interesting. I would have thought women might find him an appealing man. But you don’t.”

couldn’t deny Draven was a handsome bastard. But he was also the most infuriating man I’d ever met. And one of the most brutal.

“You haven’t joined us in the dining hall for a meal in some time, Morgan,” Arthur observed. “Kaye misses you. Come sit with us tonight.”

“Good. Sit with us. Eat with us. We are your family after all, are we not? After all, nothing can come between blood.” Arthur gave me a thin-lipped smile and I forced myself to smile

Caspar Starweaver, Master of Potions, and my uncle lifted the heavy cauldron he had been stirring and carefully set it aside on a nearby iron grate to cool, then came over to the table.

“Someone tampered with my medicine a few nights ago. I drank it before I noticed.” I looked

But what we can surmise is this–some human, probably a king or queen, bore a great weapon similar enough to Perun’s lightning or thunder that it was later called such. A weapon powerful enough to destroy Vela–or the fae people themselves or enough of them that weapon lived on in collective memory as a fearsome object.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I asked. “Please, Brother. Talk to me. Trust me.”

“One of them is Ragnar Whitehorn. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you who that

“The captain of the Royal Guard. Kairos Draven. He is the second man who will be accompanying you.”

Your brother and Lord Agravaine–that is who you may thank. Or who Draven should thank, I should say, for his impressive rise.”

“Void’s Edge?” I turned the words over on my tongue.

“He’s a mercenary. No, much worse than a mercenary, an assassin. A highly skilled and extremely lethal one at that.

There was an easy answer to all of this. Arthur wished to kill me and he wanted Draven to do the job.

“So you’d have me believe. You expect me to trust you, Morgan. You act as if it is your due when the truth is, I will never trust you, Sister. And

have always tried to protect you. I have always tried to love you. And Kaye. You are my brothers. Everything I have done, I have done for your sake.”

“I would never do that. Have never done that, Arthur,” I murmured, knowing it was pointless. “Kaye loves you. His heart is true.”

Arthur ignored me. “You asked about the men who will accompany you. Whitehorn and Draven. I take it you know who they

“I know Draven isn’t who he says he is, if that’s what you mean,” I said directly. “And I assume you know that as well. If you wanted me dead, Brother, you might as well just do it yourself.”

Arthur’s lips twisted into a sneer. “Florian Emrys. He has been rather a thorn in your side, hasn’t he, Sister? His devotedness to you leans rather heavily towards fiendish obsession.

The thought of doing so made me feel physically ill. “You knew. You knew what he was doing to me. All along you knew. And you did nothing

Her name was Haya. She was a Tintagel horse, bred for sure-footedness on the rocky windswept terrain.

Haya nuzzled my head, snorting softly, and I felt a surge of affection. “You take care of me and I'll take care of you, Haya. Deal?”

felt nothing but satisfaction as I looked at his disfigured face. “Not quite so pretty now, are you, Florian?” I said softly. “How the tables have turned.”

Florian’s hips pressed against me. His body was flush with mine. The sensation was unbearable. The memory of the last time he had been this close pulsed through me. The memory of him sitting atop me. My terror at the thought of what he might do.

The sound of my own voice shocked me. A snarl of sheer outrage flew from my lips.

Florian's face twisted in a mix of fear, shock, and disbelief. His eyes widened as he struggled to understand what was happening to his body. I pulled my hand back, the bloody stem of the rose earring still positioned tightly between my fingers.

Blood spurted from the hole in Florian's neck. So much blood. It sprayed my face, my dress, his clothes. It poured onto the ground beneath us, soaking the clean straw as his life drained away.

His face turned pale. He clutched his hands to his throat, finally understanding what I’d done, but it was too late. I could see his body already trembling, his strength fading rapidly.

“What have you done?” The voice came out of the dark. For a moment, I thought it was Gregor. I lifted my head, preparing for the king’s justice to descend, for the stablemaster to shout for help as he saw Florian’s lifeless body at my feet, for soldiers to come running. I would be restrained, locked away forever. I choked back a sob. But it was not Gregor.

Draven was silent. His eyes moved from me to the floor where Florian’s body lay, then back to me, inspecting me from head to toe.

“No one will notice. It’s pouring rain outside. Stand in the rain for a few minutes until you’re soaked through and your dress is too wet for anyone to see the blood. Then go to your room, gather your things.

“I’ll deal with Whitehorn,” he said shortly. “Just do as I say.” I gulped. “What about Florian...”

I might not be coming back either, I reminded myself. I thought of the look on Draven’s face, his terrifying expression. I pushed the door open. “Kaye!” My little brother lay curled up on my bed, his back to

He shook his head. “I didn’t want to go. You know I don’t care for dancing. Besides, you leave tomorrow. I wanted to see you before you went. Are you really going, Morgan? Must

“I’m leaving now. Not in the morning. Tonight. But you must keep it a secret, Kaye. You cannot tell anyone. Promise me, please.”

I took a deep breath. “Kaye, the hunters. You need to know this. They’re dead.” I watched his clear brown eyes widen in shock. “What do you mean?”

“Arthur killed them,” I said bluntly. “He found out what they were doing and he had them all killed. He believes I was responsible for organizing them and that they had seditious intentions.

Do you understand? If ever he should ask, you must say you knew nothing, that...

I kissed his forehead roughly, then rose to my feet. “Now you must go. I have to gather my things and change. You shouldn’t be here. Go back to your own rooms carefully. If anyone asks, you didn’t see me this evening.”

There was one thing I was forgetting. My medicine. I had put off taking it, thinking to do so before bed after the ball.

My head, which had already been spinning, almost immediately began to throb.

Ragnar Whitehorn was a surly-looking man in his mid-forties, with steely eyes, a thick, rough beard, and graying brown hair. I had seen him around the castle before, usually in the company of Lord Agravaine. Or Florian.

As we have been instructed to do. It’s your own neck on the line if you stay behind.” He looked up as I approached. “Here you are.” He studied me closely, ignoring Whitehorn. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Wrong?” The question seemed loaded with irony, but I just shook my head. “Nothing. I’ll tell you later.” In all honesty, my head was beginning to throb so badly that I wondered if I would be able to stay astride my horse.