To overthrow the cruel King who brutally slaughtered her foremothers, the last surviving water witch Elara Consuli must team up with novice warrior Juda Vikaris from the Serpent Order and realise an ancient prophecy, before the blood-thirsty ruler d...
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From the grand window in his bedchamber, Aldolus looked over at the two sleeping in his bed—the flaxen-haired daughter of Saul Gos-Ralan and her cousin, son of Jared Gos-Ralan—entwined in slumber, bodies still damp. They could almost have passed as twins, these two. The same high-brow, the same aquiline nose. The same sinful mouths.
They'd been less of a challenge for him—which would usually have deterred Aldolus instantly—but there had been something about the way they'd smiled at exactly the same time, in exactly the same way, that had encouraged him to put aside his doubts. And he was glad that he had.
Or at least, he had been glad. Now, he was just bored.
It was their fifth time in his bed now, more so than any others had lasted of late, and while he couldn't question their enthusiasm, he also noticed that they often seemed more enthused with each other than with him and that was something he could no longer ignore. Javan, son of Jared, could be commended for his pretence. After all, he was one of the King's own players and Aldolus had seen him enough times in the theatre to know his talent wasn't limited to just wrapping his skilful lips around the King's cock. But, his cousin, Prisca—while undoubtedly beautiful and good with her hands—seemed not able to hide her disappointment and spent far too much time inhaling dragontail dust off the tiny silver spoon and not nearly enough time on her knees worshipping Druvaria's new god.
Frustrated, Aldolus leant his forehead against the cool glass, rubbing his finger over where his warm breath left fog on the window. On the other side, scarlet moss had begun to gather about the astragal, its grasping fronds like bloodied fingers, perhaps why Aldolus had always been quite fond of it. Sephral, the Master of the King's Wardrobe, had warned him that the moss was invasive and that it could pop the glass from its frame if allowed to flourish and spread, and of that, the King was not quite as fond.
Looking down, Aldolus' gaze came to rest upon the sprawling mess of Grimefell, its narrow streets and high stacks of rickety houses like a stain he wished he could wipe away with a brush of his hand. It seemed to grow and spread with each tide. Another house, another street. He grimaced and breathed hard on the glass to render it nothing but a blur behind the mist.
If only it were that easy.
Studying the creeping scarlet moss closest to where his head touched the glass, he made a mental note to bid Dageor send one of the groundsmen to scale the palace walls and scrape it all off. Maybe he'd even send Prisca. He quite fancied the idea of dangling her from one of the towers. It would certainly wipe that look of haughty disappointment from her pretty face. Then he could concentrate on Javan. Or maybe not. Maybe he could send the both of them. See which one fell first.
Of course, the Gos-Ralans would not be happy, but he could always direct the King's business to the Ro-Taeyars if they protested. Danael Ro-Taeyar had been flattering him for the past ten moons to grant them royal approval to supply the weapons for the Order. Perhaps now was the time.
