Crown of Ruin

  Every one of them lies there, devoid of skin, organ-less. Only stringy hair clings to La’ei and Edith’s skeletons. Even the burial clothes on the bodies of the first four have deteriorated with time.

  I hug myself, subconsciously checking to make sure that I am alive. That I possess skin, and that my heart beats underneath it.

  “Except for the times I have been traveling,” Cyrus suddenly speaks up, “I have visited this sepulcher every day since I laid the body of La’ei to rest.”

  I can’t move.

  I want to go to his side, to be strong and hold Cyrus in what is surely a deep well of painful memories. But I can’t. I’m frozen in place, frozen in this vortex of time.

  “Everything in me wishes to go and look for the body of the eighth,” he says, emotion ripping at his vocal cords. “But the logical part of me knows there isn’t a chance I would ever find Itsuko’s remains. And I cannot put into words the amount of grief that brings to my soul, knowing she—you, were alone at the end of that life.”

  His words are the same as if he had ripped claws across the front of my chest, catching down through bone and all the way to my tender, fleshy heart.

  I close my eyes, and clear as day, the memories of all the fear I felt floods through me. The days of anticipation, knowing how they were going to try to use me against Cyrus, they wash over me. And then the bitter realization that I could stop everything.

  I remember the rough feel of the whaling spear. The splinter that immediately found its way into my right thumb. For just a fraction of a second, I considered not doing it. But I knew. I knew I would return someday. I knew I had to save my love.

  I remember the white-hot cold that ripped through me as I plunged the sharp tip into my chest.

  And then the darkness that welcomed me with comforting arms.

  Cyrus turns, looking back at me. There’s so much pain in his eyes, and I can see the depths of it. I could trip into his eyes and fall for two thousand years before I found the bottom of his grief.

  “The happiness in me at your return holds worlds in its weight, im yndmisht srtov,” he confesses. “But it also fills me with so much fear I feel as if I am drowning. Because the countdown is now initiated for when the end will arrive once more.”

  I see his face fracture. One tiny crinkle in his face at a time. His eyes squint closed, his lips part.

  I’m beside him in an invisible movement. I kneel before him, placing my hands on either side of his face. I press my lips to his forehead, pulling him into my chest.

  Great sobs rip from Cyrus, uncontrolled and loud. His hands rise, gripping the back of my shirt in them, clinging to me like his life depends on it.

  “I cannot bear it again, Sevan,” he sobs. He shakes his head slightly, clinging tighter. “I cannot survive losing you another time.”

  I splay my hand across the back of his head, pressing his face deeper into my chest. Tears roll down my face as I break, splintered apart by the pain I feel for the man I love more than the world and time and the universe.

  I want to whisper promises to him, reassurances.

  But I can’t.

  Not when we know for a fact that my death will happen again.

  Not when it’s been proven over and over, eight irrefutable times.

  “I will always return to you,” is all that I can actually promise him. “I will always fight my way back to you, Cyrus.”

  We cling to one another, sobbing messes filled beyond the brim with pain and loss.

  But at least we are here, together.

  Some time later, I sit back, looking into Cyrus’ face. His skin is spotted with redness, his eyes puffy. Rivers of dried tears stain his cheeks.

  But still, I look at him, and he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

  I slide a hand down his face, studying him.

  “I meant what I said before, Sevan,” he says, still holding onto me like his life depends on it. “I don’t care about them anymore. I don’t care about the throne. All I care about is my time with you, and finding a way to fix this.”

  His words harden the tender mood we’ve just created. But he moves on as he reaches up, brushing his thumb over my lips.

  “But I understand that you need to see them through,” he says. He doesn’t look me in the eyes. He studies my face, every little detail. The corners of my eyes, the arch of my lips. “You are the All Mother. They love you, and I understand that you love them. And so I will stay. I will be at your side, but I will not occupy my time trying to save them from what they are too ignorant to understand. But I will stay at your side, Queen Sevan.”

  I feel it then. As if he had physically taken the crown from his head and placed it upon my own.

  The burden and weight of the kingdom will remain on my shoulders, even now that Cyrus has been brought back from the darkness.

  But I made him a promise three days ago. That I would carry him.

  I will keep that promise.

  For however long he needs.

  He has carried the burden on his own for centuries while I was dead.

  Now it is my turn.

  I nod, bringing my face close to his. “Thank you,” I manage, and I truly am grateful.

  Because if he was truly determined to leave, to walk away from Roter Himmel, I don’t know if I would be strong enough to stay with the people, if I could be strong enough not to go with him.

  I tilt his head toward mine, and press my lips to his.

  Things are changing. So much will be different.

  But not this.

  Not my love for Cyrus.

  Not his love for me.

  That will never, ever change.

  Chapter 21

  The very next day is the first that we get a phone call to Cyrus’ direct office line. I answer, holding my shoulders back.

  It took longer than I expected, for word to get out about what happened to Cyrus. It’s the House of Martials. They’re the first to call and ask if it is true, if Cyrus had been killed.

  I assure Elle that no, Cyrus is not dead. He’s well and alive and busy working. She asks if Alivia was able to help me identify my father, and I tell her yes. And I’m grateful that she doesn’t ask me anything else regarding her brother or sister-in-law. I don’t want to have to lie to her.

  Another call comes in the next day, also asking about Cyrus’ status as living or dead. It’s the House of Sidra. They inquire as to why they have not been able to reach anyone at Court.

  So I tell them a partial truth. That we are having some internal issues here, that we need to find assurances of trust, and we are currently under lockdown while we sort this out. Any inquiries can come directly to me.

  The call from the House of Valdez gets a little heated. They demand to know why they haven’t been able to reach their brother and son, Horatio. I explain. And they go off about how I can trust him, how dedicated he is to the crown, how he’s been of service to Cyrus for years, enough to be invited to live at Court.

  I think I actually believe them when I finally get off the phone.

  Over the next few days, our daytime hours are spent separate. Cyrus keeps himself busy in the lab. I handle the flood of inquiries that come in from around the world. Everyone is worried, confused. Rumors have spread around the globe like wildfire.

  So over the next few days, I make endless phone calls. One by one, I get in contact with each of the Houses. I assure them that Cyrus is alive and well. No, he has not called them himself because he’s the King and is obviously indisposed. Yes, it’s true, this is Queen Sevan, the All Mother. Court is currently in lock down. If they have further questions or concerns, they can work directly with me, but obviously I’m incredibly busy dealing with the issues here at Court.

  The reactions I’m met with are mixed. Some are doubtful that I am who I say I am. I have to explain that I am the daughter of not one, but two Royals, that my mother is the famed Alivia Conrath, and my father was a member at Court. I give them a fact or t
wo if they tie to the individual House leader, and eventually they accept that I am who I say I am.

  Then they turn to reverence and awe. Excitement.

  And then they’re doubtful again, because they want proof that Cyrus is actually alive. They heard he’d been decapitated, how could he be alive? They think I lie about his wellbeing.

  So I get angry.

  I channel both my fury as Logan and my commanding ability as Sevan.

  I’m not above threatening and vile words.

  Each and every phone call is ended with an apology and humbled words.

  Good.

  I’m so busy that I don’t even have time to see what Cyrus is doing down in the lab. But every night, when the sun goes down, I go down to the main floor and find him coming up from the lower levels.

  I smile when I see him, and I remind myself that everything is going to be okay when I see the smile that fills his face and spreads to his eyes.

  I cross the space, wrapping my fingers into his hair as I press my lips to his.

  On the fifth night after visiting the sepulcher, Cyrus and I find ourselves in the watch tower meeting room. I lay on one of the couches, staring up at the chandelier above us, my head in Cyrus’ lap.

  “Let’s go on a trip together,” I say, lacing my fingers through his. “Once this is all settled and everything is fixed and we know we’re safe, let’s take that trip.”

  Cyrus looks down at me.

  Those eyes.

  Oh. I love those eyes.

  “We could go now,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

  I glare at him even through the little smile on my face. I roll over, climbing to my knees. I crawl over, placing one knee on either side of his hips, settling into his lap. “Don’t even go there,” I chide him. But I lace my fingers into his hair, enjoying its thickness, the cool feeling of it between my fingers. His hair is always messed up the last few nights.

  I think I’ve found another favorite thing about him.

  “We went on trips as kids,” I say, looking down into his eyes. “But we only ever went so far. I always wanted to see the world. And now I want to see it with you.”

  Cyrus reaches up, tucking hair behind my ear. “Where have you always wanted to go?”

  “Somewhere tropical,” I say. I study his lips, thinking about all the places in the world I want to kiss them. “With white sandy beaches and water so blue and clear you can see the fish swimming.”

  “Bora Bora perhaps,” Cyrus suggests. “Or maybe even Fiji.”

  I bite my lower lip, nodding. “And then I want to see penguins.”

  “Penguins?” he questions with a smile and the raise of an eyebrow.

  “Penguins,” I confirm with a little laugh. “I know it’s colder than Satan’s nipples, but I always thought an excursion to Antarctica would be amazing.”

  “Well then,” Cyrus says, shifting and laying me on my back and poising above me. “To Antarctica we will go.”

  The heat in Cyrus’ eyes is intense. It could burn me to my skeleton. But I relish in it. I place a hand on his cheek.

  I realize, I can’t stop touching his face because I’m still in awe that he’s alive. I’m still proving to myself over and over that he’s here.

  I’ll keep touching him for the rest of my life, because I still can’t quite believe it.

  My lips meet his immediately because I can’t stand the separation. Greedily, I pull his lower lip into my mouth, biting it gently. I slide my hands under his shirt, tracing my fingers up and over his stomach muscles.

  “You have no idea how badly I wanted to do this back in Colorado,” I growl into Cyrus mouth as my hands continue their exploration.

  “I know exactly how badly you wanted to do this,” he counters as his left hand slips down my hip, rounding my ass, pulling me tight to him. “It’s as badly as I wanted my hands on you, Logan. It’s as bad as I wanted these here.” He squeezes my butt and I smile lustfully. “As badly as I wanted my lips here.” He shifts, bringing them to my neck, trailing wet, possessive kisses down my flesh.

  Greedily, I pull at his shirt, attempting to remove it, but I rip it clean in half in my haste.

  Cyrus’ eyes alight red, glowing dim but hot.

  And I take him in for a second, being lustful and selfish.

  Every pane of his face, every angle of his shoulders and rise and fall of his chest and stomach…

  I want this man. Every bit of him. For forever.

  I raise up, pushing Cyrus back as I climb on top of him. His hands slip underneath my own shirt, his hands pressed to the bare skin of my back as our lips find each other once more.

  There’s nothing soft or gentle about these kisses. They’re wild and desperate. Hungry and saturated with passion.

  But he does not pressure me. He doesn’t reach for my zipper. His hands do not wander too far.

  He made me a promise, to do this the way I need.

  And he’s keeping it.

  He rolls over, and we slip off the couch. On the ground, he props himself up on an elbow, looking down at me.

  I reach up, touching his face, gentle, soft.

  “I love you,” I say. I feel those three words from my tongue, down to my heels.

  He reaches up, brushing his thumb over my lips. “I love you, Logan.”

  He leans down, kissing me once more.

  * * *

  The next night, after another exhausting day of work and politics, Cyrus and I eat together in the kitchen. Cyrus cooked. I fantastically burned the meal I tried to prepare.

  “What do you know about Lorenzo?” I ask as I fork the spinach salad.

  “Why do you ask?” he says. Then suddenly his gaze flicks up, and he studies my eyes. “Oh,” he says, surprise and…guilt flooding into his face. “He’s your biological father, isn’t he?”

  I nod, offering a little smile. He’s feeling guilty, because after all this time, he hasn’t once asked me about it. “Alivia identified him, and it’s pretty obvious. I talked to him, but only for a few minutes.”

  Cyrus straightens, taking a deep breath. He looks around, as if searching the space for his answers.

  “He’s not been one of the more memorable members of this Court over the years,” Cyrus says. He rubs his hands together, pressing them into his lap. “He’s been here at Court for a long time. I’d say, since you were you as Antoinette.”

  He’s old then. At least six hundred years, maybe even seven or eight.

  “The man comes and goes. He occasionally attends parties. But he has never been particularly involved in the politics.”

  “Is there anything concerning about him that you worry about?” I ask, taking another bite.

  Cyrus contemplates that for a moment. He shrugs and shakes his head. “Not that I am aware of. For creating what he did, I’d say the man is rather unremarkable.”

  I give an affirmative noise, but really, I’m just relieved.

  Unremarkable is a good thing. It means he likely isn’t an evil scumbag.

  Thinking of scumbags…

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I say, feeling slightly uncomfortable, but also feeling something prickly and hot inflate in my chest. “While I was looking for you last week, I came across something very interesting buried in the fifth floor.”

  Immediately, Cyrus freezes, his eyes stuck on the plate in front of him.

  “How long ago did you open that little blood club in our home, Cyrus?”

  I’m really not that mad. I know Cyrus. I know that he never used it himself.

  Really, I’m just enjoying making him squirm.

  “Sevan, it was never intended for me,” he finally says, looking up at me.

  There’s so much guilt and shame in his face, it actually makes me laugh. One slips over my lips and a smile cracks my façade.

  “The other Court members, we were having a problem with some of the males going after women,” he continues stumbling over himself to explain. “I worried about exposure and a
ll the people who would get hurt. This was the solution we came up with.”

  “And you had to build it within the walls of our home?” I question.

  That part really does bother me.

  “I only wanted to be sure I could monitor the situation and what happened down there.” Oh, it’s just comical how mortified and guilty Cyrus looks right now. His eyes are wide, his mouth open, his skin is pale. Poor guy. “I swear to you, I never indulged in the activities that went on inside that club.”

  A little smile curls in one corner of my mouth. I look up at him from beneath my lashes. “I believe you, Cyrus. I know you would never. But I still want it out of my home. Once we have help in the castle again I want it gone.”

  “Done,” he replies immediately, a slight look of relief in his eyes.

  I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Come here, you idiot,” I say as I reach across the table, grabbing the front of his shirt. I pull him forward, and kiss him.

  Chapter 22

  The will of the Born is strong, apparently. Fueled by their hatred of the crown.

  Larkin didn’t get much of any information out of the three Born he found. Only vile words about the fall of the crown now that Cyrus was dead. Only that times would change.

  Larkin returned to the secure location one day to find two of those Born dead, and the other long gone, with a stash of supplies and a vehicle taken.

  I told him he couldn’t stop looking for that last Born.

  He left to hunt the man down.

  Within seven days of my fake interrogation with Matthias, no less than six more Court members confess to being vampires, bringing the total up to thirteen. Thirteen immortals, used to living an easy life at Court, who will be banished from here forever. That is thirteen Houses around the world that will be given a new member to keep an eye on for the rest of their immortal lives.

  In the end, we’ll be smaller, but we’ll be safe.

  I’ve just walked back into the castle from a long afternoon talking with my grandsons when Cyrus steps into the entry, a fat man in some kind of clergy outfit, and an older woman with silver dreadlocks trailing behind her.