Raffaele nods. “I am, Your Majesty.”
Giulietta’s lips curve into a smile. When he looks up at her, she motions for him to rise. “You certainly look and speak as beautifully as they say.” She straightens then, and approaches him. Raffaele stays very still as she draws near. Her fingers go up to the gold string near the collar of his robes, then tugs it loose, exposing a bit of his skin.
Raffaele’s eyes dart to the Inquisitors lining the walls, their crossbows still fixed on him. When Giulietta sits down on the edge of the bed again and pats the spot beside her, he steps closer. “I’ve already told you what I wish for, Your Majesty,” he says in a gentle voice. “Tell me, then, what you desire. What can I do for you?”
Giulietta smiles again as she lays her head down on her pillow. “You say that if I grant mercy to all malfettos, you and your Daggers will do my bidding as a part of my army.” Giulietta nods. “I’ve decided I will grant you that, as long as I am satisfied with what you can do. Tomorrow, I will order my Inquisitors to begin bringing our malfettos back into the city. In return, I want you to summon your Daggers. And I want you to fulfill your end of the bargain.” Her stare hardens for a moment. “Remember that I can easily bring my wrath down on the malfettos of this city if you fail to follow through on your word.”
Raffaele’s smile returns. So, it is as he suspected. Giulietta’s “hatred” for the malfettos is not the same as Teren’s. Teren despises malfettos because he believes them to be demons. Evil, cursed. But Giulietta … Giulietta despises malfettos only when they are in her way. She will use them as much as they can benefit her. Very good. He bows his head in a perfect imitation of submission. “Then we are yours to command.”
Giulietta nods at his expression. She stretches out on her bed and looks at him through a halo of dark curls. As beautiful as Enzo was handsome. Raffaele sees for a moment what must have drawn Teren to her. It is hard to believe that, behind the dark lashes and small, sweet, rosy mouth, is a princess who had once tried—even as a child—to poison her brother.
“Well, my consort,” she murmurs. “Prove your reputation to me.”
In the early hours before dawn, Raffaele emerges from the queen’s chambers and into the long shadows of the hall. Inquisitors still stand guard on either side of the door, and two of them move away to walk alongside him.
“The queen has ordered you moved to more comfortable quarters,” one of the Inquisitors says as they walk.
Raffaele nods, but his eyes stay on the shadows in the hall. Teren is still here—he can feel his Elite energy seething in the darkness, waiting for him to approach. Raffaele slows his walk. Although the shadows cover nearly everything, he can sense that Teren must be standing just a few feet away.
He will attack you. Raffaele’s instincts suddenly flare up—he knew this would happen. He whirls in the direction of the queen’s chambers, then calls out, “Your Majesty!”
It’s all he manages to say before a blur of white materializes from the shadows and seizes him by the collar of his robe. Raffaele feels himself lifted nearly off his feet—his back slams so hard against the wall that the impact knocks all the breath from his chest. Stars explode across his vision. Somewhere comes the sound of a blade through air, and an instant later, cold metal presses hard against his throat. A hand clamps over his mouth.
Teren’s face comes into focus before him. His pale irises seem to pulse in the darkness. “Pretty little peacock,” he snarls as Raffaele struggles for breath. He gestures for the other two Inquisitors to pin him against the wall. “What lies did you tell the queen this time? What demonic spells are you weaving?”
Raffaele returns Teren’s glare with his own quiet one. “I am no more a demon than you are.”
Teren’s gaze hardens. “Let’s see how often the queen will ask for you after I carve the skin off your face.”
Raffaele smiles back. His smile is sharp, a blade of silk and grace. “You fear me more than I fear you.”
Teren’s eyes flash. He nods to the Inquisitors to hold him tightly, and then he hoists his dagger higher. He smiles in a way that prickles Raffaele’s skin.
“Stop.”
The queen’s command rings out sharply down the hall, and Teren freezes. Raffaele turns to see Giulietta heading out of her chambers with soldiers at her back, her face cold and distant. She narrows her eyes at Teren. Immediately, the two Inquisitors pinning Raffaele to the wall release him, and everyone falls into a hurried kneel. Raffaele gulps as pain continues to lance down his back.
“Your solution to everything, Master Santoro,” she says when she reaches them, “is to bite.”
He opens his mouth as she approaches him, but before he can say anything, Giulietta reaches out for the gold clasp holding his Inquisition cloak in place. She flicks the clasp open, then gives the cloak one vicious yank. The cloak falls from his shoulders, pooling at his feet.
The sign of a demotion.
Teren’s eyes snap open in shock. “Your Majesty—” he begins.
Giulietta just gives him an icy look. “I warned you what would happen if you ever ignored my commands again.”
“But I—”
“I ordered Raffaele to be taken back to his new chambers. Why did you disobey me?”
Teren bows his head in what looks like shame. “Your Majesty,” he replies. “I apologize. I—”
“I’ve heard enough of your apologies,” Giulietta interrupts. She folds her arms. “When dawn arrives, you are to take a patrol and report to the southern cities immediately.”