By the time she was standing again, Gemma was scowling at her. “What do you mean it’s not what we’re going to do?”

“What part of that did you not understand?”

Gemma stomped toward her. “You can’t seriously be thinking of letting that little slit live!”

“What I’m not going to do is let her dictate my plans.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Why do you think she did this?” Keeley demanded. “She sent Straton after Mum and Da to distract me. To make me crazed!”

“And because you want to prove what a queenly woman you’ve become you’re going to let that vainglorious cunt live?”

“I’m going to do what I need to do!” Keeley yelled back, now staring down at her smaller sister. “And if that’s a problem for you, fucking leave!” She waved toward the castle exit. “There’s the fucking door!”

* * *

Determined, fed up, and crushed by everything that had happened, Gemma grabbed her travel bag and stormed out of the throne room.

“You’re really leaving?” Quinn said from behind her.

“I am.” She’d return to the protective gates where she’d left Samuel and her horses and those damn demon wolves and she’d head to the Old King’s castle. “Beatrix has to die and clearly Keeley doesn’t have the guts to do it.”

“Really?” he sneered. “You really think that?”

“If nothing else, it’s clear my queen sister doesn’t need me anymore. She has your brother and sister—”

“And Keran.”

Gemma stopped on the last step and looked back at the centaur.

Smirking down at her, he said, “You know, the one who may or may not have started a war with the barbarians due to a drunken conversation she had with one that she may or may not have fucked over a decade ago.” He came slowly down the steps toward her. “And of course there’s your mother and father who will always be by her side. I’m sure they can take time out from watching your siblings to risk their lives in battle to keep the queen safe.” He reached the step just above the one she stood on. “I’m sure servants can raise the children, should all three be lost.”

“So you’re assuming I’ll fail to kill Beatrix?”

“Yes,” he said with a wide grin. “Because she’s expecting either one or both of you to come and she’ll crush you before you can get near her. And then she’ll laugh and laugh! Or,” he added, leaning down so they were eye to eye, “you can stop being a spoiled little nightmare and fight by your sister’s side to secure her crown and the safety of your family. Of course, that means you’ll need to start trusting her judgment. As hard as that may be for you.”

“But as long as Beatrix lives—”

“She will keep coming for you and your family. I do not deny that. For some reason she’s trying to wipe all of you out. The memory of you . . . offends her, I guess. I’m not sure why, but Keeley knows. But to go after Beatrix right now? Keeley knows better. She’s learning to play the game. Beatrix’s game. Because Prince Marius’s army will be waiting for you with open arms if you make this very predictable move. And even a War Monk can’t fight an entire army by herself.”

Gemma hated that he was right and that he felt the need to pat her on the head like a dog.

As he patted, he noted, “You are surprisingly short considering the size of your sister.”

Gemma jerked away from his hand and started back up the stairs, punching him in the side as she passed.

“Owwww! Evil viper!”

* * *

Unroch watched the Smythe sister return to the throne room, the centaur Quinn behind her, rubbing his side and wincing.

Making sure to catch the attention of his head guard, Unroch motioned to the human females. Keeley Smythe might have been made queen by the Witches of Amhuinn but anyone who could batter away at Soiffart’s Anvil and not destroy her arms in the process was someone to be feared. And her sister? Well . . . she was a War Monk. Nothing else needed to be said about that.

So Unroch wanted his men ready for anything should the sisters decide to turn on the king and queen.

At first, the sisters did not speak. Queen Keeley kept her back to her sibling. The War Monk dropped her travel bag to the floor and leaned against the table. The cousin was eating.

Finally, the War Monk seemed unable to take any more of the silence and asked, “So, what do you want from us . . . my queen?”

Queen Keeley glanced over her shoulder at her sister. They stared at each other until the War Monk silently mouthed, Bitch.

Unroch tensed, ready for the fight that would ensue. But the human queen merely mouthed back, Asshole.

And when the queen looked away from her sister, there was a small smile on her face.

“Well, Sister,” the queen said for all to hear, “I have been thinking that I need a place to live. I mean, as queen.”

The War Monk frowned so harshly that Unroch thought she’d explode and storm out yet again.

But, when the queen faced her and added, “Perhaps a chunky nun can help me secure such a place,” the frown faded, replaced by a small smile. Then a much bigger smile.

“A queen does need a place to live,” the War Monk practically purred.

“Then, my friends,” Queen Keeley announced, “let us get ready.”

King Mundric did offer his army to Queen Keeley, but the human only said, “Not yet, my friend,” and then handed him the most important resource the gods had ever given Unroch’s people: Sichar’s gold.

After that, the centaurs and humans moved quickly to gather up what they needed for whatever they were going to do next. The human queen paused only to yell, “Keran!”

“I’m awake!” the guild fighter barked, jumping up from the royal dining table. “I’m awake! What are we doing? What’s happening?”

Once they’d all left the throne room, Unroch examined Soif-fart’s Anvil.

“By my cock!” he exclaimed to his king and queen, smoothing his hand across the metal. “She dented the fucking thing!”

“That’s not possible,” the king argued; he and the queen now stood over the anvil and gawked at it along with their general and several of the shocked guards.

“My ancestors made this themselves,” the queen gasped. “With the best of our steel given to us by the gods . . . it’s indestructible. This should not be possible.”

“It’s a dent, my lady. A small dent, but it’s a dent. That human dented it with that hammer she made herself.”

“He’s right,” Mundric said. “That . . . woman dented it with her pathetic little hammer.”

Unroch blew out a breath. “I do not envy her enemies, my liege.”

CHAPTER 28

Lar s watched the chunky nun approach the closed gates with her two mules.

“My lords,” she called up to them. “I beg you in the name of my merciful god to allow me to enter so that I may bring the words of love and care of the god Simon to those who are within.”

Lars glanced at his men and asked, “Simon? You lot ever heard of a god named Simon?”

After getting nothing but head shakes, Lars returned his gaze to the nun, who had moved closer. All two thousand pounds of her. Well, she wasn’t that big but still . . .

“Sorry, Sister. You’ll have to take your words of love and whatever to someone else. We don’t need them here.” Grinning, he glanced at his men. “We wouldn’t want the ladies of this lovely town to change their ways toward us.”

The nun’s eyes narrowed a bit. “Yes. I’m sure they’ve all happily welcomed you into their town.”

“What?”

Her soft smile returned. “I asked that you please allow me inside so I may bless this place in the name of my god.”

Lars shook his head. “No, Sister. No one in or out.”

She disappeared for a moment as she moved her bulk, covered in white robes, closer to the gates; and Lars heard a loud, panicked screech. A moment later, the nun reappeared. There was blood splattered across her face and on her white robes.

“Woman, what have you done?” Lars demanded with a startled laugh.

“Cursed you!” she said dramatically. “My god will come down upon you! And you will know true suffering. Because you’re all bad men! Bad, bad, bad!”

“Your god Simon will come for us?” he asked with great sarcasm. “Yes, I shiver in fear. Now go.” He motioned to his bowmen. “Or we’ll leave your body as warning to others.”

“Bad men!” she said, shaking her finger. “Bad!” One of his bowmen leaned forward and the nun ran off screaming, hands above her head.

“Where are her mules?” one of the men asked.

“She left them, I guess.”

“Should we bring them in?”

“We’re not opening the gates for anyone. So no. They’ll wander off on their own.”

Lars motioned to one of the young boys they’d recruited from among the locals as squires. With a few words, he sent the boy to the other side of town to alert the bowmen on the back gates. He wanted them to keep a lookout for the nun.

But as the boy took off running, there was a banging at the front gates. Hard, brutal banging that didn’t stop.

“What is that?” he demanded, looking over the battlements in an attempt to see below. “What is that?”

His men and bowmen also leaned over the wall, trying to see below. That’s when he heard the sound, slicing through the air. He’d been a mercenary for decades and instinctively ducked. But he had many younger, less experienced men under his command and they were hit with arrows to the head, neck, and chests. Those who weren’t killed outright died when they fell from the wall and landed hard inside the city.

“Blow the horn!” Lars yelled to the men below. “We’re under attack!”