A Game of Hearts and Heists: A Steamy Lesbian Fantasy Romance (Girl Games Book 1)

I flee the room, unable to bear the sight of them. I don’t want Scarlett anywhere near me. Not after what she’s done. I just want to see Malachi. I strip the snoody off, flinging it on the floor, and keep pounding down the corridor until I veer into the residential wing and find my mother carrying a tray of herbs and water.

I slide to a halt.

“Quinny,” my mother beams, “we weren’t expecting you.” And then she takes in my clothes, my blood-stained outfit. Her face falls, and the tray of herbs wobbles in her hands.

“What… What happened?”

I will tell her. But not now. Not like this.

“It’s complicated.”

My eyes slide to the tray. It’s packed. I recognise most of the herbs as things I’ve sent for Malachi to try.

“What’s going on? Is Malachi okay?”

“Quinn,” she exclaims, as if remembering. “Oh thank the gods, you’re here.”

My body chills, my chest and fingers tingling. She puts the tray down and pulls me into a hug. “He’s not doing too well. Feverish and puking. But I’m hoping some of these herbs will bring him out of this sickness.”

She pats my back, and with each tap I remember the knife plunging into father. The hollow thud as my fist slammed against his spine.

“I’ll go make some tea. You sort Malachi out.”

“I will, mama.”

I should tell her about father. About the mess hidden in an invisible room. But he’s safe in there for now. Concealed by his own tricks. I walk into the room. Malachi lays out on the bed, sweating and feverish. He sits up, coughs into his sleeve and tries to wave. But it’s slow. Laboured.

I wasted all this time trying to steal bits of fucking maps and none of it matters. Not when he’s been living here, under the rule of a father who wanted to slaughter him.

“I know about…” I touch my throat.

There’s movement behind me. I smell her before I turn to see her. The scent of leather and hot skin, iron and power.

I expect Malachi to cower, to fear the woman who tried to end his life, but instead, his face lights up. He sits higher and waves at her.

“What… What are you doing? She… she maimed you.” I turn to Scarlett. “GET. OUT.”

Malachi frowns at me, reaches for my hand and pats it. Then gestures at Scarlett, waving in a circle. He coughs and wheezes a whispered, “Tell. Her.”

Scarlett hangs her head, unable to meet my gaze.

“Tell me what?”

“Tell,” Malachi says, a sharper wheeze this time.

“Okay, okay,” Scarlett says, “stop trying to speak.”

Stop trying to speak? What the fuck?

“When I accepted your father’s commission, I didn’t know it was your brother. I hadn’t even met you then,” she starts, and my fingers twitch, wanting to ball.

“Yes, you’ve made that clear. Get to the point, Scarlett, or get the fuck out.”

Her jaw clenches. Malachi’s hand slides over my fingers, as if trying to calm me.

“When I realised how young your brother was, I offered to bring him back with me across the Border. To keep him safe under the Queen’s security as a refugee, if you like.”

“What? Why didn’t you go?” I say, turning to Malachi.

“He… he wanted to stay and fight. He thought that if he stayed, he could spy for the Queen. Become an informant of sorts. But he couldn’t stay in the condition he was in. We both knew your father would find another way to kill him. Or get someone else to do the job.”

I rub my brow. This can’t be. I don’t… And then a memory slides into focus. The Queen’s meeting room, the thick journal she carried, was familiar. But I dismissed it. Everyone carries notebooks and journals. But it wasn’t just familiar, was it? It was identical.

“You gave her a spelled journal,” I say to Malachi. He nods and coughs, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple.

Malachi gestures for Scarlett to continue.

“It was his idea. For me to sever his vocal chords. Silence him without killing him. It was a risk, of course. We couldn’t be sure it would be enough to satisfy your father. But he wanted to try, anyway. I did as he asked. Enabled him to become an informant…” She trails off. Oh, you sneaky bastard.

“You set this whole thing up, didn’t you?” I say.

Malachi smiles, taps my hand and looks at his journal. I reach for it and hand him a pen. He coughs multiple times, so I set about mixing herbs, pouring liquid into vials. I can’t look at Scarlett, though.

When Malachi is done, he holds up the journal.

She mentioned your name in so many letters, so many times. The information came in bits, but eventually I figured it was you. I knew Quinn had fallen for you, despite what she thought. And how could I not encourage that? My own sister had fallen for the woman who saved my life.

“She didn’t save your life. She injured you,” I spit. “Why would you let her do… do that to you? Why wouldn’t you have told me? I would have helped you. We could have fought him together.”

It’s Scarlett that responds. “Because this was his way of fighting. Fighting for you both.”

Malachi nods, agreeing with everything Scarlett’s saying.

He mouths the words at me. “I chose this, Quinn. Scarlett reluctantly helped.”

My head spins. I can’t take any more of this.

“How long have you known?” I say to Scarlett.

She shakes her head. “I didn’t. Not until your father walked into the room. That’s when I put it together and realised who you were. Who Malachi was.”

I let go of my brother’s hand and march up to Scarlett.

“I hate you,” I spit. “I always have.”

There’s a moment of hesitation. Scarlett never hesitates, but it draws in, wrinkling her eyes. And then she hardens.

“Was it ever real? Or was it all a fucking game to you?” she spits.

Her eyes are watery, the blue fierce. She shuts them and takes a deep breath.

Of course it was real. But I don’t want to tell her that. I don’t want her anywhere near me.

“Get. Out.”

“Quinn, please…”

I shove her hard in the chest. “GO.”

Scarlett’s face breaks apart, and somewhere deep in my chest my heart shrivels, a spasming pain lancing through my ribs, making hot tears fall down my cheeks.

“Don’t do this. Don’t erase everything between us. I lo—” Scarlett says.

“Don’t you dare say it. DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE.” I’m screaming, the words raw and thorny in my throat.

She needs to leave.

I can’t have her touch me or look at me. She’s betrayed everything.

“This was never a game, Scarlett. This is my life. My family. How could you? You win. Okay? You fucking win. Just leave.”

Malachi coughs, a hacking mucus. I turn my back on Scarlett, rushing to his side as he sprays blood across his duvet. He passes out in my arms. My chest clamps tight, a furious rush of panic filling me. There isn’t time to deal with Scarlett. I have to fix Malachi.

I fuss with the herbs mother brought, assessing what’s there. I have to create an antidote, a medicine, anything to take this fever down.

I take far too long to brew a tea, and by the time I’m tilting his head and pouring liquid down, his breathing has slowed.

“Come on, Malachi. Hold on.”

I hold him, pouring medicine in, over and over. Holding, stroking the sweat away, applying cooling cloths to his brow.

Hours pass.

I don’t know when Scarlett left, but when Malachi finally comes to, and the colour has returned to his cheeks, I glance up.

The doorway is empty, the palace silent.

And Scarlett is gone.