Nectar of War: The Song of Verity and Serenity (The Nectar of War Series Book 1)

LAVEN HEPHAESTUS ARVENALDI, II

TERSEIUS — NORTHERN COURT OF VAIGON

P RINCE LAVEN IS IN Terseius at last.” I advert my gaze to the Duke’s daughter. I narrow my eyes at her as she circles me. The longer she trails around, the abundance of her perfume gags me. Her hand reaches out to grace my chest, but I catch her wrist before she can near any closer; she gasps at my grip on her wrist as I stop the unwarranted touch.

“Keep your wandering hands to yourself, Mora.” She smirks, taking a single step backward. “Where is your father?”

“His study with the men and women in our Circle, they are speaking about the intrusion of rogues while waiting for your arrival.” She speaks as if she has rehearsed this over in her head multiple times.

I nod and turn on my heel. The moment my hand touches the door, she calls out my name; I grimace at the sound of her tone and turn to the girl that stalks toward me.

Her pale skin is drowned in the black dress, the black dress of Quamfasi silks stolen from the people during many raids of their homes and seamstresses’ workshops.

“Do you have a mate yet, Laven?”

I lie. “No.”

She stands there, her eyebrows raised. Mora tucks her red hair behind her ear, waiting for me to say more. Something she will not get.

“You are not going to ask me if I have a man of my own?”

I sigh. “If you do have a man of your own, I pity him.”

Her head throws back as she lets out a horrendous giggle. “Do not fret; there is no man for you to pity . . . I do not believe in such a thing.”

“Well, you should.” I trim our conversation short. “I must leave now–”

“You can join me in my bed tonight,” she interrupts. “Or all of your nights you are here, if you crave to.”

I smile while holding my finger out, motioning for her to come closer.

It is almost dreadful how desperate this woman can be.

I near her ear as she closes the space between us.

“You would never measure up to the woman I have running infinitely in my head . . . you want someone like me in your bed chamber because my uncle is the High King, you wish for a throne that will never be yours.” As I stand up straight, I see I have proven my point by looking at her face. Her cheeks are paler, her eyes now dark as her promiscuous Wolf falls back.

“Go beg to fuck another Prince; I am not one to take to mistresses nor bed slaves.”

Years ago when my uncle first claimed Old Quamfasi, he promised Adir, Mora’s father, an arranged marriage of me and her.

Since Lorsius does not have children, it was me who was offered up, and offering me means giving Adir high stature in House Arvenaldi, and he would no longer be only a Duke. He would no longer only rule here in Terseius, but our Realm as a whole. My marriage to Mora would have given him immediate grant in our House. A grant he does not deserve.

The day I was released from Wyendgrev Tower, and I found out what Maivena really was to me, I had the marriage revoked.

Nothing angered my uncle more than that demand. Without me, he cannot reign. There must be an Heir to the Throne if anything happens to him and I threatened him with my leave if he does not agree.

But, not only Lorsius was enraged over my request. Adir was as well.

‘You will allow a boy as young as Laven to decide who he will marry?’ Adir shouts at uncle Lorsius as he leans across his bureau, nearing so close to his face that flecks of spit flies from his mouth. ‘My daughter will always be the most appropriate fit for a high role of this Kingdom. Mora has poise, she has the highest education, she is strong and quick, she learned to wield her powers faster than your average individual. And you wish to deny the marriage you promised me because a child demanded it?’

If only Adir knew my uncle more, he would be well aware that questioning him will make him hate you.

Lorsius slowly rises from his large chair and walks around his bureau to stand in front of Adir. Adir’s tan skin flushes.

‘Mora, your daughter,’ Lorsius pauses and holds up a finger. ‘Your  illegitimate daughter that you adopted from the orphanage.’

My uncle waits for Adir to say something, anything. He does not and Lorsius continues.

‘She is not of your blood–’

Adir immediately interrupts. ‘That does not make her any less my child.’

Lorsius smiles in that sadistic way he always does when ruining others with his words. ‘Yet, she is not of your blood,’ Lorsius continues where he was interrupted. ‘That making her barely acceptable for anything. Her legitimate parents could be commoners, poor folk of Old Quamfasi. And the longer I thought about it, the more I figured she is not the most appropriate fit because of her blood not truly being of yours. I will not allow her to ruin House Arvenaldi without knowing where her origins are from.’

I open my mouth attempting to defend Adir, but Lorsius holds his finger up to hush me.

Leaning against the wall again, I allow them to continue, but it does not. Adir slowly turns and ascends from the room going home to Terseius.

Lorsius is callous, and always has been, it is rare that I ever agree with anything he says or does. Especially now. Nevertheless, he is getting me out of this marriage, I have no choice but to stand here, be quiet, and allow him to say whatever he wishes to get me free of this.

He turns his head to me. ‘You are welcome.’

I should have ignored that finger he held up to silence me, but I could not. The only thing there was left for me to do was send a written apology to Adir for my silence. The written apology that went unanswered but did not go unnoticed.

Adir may have been wronged by Lorsius, but this does not excuse his hand in what happened to the people of Old Quamfasi. I will no longer allow those who held such a strong hand in the harm of their people in my House. I have worked tirelessly to keep House Arvenaldi strong; no one will ruin this for me, specifically not someone who has caused more destruction than growth.

From that day and on, I made an oath to myself to never be silenced by anyone ever again.

*  *  *

As I enter the Duke’s study, he looks to me in relief.

“Laven,” Adir sighs, motioning for me to see the map of the land. The men and women around him bow at my presence. A formal gesture I have always despised.

“How many deaths today?” I ask as my finger traces from one landmark to another. His routes to track the rogues are smart but not intelligent enough. Rogues know that we mean to locate them and disperse them one by one. Therefore, this path must be innovated and diversified by many lengths.

“Not as many as this past week,” Adir responds. “How many have lived that were not killed?” Not a word is spoken.

“It is unknown, my Lord.” His Emissary Quinlan says lowly, aware of the grave danger this causes.

I exhale heavily. “This infection they spread can injure, kill or turn a man, woman, and child into a pernicious Wolf—as well as in our human form we can become infected. Without certain numbers of those who are still alive—no matter how we go about this—we could be handing ourselves our own death wish.”

“What do you suggest?” Adir asks while rolling up the map in front of us.

“We must know their numbers.” “And how can we do that?” “Bait,” Quinlan mumbles.

I nod. “Yes, and I have just the person.”

“We will use a servant,” Adir says. “One of the attractive.”

My face turns at the idea. “Leave those poor men and women to their duties; they do enough for you all as it is. Either way, the rogues we are dealing with will not want much with a poor servant. Whoever is behind creating such rogues want power.”

I look up to Adir, and his defense goes up. “You will not use my mate; that is a limit not to press.” He warns.

I smile. “I was not thinking of your wife.”

“And I am not too fond of throwing Mora in such danger either . . . but she is fast,” he slowly nods. “She can outrun them.”

Adir places a new map on the large wood table; I grab the quill and red ink, drawing a large oval around the perimeter of these winter woods.

“I have been studying these lands for the past week; it seems they gather most within the heart of the woods.”

“My Lord, if they gather most at the heart of our land, why not attack from the outside in? We could force them all into one area and attack from there.”

I do not know the young woman speaking; I look at her and circle my fingers around the inside of the heart.

“If we use our method of bait in their safe space, they all will gather. The goal is to chase them out of their safe interior and into land they are unfamiliar with–”

“We get them to an unfamiliar land; they will panic and we have the upper hand.” Adir adds up my calculations as I continue to draw them out.

“Exactly,” I nod. “Warn your people, but silently, the last thing we want is for the rogues to know exactly what is coming. Have them prepare arrows, poison them with Lernaean Hydra Blood Oil, coat their spears and swords in it as well. Use a thick cloth when applying it; you do not want to touch an oil like that. The moment the oil enters their bloodstream, they will be executed. I wish we had an alternative option, as of now, death is the only answer.”

Adir motions his hand to the young woman who spoke; she nods, rushing out, taking three other men with her to prepare.

Quinlan steps closer to us. “What will we do if this does not see through as we plan?” He lowly asks.

Adir groans; sitting down, he rubs his hands over his face and through his dark red hair. “This needs to follow through.”

“Well, if this does not go accordingly, I will send a messenger to the citadel to call upon Hua and Amias. They will be on the first ship with our Mandem; I will have them bring the Warriors; we attack from every angle. If this fails, who knows what your rate of infected-living will go to.

“Although, neither plan should falter. I am planning for failure not to be an option; I would like to go home soon.”