Pretty Ways to Kill a King
1024 Words
Aria dreamed of drowning Selene in a fountain.
Not a dramatic dream-fountain with thunder and prophecy.
A very ordinary fountain in a courtyard.
Selene screamed about her silk while Aria calmly held her under the water until the bubbles stopped.
It was the most peaceful sleep Aria had gotten in days.
She woke almost smiling.
Then remembered where she was.
The smile vanished.
Her room was washed in pale morning light. Mist drifted beyond the tall windows. Somewhere far below, steel clashed in the training yard.
The palace never truly rested.
Neither, apparently, did her thoughts.
Selene’s face returned first.
That polished cruelty. The way she had said mute as though silence made Aria small. The way she moved through the palace like it already belonged to her.
Aria hated many things now.
Selene had climbed the list with impressive speed.
A tray waited outside the door when she opened it a c***k.
Fresh bread. Fruit. Tea.
And a folded note.
Her stomach betrayed her before pride could object.
She took the tray, the note, and locked the door again.
The handwriting was sharp and elegant.
Eat.
You are difficult enough with strength.
—Kael
Aria stared at it.
Then she laughed once despite herself.
Arrogant beast.
She should have torn the note.
Instead, she slid it beneath a book and began eating.
That was mistake number one.
Because while buttering toast, she imagined stabbing Kael in the throat with the knife.
Mistake number two was realizing the image satisfied her far too much.
By the time she finished breakfast, she had developed seven possible murder plans.
Poison.
Balcony push.
Accidental horse incident.
Fire.
Knife in sleep.
Drop chandelier.
Convince Ronan to help and deny involvement later.
The last one had promise.
A knock sounded.
She ignored it.
Another.
Then Ronan’s voice drifted through the wood.
“I come in peace, gossip, and mild concern.”
Aria opened the door halfway.
Ronan stood there holding a basket of apples and the expression of a man who knew entirely too much.
“You look dangerous,” he said.
She took an apple.
“That confirms it.”
He slipped inside before she could deny entry and sprawled across a chair as though furniture belonged to him by divine right.
Aria remained standing.
Ronan studied her face.
“You’re plotting.”
She bit into the apple.
Silence.
“Excellent,” he said. “I support female ambition.”
He glanced around the room, lowered his voice, and added, “As long as it doesn’t involve stabbing me.”
Aria’s gaze moved to the fruit knife on the tray.
Ronan sat up straighter.
“I regret the joke.”
She almost smiled.
Almost.
His expression softened.
“You’re doing better.”
She looked away.
Was she?
Her body no longer burned the way it had yesterday, but strange waves still came and went—moments where the room felt too warm, where Kael’s scent seemed to appear from nowhere, where her pulse raced for no reason she wanted to name.
Then shame followed.
Always shame.
Ronan noticed the shift in her face.
“It’s still happening?”
She gave one stiff nod.
He leaned back again.
“It will for a while. On and off. Less each time.”
That should have comforted her.
Instead, irritation rose.
Because she wanted herself back now.
Not in a while.
Not eventually.
Now.
Ronan tossed her another apple.
She caught it automatically.
“Try not to hate yourself every time it hits.”
Her fingers tightened around the fruit.
Easy for him to say.
He had not kissed the man he blamed for everything.
He had not wanted more.
He had not woken up remembering exactly how Kael’s mouth had felt.
Aria shoved the thought away so hard it almost hurt.
Ronan stood.
“Well. I’ve offered wisdom. That’s enough effort for one day.”
He headed for the door, then paused.
“Oh. Important update.”
She looked at him warily.
“Selene is furious.”
Good.
“She also challenged three servants, insulted two elders, and broke a mirror.”
Better.
Ronan grinned.
“You may be my favorite disaster.”
He left before she could respond.
Silence returned.
Aria walked to the window and stared over the cliffs.
Far below, warriors moved across the training grounds in organized lines.
One figure stood apart from the rest.
Kael.
Even at this distance, she knew him instantly.
Too tall.
Too still.
Too impossible to ignore.
He removed his shirt and handed it to a passing guard.
Aria’s breath caught before she could stop it.
Ridiculous.
She should be focusing on murder.
Not the hard line of his back.
Not the scars across his shoulders.
Not the way his body moved with brutal grace as he picked up a sword.
He began sparring with another warrior.
The match lasted seconds.
Kael disarmed the male, knocked him flat, and walked away before the body finished hitting the ground.
Aria should have felt satisfaction imagining him bleeding instead.
Instead, treacherous curiosity slid through her.
What would it feel like to touch those scars properly?
To trace them one by one?
To bite that arrogant mouth until it stopped smirking?
Her hand tightened against the window ledge.
No.
Absolutely not.
He was her family’s murderer.
A monster.
A tyrant.
A problem to solve.
And problems could be solved creatively.
Her gaze drifted to the decorative dagger resting on the mantel.
Silver handle.
Sharp point.
Elegant enough to hide in fabric.
A much better thought.
Aria crossed the room, picked it up, and tested its weight.
Perfect.
At that exact moment, the door opened.
Kael filled the doorway.
Barefoot.
Shirtless.
Still glistening faintly from training.
Aria nearly stabbed herself.
His gaze dropped to the dagger in her hand.
Then rose to her face.
Slowly.
“Should I be worried?”
She hid nothing.
No fear.
No embarrassment.
Only cold intent.
Kael’s mouth curved.
He stepped inside and shut the door behind him.
“If you’re planning to kill me,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “at least let me see how.”
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