Brood of Vipers, Maggie Claire [e novels to read .TXT] 📗

invited. Then whatever musicians he’s found for the night stop playing, and the king makes his grand entrance. Between you and me, I think he just likes the control.”

“I think you’re right,” Helena agrees, shocked that she’d never seen the pattern. Over the years, Helena had grown up wondering why Alaric would choose such a unique way to make his entrance into a room. Where most of the leaders she’d read about in the histories had music or an announcement of their arrival, Alaric had chosen utter silence. He expected everyone to stand completely motionless and silent. Alaric was to be the only person moving or making any kind of noise. If anyone so much as sneezed, he or she would find themselves thrown into the viper pit before they could see the next sunrise. There were no exceptions to this rule; Alaric had even killed one of his own sons just for interrupting his grand entrance to a feast. The boy was only six years old.

Now, hearing Andras’s assessment, Helena wonders why she’d missed it. Alaric’s late arrival to the palace was packed with people to bend to his will. The way he’d drag his feet and extend the entrance for as long as possible. It wasn’t a dramatic effect; Alaric was reveling in the control he had over his subjects. He thrived on watching them grow uncomfortable with their silence. He relished the way their eyes pleaded for him to speed up his movements, sneering at the court guests like they were caged animals in his personal menagerie.

“What’s the entertainment this evening? Do you know?” Andras asks, breaking into Helena’s revelation as he steps over to stand casually behind the chair at her right hand. “Probably something grotesque or terrifying. Your father isn’t satisfied until his guests are traumatized.”

“And here I thought you were devoutly faithful to the king. You better be careful; it sounds like you don’t approve of Alaric’s antics,” Helena retorts, cutting her eyes to watch Andras’s expression.

“I am loyal to myself. I tolerate your father,” Alaric replies in a soft, fury filled whisper.

Helena smiles, sensing that she’s regained some measure of control over the conversation. “And is it this dissenting attitude of yours that got you into trouble?”

Andras’s jaw clenches, his fingers digging into the wooden back of the chair. “We only met this afternoon, Helena. Don’t assume you know me.”

“Nor do you know me,” Helena quips, quietly watching Andras’s silent battle against his own temper. Interesting, Helena declares, curious to know more about Andras’s loyalties. Maybe he’s more of an ally than I first believed. “You know, Andras, if—”

“Hush, the music’s stopped,” Andras interjects, standing proudly behind his chair as he waits for the king to appear.

A tense hush descends, and Helena grits her teeth to keep from shattering the quiet by screaming. Her eyes dart from left to right, scanning for any sign of Alaric’s approach, longing desperately to move her head. As the minutes pass with no sign of Alaric, every ache in Helena’s muscles magnifies, each one screaming at her, demanding to move. Nerves fire off at random places on her body, her skin itching so torturously she fears she’ll be the one who ends up getting thrown into the viper pit tonight. It would almost be worth it, Helena thinks as her nose, left eyelid, and chin all beg for a relieving scratch.

Ten agonizingly painful minutes later, Helena catches her first glimpse of Alaric. He’s barely halfway through the room. She suppresses a groan, willing the king to move faster. I feel like a flea ridden dog, Helena grumbles to herself, longing to move her aching feet or scratch her upper lip. Anything to bring some measure of comfort.

A soft whimper bursts through the silence as Alaric continues his painstakingly slow pace. He pauses, turning his head to stare into the eyes of the young woman who made the sound. By Helena’s estimation, she looks to be barely fifteen. Her wide eyes and slightly aghast expression make it clear that she had no intention of breaking the silence. Offering her an icy smile, the king nods his head once, then continues on his procession. Yet his seemingly gracious reaction sends a shiver down Helena’s spine. That little cry signed your death warrant, Helena laments, wishing there was something she could do to protect the young woman.

Another twenty minutes later, and Helena finally wheezes a sigh of relief when Alaric announces, “Please be seated.” She picks at her skin, chasing the travelling itch down her knees and ankles, up her wrists, forearms, and shoulders, and around her lips, nose, forehead, and mouth. By the time she’s done, most of her skin is splotchy and covered in thin pink streaks from her fingernails. But at least it no longer feels like it’s crawling.

“Really, Helena, you look like one of the alley rat guttersnipes in withdrawal,” Alaric muses, glancing at Helena’s now disheveled hair. “I thought you would present yourself better. Like it or not, you are my daughter, and I expect you to represent my name well. It reflects on me.”

“Surely, the fact that you locked me away in the dungeons reflects on you too, Alaric. If I have bad manners, blame it on the habits I’ve learned from your guards,” Helena snipes, glaring at Alaric as she challenges him.

“I’ve been merciful,” Alaric laughs, waving his hand to alert the servers that the first course should be served. “You’re alive and free. That’s more than any other traitor to my kingdom can say.”

Before Helena can respond, one of the servants places the first plate in front of her. It is small, holding a single clear orb. Inside the jelly-like substance is a lifeless baby viper. “You seriously expect us all to eat snake eggs, Alaric?” Helena exclaims, pushing the plate away from her as she struggles not to gag.

“The brood has too many already,” the king replies, picking up his knife as he prepares to cut into the egg. “Besides, it