Brood of Vipers - Maggie Claire (good english books to read txt) 📗

is considered a delicacy, Helena. A treat for all my subjects, wouldn’t you say?”

Who decides what foods are delicacies? Whoever picked out this gem should be hanged. Helena scoffs, fighting to control her breathing and staring over the table at the empty place on the floor. She tries to distract her mind from the sounds of strangled gasps and scraping utensils as the guests grapple with their first course. Closing her eyes, Helena lets her mind drift on the breeze, focusing on nothing more than her own gratitude that by tomorrow she’ll be far away from this place.

Alaric’s icy hand brushes her wrist, startling Helena back to reality. “My menu is not good enough for you, daughter?” He growls, staring at the uneaten viper egg on her plate.

“Does refusing to palate your meals earn me another prison sentence? If so, I’ll find my way to the dungeon,” Helena bites back, refusing to meet the king’s eye.

“Weak stomach? I’m surprised to hear that. It seems the guards in my dungeons haven’t been doing enough to toughen up my prisoners, hmm? I’ll remedy that tomorrow,” Alaric explains, patting her arm lightly. “I’m sure Ithel will be so thankful for the changes I’ll be making.”

Helena stifles a groan, turning her head as far to the side as she can, utterly disgusted by the king’s cruelty. I’m so sorry, Ithel, she laments, wishing she could speak to the man face to face. I’m not even there with you, and I’m still causing you trouble.

“You okay?” Andras wonders, his face looking a little green as he notices Helena’s distress. Helena nods, unable to speak out of fear she’ll say something that will only bring her more trouble.

“Are you ready for our entertainment then, dear?” Alaric asks, smiling too widely for Helena’s comfort. “I planned it all especially for you.”

Of course, you did, you bastard. Helena bites her tongue, turning back to face the king. “What did you do?” Helena whimpers, clenching her fists under the table. The sharp bite of her fingernails into her palms helps Helena keep her expression neutral. Show signs of weakness, and Alaric will invent new ways to display his nastiness, just to wriggle deeper under my skin.

“I’ve set up a competition of sorts,” Alaric explains, standing up to get the attention of the entire room. “You know how much I adore a good fight. Bring up the first contestants,” Alaric commands, pointing toward the door on the far-right side of the room.

The heavy doors swing open, and six of Alaric’s heavily armed men march through. Helena watches them stomp through the room, nervously assessing their faces. Not finding Ithel among their ranks brings a small measure of comfort, yet Helena still feels anxiety clinging to her bones. What has Alaric done? she wonders, casting a wary glance at the king.

The six guards suddenly stop their entry, turning to face the crowds huddled around the tables. One of the men steps out of the ranks, working his way around the tables until he finds his prey. Yanking a young woman out of her seat, he drags her along behind him despite the protests of her friends and family. Whispered worries and angry, rioting shouts fill the air as the company makes their way to the empty space in the room. The guards form a circle boundary, pushing the frightened girl into its center.

“What is your name?” Alaric asks, offering the girl the same terrifying grin he had when she whimpered during his grand entrance.

“P…P…P…please, sire, I didn’t mean to disrespect you,” the girl whines, wringing her hands as she cries. Recognizing her anxious habit, she drops her hands to her sides, her fingers immediately curling into the soft green fabric of her skirt. “I’ve been sick, sire, and my throat was tickling. I had to cough; I couldn’t help it. Please don’t—”

“Your name,” Alaric growls, motioning to the guards so they draw their swords.

“Remy,” the girl whispers, sniffling and wiping her nose on her sleeve. Behind her, a man and woman stand in the aisle, clinging to each other as they grieve, already mourning the loss of their child.

Helena pinches the fleshy area between her thumb and first finger, digging her nails into her flesh to keep from crying. My tears would do them no good, she justifies, staring coldly at the young girl while she waits to hear what Alaric has in store for the poor wretch.

“And where is the challenger?” Alaric spreads his arms wide, pointing to the hidden door where the servants slip down to the kitchens. Four more guards appear, dragging a young maid through the doorway. Judging by her rumpled hair, tousled clothes, and hoarse screams, she’s been putting up quite a fight. The guards unceremoniously toss the girl into the ring, jumping out of her way just in case she spins around to attack them.

“Amie,” Helena whispers the servant girl’s name, her hands beginning to shake as her fingernails draw blood.

“What’s that, Helena?” Alaric whispers, fighting to hide his smile.

“Nothing,” Helena snaps, staring straight ahead as her heart breaks for both girls.

“There are five rounds in all,” Alaric explains to the crowd, rubbing his hands together as he lays out his plans. “The last four rounds will require the contestants to fight to decide who will live and who will die. However, for this first round, I wanted to do something special.” Alaric turns, lowering his hands to point to Helena with a winning smile, and a wicked, traitorous fire in his eyes. “As you all know, I am celebrating the return of my wayward daughter. After a few years in the dungeons, she has seen the errors of her old life and regained my good graces. So, to honor her, I will offer her the choice.”

Helena hesitates, staring at the young girls who cower in front of the crowds. “I don’t understand, Your Highness.” Helena works to keep from rolling her eyes as she uses the king’s title to show respect. “What exactly