The traitors game a roma.., p.1
The Traitor's Game: a Romantic Historical Fantasy Novel, page 1
The Traitor’s Game
A Daughter of Ravens Novel
M.J. Scott
emscott enterprises
Contents
Free Short Story
About The Traitor’s Game
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
A note from M.J.
Acknowledgments
Also by M.J. Scott
About the Author
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About The Traitor’s Game
Magically bound to the man who should be her worst enemy.
* * *
Chloe de Montesse dreamed about returning home to a peaceful life. But now she has an inconvenient marriage no one wants to let her end, a diplomatic scandal to navigate, and old troubles swirling around her. As well as trying to determine who might want her dead. And that’s just the beginning…
* * *
Lucien de Roche has avoided marriage for years because his heart belonged to a woman he could never have. Now he has her, but he knows he’ll have to let her go again because their marriage is a sham. So he still can’t tell her the truth. But he will do everything in his power to keep her safe…
Copyright © 2022 by M.J. Scott
Visit M.J. at www.mjscott.net
All rights reserved.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, alive or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Published by emscott enterprises.
Cover design by Whendel Souza.
For the loyal ones
Deep the earth
Its harvest life
Bright the blood
Sharpest in strife
Swift the air
To hide and fool
False the water
The deadly pool
Chapter 1
Chloe de Roche stood by the bed where her husband, Lucien, lay sleeping, and resisted—as she did every night when she crept into his room—the urge to lay her hand on his chest and reassure herself that the steady rise and fall of each breath wasn't a trick of the eye.
It was entirely unnecessary for her to be there. She could feel him through the bond they shared. She knew he was sleeping. She could be safely back in her own bed doing the same.
Not standing in the dark, her palm tingling with temptation.
It was foolishness. Recklessness.
She had no idea how she would explain herself should he wake and see her standing there.
Just checking that you’re alive.
Just remembering why I shouldn't have married you.
Just trying to forget what it felt like when you kissed me.
None of those seemed sensible things to say.
The last one was barely a sensible thing to let herself think.
She curled her fingers tight, pulling her hand back to her side.
And then, just as she did every night, she told herself that this would be the last time.
Check on him, that was. Not resist the urge to touch him. She would continue to do that.
As she had done every night for the month they had been staying at Imogene and Jean-Paul du Laq's estate, Sanct de Sangre. The month before that, Lucien had still been under the care of the healers in the Temple of the Goddess near the emperor's palace in Lumia.
Then it had been different. He’d been unconscious for most of a week and then mostly in a healer-induced sleep for several more.
She’d stayed by his side. Held his hand. Slept next to him either in a chair or on his bed.
She told herself it was only because the healers had suggested, in the way of healers where a suggestion was really an order, that the bond she shared with Lucien was, in part, what was helping him heal from the effects of the Andalyssian poison that nearly killed him.
But the truth was she hadn't been able to leave him, her fear for his life outweighing her common sense.
As he'd regained some strength and begun to be awake more hours of the day than not, she had grown more cautious, not knowing what was coming next.
There had been a plan for this ridiculous marriage of theirs. Appease the Andalyssians by marrying and finish their mission. Then dissolve their bond and get a quick and discreet divorce when they were safely back in Lumia.
So far they’d only managed one out of four. And she wasn't entirely sure she could even count one. The Andalyssians had been appeased by their marriage, yes. Or at least Sejerin Silya, the most powerful of the Andalyssian seers and the one who had demanded they marry, had been.
Presumably the patrarchs as well, given one of the priests had married them. King Mikvel himself was more neutral. She didn't think he had been as outraged as Sejerin Silya had been by the fact that she and Lucien had spent a night together in a cave after a storm had separated them from a hunting party. But he couldn't afford to lose the goodwill of the seers and disrupt the fragile state of affairs in his court.
But any good toward the diplomatic cause their wedding had achieved had, no doubt, been undone when Chloe had thrown all the weight of her newly gained title around to rush Lucien home to Lumia after someone had poisoned him at their wedding banquet.
And then there was the added complication of the unexpected passenger who'd used Chloe's headlong flight as cover to steal away as well. Irina Uleniska. Younger sister of the just-crowned Andalyssian queen. A whole diplomatic incident in one small stubborn package.
When they had reached Lumia, well, that hadn't gone to plan either. The healers insisted the bond she and Lucien had formed to save their lives could not be dissolved yet.
That it was necessary for Lucien's recovery.
So, she discovered, was her marriage. The authority she had as Lucien's wife—as the Marquesse of Castaigne—meant she was the one with the power to make decisions for him. To protect his best interests.
Even if that meant overriding his mother and his siblings when they suggested he should be immediately taken to Terre d'Etoi, the de Roche estate, when he was in no fit state to travel. Then, as he showed the first signs of recovery, overriding everyone else who immediately started making demands on his time.
They had left her with little choice but to accept Imogene's offer for her to bring him to Sanct de Sangre once the healers said he no longer needed round-the-clock care. The estate of the Duq and Duquesse of Saint Pierre, Jean-Paul du Laq and his wife, Imogene, also Chloe's closest friend. A safe haven where it might actually be possible for Lucien to recuperate free from the demands of his rank and his duties at the Imperial judiciary.
Rain rattled against the window, making her jump. She stepped back from the bed and crossed the room to check that the glass was closed. The last thing Lucien needed was to catch a cold.
She eased the velvet curtain back gingerly, not wanting to wake him. The windowpanes were like black mirrors with the night behind them. She got the vague sense of movement, the trees in the garden beyond dancing in the wind, but the runnels of rain along the glass obscured the view. It was late for a winter storm—Goddess, she was tired of winter—and the chill coming through the glass despite the wards didn't seem strong enough for snow, but the rain was fierce besides, the water painting patterns that swirled like the inky depths of a scrying bowl.
She watched them as she tested the window latch, making sure it was shut tight. The movement was almost hypnotic, and for a moment she thought she saw a swirl of images. A raven swooping down across a starry sky, a crown sparked with light, and then...flames. She blinked, startled, and realized the last was merely the reflected light from the fireplace, the glow of embers made large by the movement of the water.
Nothing more.
She pulled the curtains closed again, shaking her head. Water mage she might be, but she’d never learned much of scrying beyond the basics. She'd been called to care for her mother not long after her Ascension, and while she'd finished her studies at the Academe, she'd chosen to focus mainly on her earth magic, having more use for healing and Herbcraft then than the more esoteric paths of water.
She was no foreteller or Andalyssian seer. Merely tired. She should go back to bed.
Instead, her feet led her back to Lucien's bedside and her late-night vigil.
He looked peaceful, what she could see of him in the darkness. The bed was enormous, wrought in iron and brass, the covers linen and velvet and wool. As one expected from the guest suite in a d
uq's house. Chloe's decision to take Lucien to Sanct de Sangre had done nothing to endear her to his family. It had probably also equally annoyed the judiciary.
Once upon a time, the thought of bringing the wrath of the judiciary down upon her head would have terrified her.
But she didn't regret her choice. Lucien was more important than his work. He was a Truth Seeker, his magic able to tell lie from truth when he chose. One of the strongest in the empire. She understood that his skills were needed. She understood that his was a rare magical talent. She also understood that he would kill himself trying to do everything everyone expected him to when he should be healing. Everyone had protested that they wouldn't overtax him. What they didn't know was that, thanks to their bond, she also shared a thread of his magic, and she could tell that they weren't being entirely truthful.
She'd fended them off so far. Sanct de Sangre was far enough from Lumia to make it inconvenient for the judiciary to try to pester Lucien. There was a private portal on the grounds, but Jean-Paul and Imogene would have to grant permission for anyone to use that.
It was also only a few days’ journey from Terre d'Etoi, Lucien's own estate. Close enough to allow his family to visit for short periods or his seneschal or senior grefiere to come for instructions as he grew stronger, but still far enough to keep him free from most of the day-to-day nonsense he didn't need to be bothered with. After all, the estate had managed perfectly well without him while they'd both been in Andalyssia. It could manage a while longer.
Best of all, Sanct de Sangre was safe. Jean-Paul's guard was practically a small army, Imogene had a sanctii, and it wasn't the first place that any Andalyssian assassin should think to look for them.
It had seemed the perfect haven. But now, watching him in the dark, she knew it couldn't last much longer. A little over two months had passed since they had arrived back in Illvya. Everyone in Lumia knew the Marq of Castaigne and his new and unexpected wife were the guests of the Duq and Duquesse of Saint Pierre.
Knew Chloe was that new and unexpected wife. Which was enough of a scandal in itself. Chloe's first husband, Charl, had been Lucien's best friend. Until he'd committed treason and Lucien had been the one to find the evidence that condemned him. Followed by Chloe fleeing to Anglion, trying to escape any further ramifications of Charl's treachery.
Old news, perhaps, and surely no logical person would accuse Lucien of some long-term plot to steal his friend's wife when more than ten years had elapsed between Charl's death and Chloe returning to Illvya. But scandal didn't require logic. Add in a hasty marriage in Andalyssia—hardly the usual practice for the wedding of a high-ranking noble of the emperor's court—the poisoning, plus a rapid return from a diplomatic mission, and there was plenty to feed the gossip mill. She imagined the stories and speculations were running wild.
Imagined that most of them painted her in the worst light possible.
Traitor's wife. Perhaps traitor herself. What would they say if they knew someone had approached her in Deephilm, telling her that there were those who still sympathized with her late husband? Worse?
Chloe had no desire to be dragged back to the past. She had returned to Illvya from her exile in Anglion, hoping to rebuild a quiet, sensible life for herself.
So far she had failed.
As their plan for this marriage had failed. A quick and discreet divorce was no longer possible. The court knew they were married. A hasty divorce would only increase the speculation. Make everyone wonder what had happened in Andalyssia. What games she had been playing to marry a marq who clearly didn't want to marry her. Drag her name through the mud again.
Everything she didn't want.
She was under no illusion that she would come off second best if they divorced now. Lucien would be fine. A divorced marq was still more than eligible. He would find another wife.
She, however, would be not only the widow of a traitor but the cast-off wife of a second husband. Which would fuel the rumors about her nicely, no matter what reason they gave for their separation.
They hadn't spoken about it yet, but they needed a new plan as to when they would end the marriage.
Soon.
If she could summon the courage to discuss it with him.
Maybe if she stopped using so much of it each night when she watched him sleep and had to prevent herself from crawling into his bed. This wasn't a genuine marriage. It would end.
She was not the wife Lucien needed. He would realize that eventually.
So she needed to keep her head, no matter how much his kisses had stolen her senses.
He grew stronger each day. The daily walks they shared had grown longer, and he'd even managed a brief ride a few days ago. Lucien wasn't the kind of man to shirk his duties a second longer than he was forced to. Any day now he would declare himself well enough to return to either Lumia or Terre d'Etoi, and then...
Well, she had no idea.
Her fingers flexed open in frustration, then curled into the padded cotton of the night-robe she wore, crumpling it.
She'd made a bargain with Lucien, as she had once made vows with Charl. She thought she had known what she was doing. But now, just like then, marriage meant she was once more headed for some unknown destination she couldn't have possibly foreseen at the start of her journey.
The last time, she'd ended up exiled in a foreign land. Unable to touch her power for fear of being branded a dangerous infidel. Or worse, winding up dead. All because she'd thought she had known the man she loved. That it was right to marry him. That she could trust him to keep her safe, to build the life she wanted with him. She'd been wrong. A mistake that had stolen ten years of her life.
That couldn't happen again. She didn't have the time to spare.
So she had to use her mind, not her heart, to navigate her path.
Once they returned to the city, she—or they—would have to deal with the Imperial army. She didn’t know if she’d destroyed her fledgling new career in the diplomatic corps when she’d taken charge in Deephilm and informed the commander of her mission that she was commandeering a navire d'avion to fly Lucien home to the healers at the temple in Lumia.
Technically, her rank as marquesse allowed her to do so.
Or at least had been a convenient enough excuse that Colonel Brodier hadn't fought her too hard. After all, it would be Chloe who bore the weight of the repercussions that might come if she had made it back to Lumia with only Lucien's corpse to show for her overreach of power.
It was an overreach for a junior lieutenant on her very first diplomatic mission. If Lucien had died, she had no doubt they would have thrown her out of the army. Dishonorably discharged.
But Lucien survived, and the emperor had made it clear that his recovery was more important than any concerns regarding the circumstances of his return. As a result, the army had, so far, left her alone.
Once Lucien took up his duties again, then she would have to return to hers as well. Or attempt to. Very junior lieutenants who committed what could be framed as mutiny might not have careers to return to.
That was what should keep her awake at night.
Instead, she was worried about Lucien.
"You know, if you stand there thinking at me for much longer, the healers will accuse you of disturbing my rest."
She only just stopped the squeak of surprise that rose in her throat. All the nights she'd watched him and he'd never woken before. He really was getting better.
And, Goddess, how was she going to explain what she was doing here? Her cheeks heated, making her thankful for the darkened room.
"Chloe?"
