Marquis

  Location: Unknown

  The chill of the cave nips at the hem of my crimson cloak, boots echoing across the ground as I step quietly through vast columns that almost seem to rise like the trees outside. I expect the usual breathless sight of the Mother and Father sitting upright on their thrones before me.

  I do not expect the sight I see instead.

  Where the Father once sat with his gaze averted and composed posture, his head now rests in his very own lap, perfectly severed from his body. His eyes are still open yet watching nothing. The Mother is still seated on her throne and unlike his hands that lie slack at his sides now, her palms are upturned as though she has been expecting me. Waiting for me with her eyes… open.

  Though her limbs may still be motionless, her eyes follow as I retreat, taking a guarded step back. A sensation brushes through my thoughts, burning as if I have been set aflame.

  Alexios.

  The absolute wildfire of a man I once mentored. Though I may be seen as his enemy in his eyes, those piercing crimson eyes that used to gaze upon my body in my own bed, I know my love and adoration for him has never truly died.

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  He has displeased her or perhaps defied her, a possibility Phaedra warned me decades before. I did not listen, of course, believing I could shield him from the Mother’s hunger for violence. From her lies and deceit that have been hidden from me all along.

  The death of Nykolai, Alexios’s once beloved, was not merely an accident. He was not a poor bard caught in the crossfire. What had been hidden from me for centuries, I unwillingly witnessed the moments leading up to the fateful event that would change Alexios forever as I drank deeply from the Mother. Memories she had never meant to reveal.

  The masked assailants. The gore that poured onto the stones of Menzoberranzan. The pervasive groping and ripping of Alexios’s body. All orchestrated by the Mother herself so he would be too broken to refuse her hand as she extended it to him.

  Revenge, she had tempted him with.

  My forehead nearly touches the stone as I incline my head, bowing lower than I have in centuries. Rather than kneeling in ever eternal loyalty, I kneel as a farewell.

  Traitor.

  Betrayer.

  Though Alexios may now be these things to her as well, I know the words are meant for me. Still, she tempts me into believing that my continued protection of her is necessary. I rise and turn my back to her. To her throne. To the corpse of a husband who no longer served her. To turn from the Mother herself… gods. The gesture is sacrilege.

  “I have served you for centuries,” I whisper. “I have protected you when others mean to destroy. But I fear I cannot serve you any longer.”

  There is a weakness in Alexios and The Mother is aware of it, knowing where it lies and the exact way to destroy him entirely. Is it love that has finally weakened Alexios or something far more dangerous? She weaves threads that I cannot see. Another one of her deceptions, I suppose.

  I walk slowly towards the mouth of the cave, glowing moonlight greeting me as I abandon the only certainty my kind has ever known.

  Gods help us all.

  Blood Sport, Book 1: The Plantation has come to an end. Thank you so much for reading this. Seriously, I can't even properly express my gratitude (I cry about it a lot if that tells you anything). Blood Sport, Book 2: The Keeper arrives this April/May and WOW, I can't wait for you to read it.

  .