And if she tries to defy me, I’ll break her into submission.
I step away from her and comb my fingers through my hair.
You really don’t know the monster you’ve been bonded to…
She’s the enemy, someone who sides with Morcant, not us. I didn’t miss the way she reacted when she saw me in the bathroom. I know she saw my tattoos. She wore an expression as if she had never seen a monster worse than me. The disgust and hatred not only angered me but hit something deeper…
Turning, I leave the room and shut the door behind me.
I couldn’t sleep all nightknowing my mate was in that room, knowing that she hates me.
Who is she?
That is the question that keeps replaying in my mind. That and knowing that if Varkhazan found out about her, she would be in grave danger.
On Earth, our magic feels different, and the rules of Barazeth, Alvazakh and Varindor are that no one is to use their magic openly in front of humans to avoid the risk of them finding our realms. Shifters will only go there in human form, and those who aren’t shifters use glamours to disguise themselves from any telltale signs of us not being human. For those whocan’t perform glamours, glamour potions are easy to buy from vendors at one of the realm entrances.
But she isn’t human… Maybe she’s fae? Or some other kind of shifter?
I massage my temples as I sit back and close my eyes, remembering the audience with the King that ruined everything…
The sun shines across the wooden floors. The carved pillars that line the throne room cast long shadows across it. The King’s castle sits high above the rest of the kingdom. Branches from the huge trees that surround this place hang low, brushing across the balcony edge, and I can hear the beating wings of the King’s guards as they patrol outside.
I wait on one knee for the King of the Sky Sirens to speak.
“Arise,” he commands, and I stand tall, feet apart, arms clasped behind my back, shoulders square, wings spread, and head held up high. I don’t know why he’s called me; a meeting with the King himself seldom means anything good. I am one of the best knights he has, and my reputation is well known by everyone in the three realms ruled by King Varkhazan.
“My King,” I say, lowering my head slightly as I speak, but keeping my eyes fixed on King Varkhazan, who sits on his jewel-encrusted, wooden throne, designed to accommodate his vast black and grey wings. He’s a middle-aged man. In the human realm, one would think he’s in his early fifties, but King Varkhazan is over five hundred years old.
He combs his fingers through his salt and pepper beard that reaches his chest, as he observes me with those dark, beady eyes. Scars cover his torso, some covered by the tattoos that litter his body, others proudly on display.
This is the man who conquered the skies across three realms: Barazeth, Alvazakh and Varindor before he even turned two hundred years old. A man as cruel as he is smart and powerful.
“I know you have a lot on your plate, being the heir to the Dukedom of House Kaldor and the Commander of my Western Army.”
Of course I do, what with him waging war on every kingdom within the three realms. Either you pledge your allegiance to Varkhazan, or you are slaughtered, and I am one of his deadliest weapons, the executioner if you defy the King’s commands.
“Not at all, I always have time to come see you, My King,” I reply as expected.
His eyes crinkle in a mirthless smile as he sits forward, his wings brushing the floor.
“Your words would please me if it weren’t for the news I bear.” He sighs as he looks to the sky outside the throne room. I remain silent, waiting for him to continue. “I have lost Varindor. The uprising continues to grow, and the majority of my men stationed there have been slaughtered.”
I stiffen.
We lost Varindor? How? Varkhazan had thousands of his men posted there.
“See!” He laughs raucously, looking at me. “That face… that face! I had the same question. How is it possible?”
“Have scouts been sent to see what is happening? Or are there any survivors?” I ask, my voice devoid of emotion.
“The only knowledge we have is a letter that barely made it to Earth. It was half-destroyed. All I know is that the sea sirensare behind this.”
Disgust and hatred wash through me at the mention of those vile creatures. As far back as we can remember, the sea sirens have been a thorn in our sides.
It was a sea siren who lured my mother to her doom. And I avenged her by destroying the entire tribe. That was the first blood I spilt, wondering if they bled like we did. They do unless they are near water, where they can become seafoam and return to the ocean. I made sure that any I killed never had that honour, leaving their bodies to rot on dry land and allowing their scales and bones to be plundered. There are barely any sea sirens left in Alvazakh.
“Sea sirens…”
