Once, I’d known Varian as well as I’d known myself.
So well, I could finish his sentences—his thoughts.
Seeing him struck a chord deep inside me, and I realized he might have been the very last person I’d ever really trusted. And was definitely the reason I’d never trusted anyone ever again.
Ryland Storme presented a different threat altogether, and I despised how my heart tripped over itself at hisapproach, how the morning sun picked out the red highlights in his dark hair, the green in his eyes. Dust softened the shoulders of his long coat, mud caked his boots, the bottoms of his trousers. He’d ridden hard to get here by morning, but except for his chapped cheeks, his arrogant smirk was as unruffled as ever.
As much as I wanted to look away, I couldn’t, counting each new scar, wondering when he got them, how much they’d hurt. Who had patched him up afterwards. Storme was broader than he used to be, densely packed with muscle, but that careless swagger was still the same, spurs clicking sharply against the stone floor with every confident stride.
In tandem, they bowed at Anaria’s feet, the picture of loyal bondsmen, here to serve their liege. “Your Majesty. I received the High Seer’s owl commanding me to appear before you. I hope I have not taken liberties, but I asked Varian Kronos, expert tracker, to join me. He has crossed the Shadowlands border nearly as often as myself.”
I held back my snort.Expert my ass. The only thing that fucker was an expert in was collecting bounties and destroying people’s lives.
Raziel and Zorander closed the gap on either side of the queen, the air in the room growing tenser by the second. They were Anaria’s lovers, her advisors, her sword and her shield, and if Ryland so much as looked at her wrong, they’d slaughter him before I got the chance.
Lips curling, I inched closer, staying well inside the shadows, not willing to reveal myself.
Not yet.
Not until I looked my past dead in the eye and decided what, exactly, I was going to do about these two traitors who’d ruined my life without a second thought.
“I hope you are as good as they claim, Lord Storme.” Anaria folded her hands in her lap. “I have spent three years rebuilding this kingdom into a haven for Fae, humans, and shifters alike. Something poisonous festers in the south, but my advisors tell me this Prince of the Shadowlands has erected a ward around his territory that cannot be breached by ordinary means. They also tell me you may be the only one who can get through that protective barrier.”
Even me, jaded and bitter, leaned forward to hear the answer.
This self-proclaimed prince was a burr in my ass, and had killed six of my best soldiers.
No, six of my friends.
Festering was a good word for the rot he’d been spreading through New Valarian, rumors and gossip and fear, meant to sow malcontent and undermine a young queen’s new reign. This enemy was a threat, but all attempts to cross into the Shadowlands had ended with…
Well, I’d sent a patrol of my very best males to take care of the problem, and a week ago, their severed heads were delivered back to me as a message, which meant this pretend prince had to die.
So here we were.
Ryland Storme to the fucking rescue.
Anaria’s regal steadiness—as well as the high stakes at play—smoothed the hard edge of my anger, cold fury giving way to something far, far worse when Ryland threw his cloak over one shoulder and pushed to his feet, even though he’d not been given leave to rise.
Pompous, arrogant motherfucker.
“I have been to the very heart of the Shadowlands, faced the prince himself on more than one occasion. Getting pastthe ward will not be the problem. But killing the Prince of Darkness…that would take a veritable army, your highness.”
Fucking gods, Ryland’s deep, husky voice sent an illicit shiver straight to my core, and my fingers tightened around my pommel, focusing not on the carnal warmth flooding my veins, but imagining my blade plunging between his ribs and ripping into his heart.
Imagined the bastard begging for mercy, how I’d deny him until his dying breath.
Some of the heat eased off.Yes, that was much, much better.
But seeing him again was like lancing a barely-healed wound.
I’d been so very young, blithely in love and naive—unbelievably so—that his betrayal had become infected before scarring over and growing into a hardened cancer. Now I wore those thick scars around my heart like a shield, and never allowed anyone through.
“…And that is why my most trusted commander, Lyrae Antares, will accompany you to ensure this prince answers for his crimes. General Antares is well versed in combat and strategy, and I trust her judgement implicitly.”
Wait.
I was doing…what?
