“Now I understand,” he growls, looking down at Kiernan. “She reeks of you, like territory marked by an animal. I suppose seeking safety between her legs while your subjects died is a worthy excuse.”
His crudeness, carefully scripted to hurt and humiliate, makes heat rise to my cheeks. I dare not look over at Kiernan.
The King traces a finger slowly down my bare arm, his sharp fingernail scraping the surface of my skin. Beads of blood seep along the line he leaves behind.
“Tell me, Alaya. Has anything changed with your Desolate state?”
His voice is low and husky, like that of a lover, though tainted with malice.
“No, Your Majesty,” I reply, confused by his question.
He studies me curiously, then clamps my face in his hand, fingernails digging into my jaw. He traces my scar with his cold, clammy thumb, his eyes searching my face. He mutters something under his breath, so low that—even with our closeness—I can’t make out the words, but he looks irritated.
“My King,” Kiernan’s voice rings out, and I start at the sudden intrusion. “Tonight has only proven that the Equitae have indeed grown too bold, launching an attack on our fortress. Our plans must not change. We take the battle to Heartwood. Let us bury our dead, celebrate our marriage, and retaliate.”
As he speaks, the King’s stare on me hardens. I feel heat rising with his fury. He jolts upright and I fall, landing hard on my side, and roll down the steps of the dais.
Kiernan crouches beside me in an instant, gathering me protectively in his arms.
“I’m sorry,“ he rasps, the words catching in his throat. He pulls me closer, as if he could shield me from the very memory of it. “I promise you—never again. He won’t get close enough to breathe your air, let alone touch you.”
“I will not waste another second on this farce,” the King says, seething with rage. “The Equitae will be drowned in blood! You will marry her tomorrow, whatever it takes. The day after, we march on Heartwood. Now, get that useless bitch out of my sight before I make good on my promise and have her blood scrubbed from my floor.”
Kiernan pulls me gently to my feet, and we flee.
King Malaxor
The General and I have retired to my personal office. He lost his wife during the attack, but strategy waits for no one’s grief—and retaliation demands immediate planning.
The General refuses the chair opposite the desk, standing rigid with his helmet clasped at his side. He watches me with wary eyes as I pace behind the desk. My fury is a serpent coiled in my chest, its venom seeping through my veins, whispering poison into my thoughts.
Weak.
Fool.
Failure.
I slam my fists onto the desk. The wood groans, a crack snaking down the grain.
“For over twenty years I have cultivated this plan, bent fate itself to my will. Patiently, I’ve waited for that seed I planted to bloom into fruition—an ultimate weapon against the Equitae. And for what? To be thwarted at the final hurdle?”
I lift my gaze to the General. He remains stoic, his face drained of colour beneath his full red beard.
“The girl?” he asks.
“Yes, the girl,” I spit through clenched teeth. “Powerful Gifts call to each other. When her mother brought that infant into my fortress—when Alaya was still a blue-eyed mewling babe in her arms—her Gift sang to mine like a siren’s call. I had never felt such raw, undiluted power. Before her Gift could manifest at a year old, I locked it away where no one could find it, where it would wait dormant until I chose to wield it. Getting the girl herself within my grasp ten years ago was a stroke of fortune, thanks to you. I have carefully moulded her into a biddable vessel, crushed her beneath isolation and fear until she became exactly what I needed. And now—was that all in vain?”
“It hasn’t unlocked on her twenty-first year as it should?” The General shifts his weight, looking uncomfortable.
“No, it did not,” I say, my blood boiling. “I even tried to get that useless son of mine to help me unlock it early with his Amplifier Gift. She is nothing but dead weight without that Gift. Something must have gone wrong with the lock spell.” I prowl the length of the room, predatory, restless. “And that damn fool seems to have abandoned his duty to follow his cock.”
The General lets out a gruff laugh at this.
“Are the Thorn Guards ready?”
“They are, Your Majesty. We have trained the extra Amplifier Fae taken from the workers hard. They are ready.”
“Good. As soon as we get this marriage out of the way, we will march. Prince Kiernan will go with you. He will have the Bond by then. At least that’s something.”
