Swiftly, I smacked the side of my head.
The royals swung their attention to me.
I moved my hand in front of my face, reluctantly gazing at my palm. Disgust showed on my face while blood, guts, and spindly legs painted my skin. I turned my hand to show the rulers.
It was a fairlylargespider.
Father’s nose wrinkled. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, and moved closer, fretting at my head with it, removing the other remains from my hair.
I stared at my hand. I’d much rather have it cleaned first.
A tiger crawled on his stomach back under the moss.
I snatched the handkerchief from my father’s hand, and hastily cleaned off my palm, knowing it was time to move—the others came to attention, also. I stuffed the handkerchief inside my hooded cloak, and I slowly followed behind the others, trudging through the grass toward King Athon…and casually rifling through his belongings with one hand—behind everyone’s back.
His crown went under my cloak.
I started to remove the strap of his traveling bag over my head when I stepped beside the royal group, but the tiger swept his furry noggin side to side, baring his fangs at me—the brute not shifting back. My eyes bulged out of my head.
He wanted me to carry his fucking bag for him the entire way? Like a servant to his kingly whims?
Absolutely not! It was Fae-damnedheavy.
And he was a piece of royal shit.
I tore the strap over my head, and flat out threw the bag at his Fae fucking horrible ass. I flashed my fangs, and lunged at him. The bag hit him first, knocking his rear sideways, and then my body hit him. I jumped onto his back and grabbed his ears…and chomped down on the side of his neck, slicing into his tough flesh, honeysuckle blood coated my tongue through his fur.
Fuck. Unity.
I’d officially reached my limit.
A gasp flew out of Queen Mikko’s mouth.
Queen Alora groaned—loudly.
Father hurtled toward us, trying to yank me off, his hands grabbing at my hips as the tiger shook his body brutally. My king’s grip kept slipping as King Athon lurched to and fro on his giant paws. My father skittered in a small puddle, his feet slipping, unable to keep his footing. He fellhardon his side.
But I hung on, not budging one bit.
“Fuck.” King Elon hissed sharply, rushing forward.
King Athon tossed his head back and forth, trying to dislodge me, rearing up on his back legs, agrowlerupting in the air.
I jerked my head, raking my fangs across his flesh, hanging on violently while he bucked, my legs tightening around him. My fangs sliced again on the other side of his neck, drinking his blood down with ferocious glee, twisting his ears viciously in my hands.
King Elon jumped into the air and onto my back, tearing me off the tiger. The King of Gorgons and I landed hard in a tumble of limbs. I was face down in the mud with his heaving chest shoved against the back of my head, the fingers of my left hand far above, trapped and tangled in his long shamrock green braids—with our legs all askew.
And…the paws of a pissed-off tiger could be heard as the King of Shifters circled us, snarling and growling quietly in fury.
I swiftly turned my head to the side under King Elon’s body and spat out slimy mud and chunks of fur. I wiggled underneath him, demanding sharply, “Get the Fairy off me.”
The King of Gorgons didn’t move. “Hush, child.”
I went still at the order. It was a warning.
One of those cautionary tones you don’t ignore.
King Traevon requested quietly, “King Athon, would you please shift so that we may talk about this?” Father’s slow footsteps were heard, crumpling the wet grass and coming closer. A deadly calm entered his voice. “I would greatly appreciate it.”
