Rholker nods, panting. “Precisely.”
Diamonds are of paramount value to the giants. Their usage and resale have built the entire capital. I didn’t know that they already had mines, though. Where?
“We have more than enough humans to mine them, and I have already sent more women to the breeding pens to increase population,” Rholker says.
I am preternaturally still.
My people.
Mygodsdamnedpeople.
The gem on my chest begins to glow. No one shies away as it shines through the silk bodice; they all stare.
“I will not sustain your coronation before then,” he says.
Rholker shakes his head.
“You must. The feast has been scheduled! All of our allies are already invited and have agreed to come.”
Lord Fektir remains silent.
“Lord Fektir, if you wish to be counted among those who make it to the future, to the next great dynasty of giants, I suggest you attend my coronation.”
Fektir raises his chin, mouth in a tight straight line, and a new wave of murmurs spreads across the room like a flame through a dry forest. The threat is heard clearly, but he doesn’t respond. After a moment of silent deliberation, Lord Fektir gives a firm nod.
“I will come to your coronation, Rholker. Then, you will slaughter every last Enduar. Do this, and you will have my continued support in your campaign as king.”
I swallow hard, but when this man is finished speaking, it’s as if most of the room settles into agreement. My mind squeezes as I try to comprehend the threat.
This is no longer a silly infatuation with a female slave.
This is… war. Genocide. Complete annihilation of Enduvida—my home.
My mate.
My future.
Humanity’s future. The Enduares’ future.
My breaths are shallow as the meeting around me begins to conclude. The doors are reopened, and dozens of well-dressed slaves rush in to clean the two dead giants.
I look at Rholker. It’s clear I had underestimated him this entire time.
As if sensing my attention, he turns to look at me and raises an eyebrow.
“What, my dear Estela?” he murmurs.
My breaths are uneven. My mouth opens and closes in rapid succession, trying to find words. “Will you take me to see Mikal now?”
A slow smile spreads across his face.
“I told you to behave. I don’t think using your troll magic is behaving.”
I open my mouth. “But?—“
“Enough. I am growing tired of you. Let us return to the cottage.”
He leaves Lord Fektir’s daughter on the other side of the throne, watching us with an expression that gives away nothing. Her father doesn’t even make a move to unchain her.
