“Help me take down Nerian. Help me hand you another throne,” Del says. “Ibegyou.”
I exhale heavily, mind whirling with the consequences of agreeing to this if he’s not who he says he is. But my heart and my gut aren’t balking; I believe he wants what I want, and that wins over any logic. My heart hasneverled me astray.
“I have an army and a kingdom to bring to the table. What do you have, Del?” I demand.
He smirks. “Goreon secrets.”
CHAPTER 14
KADE
Two Hundred Years Ago — Goreon Kingdom
GRACE JAMS THE TIP of a blade into our dining table as the two of us sit down for a late lunch, my fork rattling on my plate from the force of it.
The knife gleams beautifully, its black hilt honed with the Hunter crest and gold inlaid throughout, mimicking Hunter magic. It’s one of the most stunning weapons I’ve ever seen.
Then she stabs another into the wood beside it, its cream hilt carved with the same.
Twin blades.
“His and hers,” she croons.
I twist to look at her. “Which one is mine?” It’s a fair question, considering her favorite color is black.
“Your choice.”
I pluck the cream-hilted blade from the table and twirl it in my palm. “It’s lovely, Grace. Thank you.”
“Want to test it out?” she asks, stepping back.
I adjust my grip and fling it across the room, the blade landing dead center at the top of the doorway to the living room.
Riot halts midstride through the frame, mouth popping open and eyes narrowing on me. “Are you trying to kill me?!” he yells, reaching up and yanking the blade from the molding.
“Not today,” I deadpan.
Riot spins the blade on his palm, leaning against the wall. “She’s a beaut.”
“Give it back,” I demand.
“Or what?” he challenges.
Grace’s blade is airborne before his teasing smile fully forms, the edge of his tunic now pinned to the wall at his waist.
Riot scoffs. “Seriously, Grace?! This is my nicest shirt!”
She shrugs. “Give the blades back. I got you something, too.”
Riot’s face lights up like a child’s on Winter Solstice. “Well, where is it?” he asks, spinning to glance around the kitchen, his shirt shearing. He groans, looking back at the torn fabric. After freeing Grace’s blade and his shirt, he flings both blades at us, and we catch them with ease between our fingertips.
Grace jerks a chin toward the door. “Check the hall closet.”
Riot’s lumbering form is gone before I blink.
“Oh. My. Gods!”he yells from the entryway.
Boots rush back our way, and Riot reappears with a crossbow custom built for his size, which islarge.
