“It appears that the party has started without me.”
Everyone halts once more as Malachi Nastronde floats into the room like a black storm. I look around, praying that the others see him, and from their reactions, I know he is really before us this time. A king glides toward us, his long black cloak hanging around his body, making him appear like a nightmare. Shadows pool around his feet, as if they are carrying him to the table, and the room around us seems to hold its breath as he approaches.
Malachi Nastronde sits at the head of the table, ignoring the other guests. Aerona tries to stand, but Malachi waves her off with a dismissive gesture. She quickly takes her seat and lowers her chin, as if she somehow offended him.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Silas’s jaw clench so hard that I fear his teeth might shatter. I slowly turn my gaze toward Malachi and quiet the fear running wild in my veins, shifting my chair back against the table.
The darkness inside me throbs in his presence, and I take a deep breath.
The King of Andorwood stares directly at me. “Now, where were we, Miss Blackbyrne?”
Chapter 8
Everyone goes deathly quiet as a wide grin forms across Malachi’s face.
“Did I startle you all? I apologize for my abrupt arrival. I rushed in, knowing I was late. Something had me quite held up this evening,” he continues, directing a menacing smile toward us, pausing on me for a moment.
He claps, stopping the dancers and the music. The dancer who had her eyes transfixed on Silas now stares at Malachi with wide eyes.
“You all are dismissed.” He lifts his hands, and a gust of shadows pushes the doors open abruptly.
Eager to flee from his presence, they hurry out of the room.
Silas glares at him, and I glance down when I feel his grip tightening around my leg.
Aerona speaks first. “I’m glad you could make it, honey. We didn’t start dinner without you, only the entertainment.”
He dismisses her, more aggressively this time.
Malachi clears his throat. “It’s an exciting time in Andorwood. We rarely have guests of this kind ofstatus.” He emphasizes the last word, as if it were sour on his tongue. “OakHombern, all the way from Brinkym. The son of Soren and Hera Hombern. I met your parents a long while ago. How are they?”
“They are well. Thanks for asking,” Oak responds. “Andorwood is just lovely.”
Malachi’s lips curl. “Sarcasm. Just like your father. I should have anticipated that.”
“I guess it runs in the family.”
Malachi flashes an unamused grin. “Humor like that can get you killed with bad timing."
“Hasn’t happened yet,” Oak quips.
Malachi, growing impatient at the joking, growls out, “Yet.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Your Majesty,” Maines interjects, attempting to ease the rising tension toward Oak. “We do appreciate you being open to our presence here.”
“Ah, yes. Maines Madden. I heard of the passing of your father and brother recently,” Malachi says with a shrug. “I can’t say I was upset at the news.”
Maines’s eyebrows raise, and Oak furrows his, ready to fight should Maines react poorly to the statement.
“Their passings were inevitable. I knew their actions would have consequences one day,” Maines says, sharply. “There are few people who will miss them.”
Oak makes a fist on the table, and I hear Fen whisper to him, “Calm down. Right now.”
He takes her advice and settles back into his chair.
Malachi moves down the table with his eyes. “Who else do we have here? Larkin, Warrick, and Fen—good evening and welcome back.”
They dip their heads in silent acknowledgment.
