Within seconds, the crunching of boots on rocky earth and the beat of wings fades into silence.
The concealed door remains open, and I consider it now with suspicion, the back of my neck prickling.
“He said you’d be here,” an unfamiliar male voice calls from the other side of the tower.
My jaw clenching, I step out from the shadows.
A lone man stands twenty paces away from me. Beside him, rammed into the sand, is a wooden shield made from that same ashen-brown wood, large whorls on its tall, wide frame.
The man’s brown eyes glitter as he gives me a boyish grin.
Fuck, but even without green eyes, the family resemblance to Antony is clear.
He must be Hadrian.
Brave of him to come anywhere near me, particularly in such flammable clothing. He’s dressed in an embroidered tunic, long pants, and boots, all pristinely white, except for the blood-red gloves covering his hands.
I don’t see any iron dust on him, but I won’t underestimate him.
“Who said I’d be here?” I ask.
Hadrian arches his eyebrows. “No formal greetings, one king to another? I expected a little courtesy.”
Courtesy?This fucking boy may be the same age as me, but he has no idea whom he’s dealing with.
I repeat, “Who said?”
“My mentor, Stanimir. He’s willing to do anything for his cause.”
Stanimir. The man feeding Hadrian information.
I sent as many warriors as I could throughout my kingdom looking for any sign of Stanimir or the other travelers. All I’ve been able to confirm is that Ortansia, the leader of the Tol-Dakri in whose city the travelers were last seen, went to seize them after they made an attempt on my life, only to find the travelers were already gone.
There have been no sightings of them for the past week.
I fold my arms across my chest. I wish I were posturing, but the jabbing pain in my chest is getting worse. “What cause is that, Hadrian?”
“Bringing about the reign of the eternal heir.”
My brow furrows. “Eternal heir?”
He smirks. “The rightful King of Serulia.”
I snort. “I suppose you think that’s you.”
“Of course it’s me.” Hadrian’s response, his tone, everything about his body language tells me his belief is absolute. “It was always going to be me.”
By the Goddess of Truth and Light, he fucking believes it.
“What makes you so certain?” I ask, intending to goad him into a fight.
“Because I cut her first.”
I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about, but if he means Thyra, and he hurt her…
“Don’t worry,” Hadrian croons. “Thyra enjoyed it. She fuckingscreamedfor me.”
Rage burns through my body and mind. Pure. Uncontrollable. Fury.
