“My,” Kol said with a low chuckle. “That was the most fun I’ve had in someone’s head in a millennium.”
Andrian’s skin was sticky and drenched with sweat. He remembered now, everything rushing back. The summons to the hall. The gathering of the Royals and lords. The order for the great houses of Onita to kneel and swear obedience and fealty to their new Emperor, to follow the God of the Sun across the continent as he took it back from the moon goddesses and brought the world to heel.
Andrian, with spit and a snarl, had refused.
“If your memories are even but a fraction of the real thing,” Kol continued, sounding slightly bored, “then I can understand why you are so resistant. Anything for a chance to havethatagain.”
Nervous, hesitant laughs answered the dark god. Andrian, still fighting to control his breaths and his racing heart, let his gaze drift around the room, past Kol’s makeshift throne. Around the raised platform stood the five Royal Lords: Shawth, Cordaro, Beauchamp, Campion, and Hareth.
The sixth would not be joining them. Even Royals were not immune to the fallen god’s wrath.
Not even a Royal who’d raised a son of that fallen god as his own, no matter how brutal that upbringing might’ve been.
He should have avoided antagonizing Kol, but at this point, he didn’t fucking care. He had a feeling he was more useful to Kol alive, anyway.
A fact he hated, but one he might as well take advantage of.
Priestesses stood behind the dais, heads bowed. They filled Andrian with the same slimy, nauseous dread they had the first time he’d seen them.
The usual modest pale-gold robes that marked a priestess of Qhohena were gone. Instead, the girls were clad in sheer, drab white, held together by two small clips at their shoulders. The clothing was loose, the outline of their bodies visible with each flicker of theallumelighting the hall.
Andrian had to fight back the flood of rage at their haunted and broken expressions. They mocked everything his queen was fighting for, right there in this hall.
Wrong. So much of this waswrong?—
“You think it’s wrong, but that’s only because I haven’t yet shown you how right it all is.” Kol shifted back in his seat, a wisp of shadow winding around his finger. “Or, rather, how right itwillbe, once I accomplish what I was crafted by the Crieré to do.”
The what?
“Get…the fuck…out of myhead.” Andrian’s fists clenched, so tight they might break the skin. A bead of sweat dripped from his brow.
Kol leaned forward, a delighted look on his face. “Now, why would I do that? After all, I think it’s well past time for some quality father-son time, don’t you agree?”
“I amnotyour son,” Andrian snarled, his own shadows pushing against his skin. They cowered in Kol’s presence, unwilling to spill forth, but gods fuckingdamnit,Andrian would make them obey.
They were the embodiment of this cursed life he now led; the least they could fucking do was help him out from time to time.
Kol’s eyes still twinkled, but just as he opened his mouth, a figure appeared behind the high back of his chair. A middle-aged woman, muted, gray-streaked blonde hair coiled high atop her head in a perfect nest, snow-white robes pristine and clinging to her form.
Andrian could hardly keep the flash of disgusted loathing from his face as Ksee slinked her way beside Kol, lashes fluttering.
Hedefinitelycouldn’t hide his revulsion when she leaned into Kol, molding her body to his side.
“Having fun, Your Excellency?” Ksee purred, hand winding around Kol’s shoulders.
Something flashed in Kol’s eyes, unreadably fleeting. He turned his sharp grin up to the priestess, hand smoothly sliding around her body and grabbing the flesh of her rear.
Andrian gagged. “Traitorousbitch,” he seethed.
The hall fell silent. Even Lord Cordaro’s heavy, strained breathing halted.
Ksee glared at him down the thin bridge of her nose, flames dancing in her eyes. “Howdareyou, you miserable little letch?—”
Kol tsked. “Now, now. No family squabbles in my hall.” His hand tightened around Ksee as he turned his gaze back to Andrian, that same strange look flashing again over his burning red-gold eyes. “Apologize to my High Priestess.”
Andrian only glared, hate scorching his lungs and settling low in his chest.
Kol cocked his head. “No? Shame. Perhaps it’s time for someparenting.”
