I sank into the chair behind my desk. The wood creaking under my weight. For a moment, I let my head fall back, eyes closing as I pressed fingers into my temples. I was tired.
It was not the kind of tiredness that sleep would fix. It was the kind that settled into the marrow of my bones, built from years of making decisions between bad and worse. It came from wearing a crown I was never supposed to inherit, from learning too young that kings do not get to want.
The candle nearest to me flickered, responding to the shift in my magic. I forced it down, swallowing the surge of power before it manifested into something destructive. Control. Always control.
My brother's death is replaced by images of Elara. Unwanted, unbidden the very creature whotested my control more than any other had. Tonight, her appearance was the level of perfection I had expected, draped in silk and careful composure.
That wasn't how I remembered her. Instead, the image that called to me most was the one of her on her knees. My cock in her mouth, as she took my control from me like she owned it.
I gripped the arm of the chair, knuckles whitening as heat coiled low in my gut. Gods I had wanted to stop her, had wanted to haul her to her feet and shove her from the room telling her to keep her defiance to herself. For some reason, I had stayed still, allowing myself a brief moment of pleasure I had not felt in years.
I had taken so many things in my life, command, loyalty, fear, even love before I knew better. Elara had offered. I knew it had been to prove a point. That not even the Fae King who owned her on paper, could own that mouth of hers. She would do with it what she wanted, say what she wanted, demand when there were things I was not willing to give.
Those actions made her more dangerous than any army I had ever built or torn apart. I exhaled slowly, leaning forward, as I braced my elbows on the desk. Maps spread before me with borders marked in ink. This was where I was meant to live. In strategy, numbers, choices that can be justified later by survival.
Not in the memory of a woman's hands and mouth around my cock, looking up at me as if silently begging me to give in, to have her. Even if it was just once. The story of her burn had filled me withrage, even as I had sat on the ground like a child, willing her to give me part of herself she was not ready to. It had started as a game, but ended in understanding.
I knew that kind of pain, what it was to be reduced to something lesser in your own mind because you were resistant when someone else ordered obedience.
Elara was a mirror of everything I had buried to remain King. She had made me remember what it had been like to lay beneath the stars and just exist. She makes me want joy, but joy was a luxury I had buried beside my brother.
I laughed under my breath, the sound bitter and sharp. She had always been different. From the moment she had refused to bow I had thought she would be a problem, but never had I expected this. Elara Varyn got under my skin, and I had to find a way to carve her out before she ended up embedded so deep within me, I could not tell what was mine and what was hers.
I stood again, restless, my mind fractured with different feelings, memories and pieces of information that were impossible to organise. The threads I needed to take control evading me every time I grasped for them. It was torture, the worst kind.
Somewhere within these castle walls, my sister was preparing for a life she should have never had to choose. Elara would be sat upstairs in a guest bedroom, the well groomed slave waiting for my next order. Averan lay cold in an early grave, marked by love from all those who knew him.
I had failed them all.
With a harsh curse ripping from my lips I sat back at the desk trying to pull the pieces together that I needed. If I was going to follow this through I needed to be clear on my next course of action.
The Siren Queen, the only female ruler in Alasgad, would not be impressed by sacrifice alone. She would demand to taste the truth from every word I spoke, hear the fracture in my voice if I allowed myself to feel too much. Maeve Kiehl traded in longing and despair. Desire sharpened into a deadly weapon, one I could not allow. Nor one I could afford.
The decision settled in my mind with brutal clarity. Distance. Whatever strange attraction I felt for Elara would end now. I would keep her safe, honour my word and protect her from becoming another victim in my upcoming war, I could not let myself want her. Wanting a human would make me careless and careless kings get people killed.
I pulled a fresh piece of parchment from an unused pile and began to write. Orders first. Envoys, timelines. Where I would draw the line in my offering with the Siren Queen and how much blood it would cost me. The pen moved steadily across parchment as my thoughts slowly knit together, becoming cohesive as the decision settled like a weight on my chest.
The candle burnt lower as the night stretched on. Ink staining my fingers as plans were stacked amongst one another, each one a fragile thing balancing my people on the end of catastrophe.
By the time I finally stilled, dawn was becoming more thanjust a pale promise on the horizon. Light bled freely into the darkness. I leant back in my chair and allowed myself a moment to breathe.
For a single treacherous second I indulged in the remembrance of Elara beside me under the stars. How her skin had felt beneath my fingers, and the way her body had supported mine when I thought all was lost.
Then I lock it away. I was a King first, King to my people, legacy of my brother and protector of my sister, but always King first. Even if it cost me the only thing that had made the crown feel lighter upon my brow.
Chapter Twenty One
In the days remaining of the Dragon King's visit, the silence between Rhael and I, felt less like a punishment and more like peace. I had learned the difference quickly. The early silences had felt sharp and almost suffocating, filled with rules I didn't understand and expectations I could never meet.
What we had after was not that. It was different, almost like a comfort. Late in the afternoon on the final full day of the Dragon King’s visit, Rhael had found me once again in the library that used to belong to his brother. Unlike before, he did not chastise me. Choosing to sit across the large oak table, settling into the peace I had carved myself.
Dust motes floated lazily in the air, distributed only by the occasional turn of a page, from the book I was pretending to read. The fact that I once again sat in the room that he held so dear to him wasn't mentioned.
I could see the care he took when he replaced the books on the shelves, and how he never quite looked at the desk pushed into the far corner and the chair that would forever remain empty.
We didn't talk about it. In fact, that afternoon we did not talk much at all, we just existed in a new kind of still existence. Instead, I traced my finger absently along a line of text, not really taking in the words. I could feel him across the table without looking. No tension crackling between us, the air void of any demands.
A page turned, breaking the silence and my eyes snapped up to Rhael before I could stop myself. His attention was solely in the book held in his hands, brows drawn slightly together in concentration. His hair was let down from his usual ponytail, with dark strands falling over his temples.
