“Is it customary in Henosis to put hands on your Queen when she doesn’t want them there?” A rough, deep voice carried from the doorway where a tall, shadowy figure leaned.
Just what I needed—another man to insert his opinion.
King Krait Darvanda of Sahlmsara spoke every word as though it were an order—an impressively intimidating feat. The intrusion did not loosen Haward’s grip.
For the second time since Darvanda had ridden in with his flaming Warhorses, I was somewhat grateful to see the Sahlmsaran King. If he could help me avoid further interaction with my dreadful cousins, then I’d happily face the greater evil of him.
Darvanda may have saved my city, but it would be foolish to think he didn’t have his own agenda. I had my own agenda, too—keep my Corridor out of the hands of men like Haward and bring magic back into my lands to reintroduce balance.
For too long, the people of Henosis had been taught to fear Source-wielders under the Order. Those laws were crumbling faster than the rulers of the realm could amend them.
My thoughts would’ve sounded like treason to my Phynnic ancestors, who’d cast out magic from these lands over four centuries ago. As Henosis entered a new era, I saw no other way forward.
I was no stranger to compromise. Conditions.
“She is my cousin,” Haward snapped back as the brooding King entered, his gait stiff and domineering. Darvanda’s iron-gray eyes scanned Haward, sizing him up.
The King shrugged before he said, “Does that make her any less your Queen?” His face was all hard lines; his sculpted biceps were flexed and sported rough scars where his tunic had slid up. He was a man who had been spat out from the Great Wars ready for retribution.
The whites of Haward’s eyes showed and he more carefully said, “With all respect, this is a family matter.”
My wrists stung from the bite of Haward’s fingers.
Darvanda let a low, dark hum leave his throat. He grated out, “With no respect at all, she is under the ward of the Sahlms now. And I don’t let others break what is promised to me.” His voice seeped out like a smoky threat, in a timbre that hung heavy in my ears.
Never mind being grateful to see him. I wanted to kick King Darvan-dick in the groin.
As a Queen in my own right, Iwas promisedto no one—blood oath to be his ally or not. I imagined my fist smashing against the King’s commanding countenance.
He may be the King of the Sahlms now, but he’d also been the King of Brennax—the kingdom that had orchestrated thedestruction of Phynx. It would serve me well to remember that this alliance would be a tenuous one; the history of my ancestors was an ominous reminder of the ruin he could bring upon us.
Barden seemed jumpy, but Haward dared to meet the King’s glare and answered, “So we’ve heard.”
As Darvanda neared, putting Haward in his shadow, the darkness flickered around my cousin, looking like tendrils of nothingness that sought something to devour.
Haward dropped my wrists. His mind warred between his fear of the Shadow-wielding King and his anger with me, but his cowardice won out, and he said nothing more.
Good choice. Although, it would’ve been fun to watch those Shadows descend on him.
I’d encountered the Sahlmsaran King’s Source power only once, and being gripped by his Shadows had left me terrified of ever feeling them again. To be encased in a depthless pit, devoid of all light and being—Haward would crumble under that weight.
What terrified me more was my inability to slip into Darvanda’s mind like I could with others. Fighting the urge to shake my hands out, I shot Darvanda a scowl that said, “I could have handled them.” He met my gaze with a quirk of his dark brow.
The King looked well rested for our journey—that made one of us. He was neatly dressed in a well-cut red tunic that suited his light-brown complexion. Dark stubble accentuated a strong chin, and his dark hair glistened as though tamed with pomade.
At least he was appealing to look at, so long as I didn’t have to interact with the prick.
“Tall, dark, handsome andmy savior,” I crooned with enough sarcasm that I caught Barden’s lips quirk up at the sides.
King Darvanda only grunted a response before stepping away from us and finding a seat at the round birch table. He sat withhis back to where we stood, as thoughwehad interruptedhisquiet morning.
Haward snarled at me, “Just remember, Sybilla, you have two years until that throne is mine. And you’re not exactly in your prime seasons.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m well aware of the laws pertaining to my future reign. Thank you.”
Darvanda didn’t stir from the table or show any interest in our conversation.
“Then where are your heirs, Sybilla?” Haward’s snide smile made my temper bubble.
