Page 9 of Given to the Black King

Yesterday I watched those claws split a post. Today they are not there. That should make me feel safer.

It does not.

“Eyes forward,” Callas whispers.

I keep them on the king.

He looks as if he has not slept. There are shadows beneath his eyes. A fresh crack runs through the right arm of the throne.

The chip that fell into the courtyard yesterday came from that hand. I reach the black line and bow.

“Great King. Serath sends gifts and asks for a lasting peace between our lands.”

He takes one sharp breath.

The hall goes quiet.

His gaze locks on me.

My pulse jumps.

One claw slips from his forefinger. A soft scrape against stone.

Then another.

Callas begins, “We have brought⁠—”

“Quiet.”

The word rolls through the floor.

Callas stops.

The king has not looked away from me.

Neither have I.

The air between us feels hot enough to touch. My skin prickles under my dress. The same low pull from last night tightens again, sharper now.

His jaw clenches.

He can smell it. His eyes drop to my throat.

His mouth parts farther, baring both fangs.

I take one step back before I remember the black line. His hand closes on the throne arm.

Stone grinds.

“Rooms have been prepared,” he says.

Callas stares. “Great King, the gifts⁠—”

“Tomorrow.”

“We were told the audience would⁠—”

“Tomorrow.”