Page 86 of The Reaping Rose

Soon they’ll understand. Even if it unmakes them, I will weave them a new fate, and their spirits will thank me.

“Anything else?” My tone is flat, my fangs jutting, and my belly hungry for blood.

“That’s all, Your Majesty.” Lady Reah begins to turn.

“Remember, should your niece make an appearance, I’m the first to know.”

She pauses, glancing over her shoulder. “Of course.”

At that, Lady Reah walks out of the manor. Just as the female stumbles down the hall and into the room.

“I’m going for a walk,” Hazel announces, standing. “Alasdair will be here tomorrow to report on the battlefront. Try to get some sleep.”

I don’t bother responding as she glides across the floor. Her shadows drift in a trail behind her. It isn’t until the last feather of her magic wisps away that I finally stand, meeting the naked female at the doorway.

“What’s your name?” I ask her.

Hurt fills her face. “You don’t remember?”

“Never mind.” Annoyance peaks as I wrap my fingers around her throat.

Magic weaves up and over her skin, making it more golden. I thread light through her hair, crafting the perfect illusion. The red strands turn a honey brown one by one. I close my eyes and pull the vision from my mind.

When I finally open them, the female before me is that of a memory.

Of death.

Something strange fills my chest.

“Tonight, you’re Selia,” I tell the altered vision of the female.

But when she frowns, she doesn’t look like my little storm cloud. Her mouth opens, and I dread her ruining my imagination entirely. My thumb taps her lips, magic slipping into her mouth to steal her voice.

Still, I can’t look at this altered version of what is real.

So I spin her around and bend her over the couch as I sink into her body.

Maybe when I rewrite this realm, I’ll craft my storm cloud again. Maybe it will no longer matter.

I grab the female’s hair and let that thought sink deeper. I let myself imagine a new beginning. A new end. I thrust harder, and the female starts to fight me a little. Just as my Selia did.

“Did you want your king to stop?” I ask, thrusting hard.

She shakes her head because, of course, she doesn’t. She just wants to pretend she doesn’t need this as much as I do. She wants to wiggle and fight and give me what I need. So I grab her hair and force her back to arch. Leaning over her, I sink my teeth into her shoulder.

I drink.

And drink.

And drink.

But she tastes nothing like a storm.

Chapter 29

Elorie

Andare’s beaches are nothing like the overcast shore in Ruse Village. Mountains frame one side, and saltwater laps against the glistening sand on the other. The beach sparkles in the sunlight like millions of shards of shiny glass.