Page 21 of King of Fire and Flames

Not wasting a second, I dragged my sword across his throat. A gruesome collar of blood sprayed from the fae’s neck, soaking my arm and leathers. He released his weapon, and it clattered over the marble. I dropped to the ground as Dorn turned, one hand pressing the gaping slit in his neck and orange eyes wide with shock.

As his free hand reached for the floor, blindly grasping for his sword, I ran back several paces, spun around, then charged forward. Leaping up, I slashed at his neck two more times, and he fell to the floor, landing face-up with a thud. My muscles protested as I climbed his reclining body and plunged steel into his chest, making sure he would never get up again.

Groaning through gritted teeth, I raised the sword above my head again and again, thrusting through bone and flesh. My vision blurred. Everything around me—the flames, drifting embers, the hall beyond—dissolved into blackness, my hoarse, panted breaths the perfect music for murder.

Mydor blood will never fail.

Mydor blood will never fail.

Mydor blood.

Will… Never… Fail.

Never.

I saw my brother’s face beneath me—Quin—laughing and taunting as blood flowed over his features. Then Arrow. His silver eyes staring and staring as his hand braced my hip, his iridescent wings spread out on the ground. Not moving. Just lying there, letting me kill him.

A firm hand pressed the middle of my back. “Leaf. That’s enough.”

With those words, the sounds of the Fire Court crashed over me. Deafening cheers, the roar of the fae. Laughter from Prince Bakhur. Ruhh’s high-pitched screeches.

Panting, I let go of the sword, leaving it embedded in the troll’s stomach, and looked over my shoulder.

Esen.

She held out a hand, and I took it, gaining my feet, then wobbling on shaking legs.

Surprising me, Esen braced an arm around my waist. “I think he’s probably dead now. You can relax.”

Nodding, I wiped blood and gore from my face. “Yes, I believe you’re right.”

I scanned my body. My leathers were singed and torn, and a grimy layer of soot and blood covered my skin. But I was alive. I had survived the first event.

The Fire King shouted something unintelligible, and the Dragon’s Path of flames disappeared, the court falling silent once more.

Azarn beckoned me toward the dais, and Esen, her arm linked through mine, led me limping forward as I leaned nearly all my weight on her.

When I was close enough to see the king’s face, both fury and triumph glittered in his emerald gaze.

“Zali Omala, you have survived the first entertainment and defeated an enemy,” he said, his tone indicating he wasn’t pleased with the outcome. “But the second task may prove more challenging.”

I longed to correct him. Because tonight I’d faced two challenges—the fire creatures and the troll—but five sets of frosty eyes staring at me from gilded chairs kept me silent.

Not one member of Azarn’s family smiled or directly acknowledged my success in any way. Cold assholes the lot of them.

“May I retire?” I asked, desperate to return to my room and tend to my cuts and bruises, the burns that grew more painful with each passing moment.

“No. But you may walk to the center of the hall, and my son will join you for a dance, after which you have my permission to leave us.”

I bowed my head, masking my relief behind a tangled curtain of hair. “Are you certain your son will want to dance with me in this condition?”

Bakhur laughed, and Azarn heaved a long-suffering sigh and nodded.

With my head held high, I turned my back on the dais and walked to the middle of the hall, the sea of courtiers parting as if they feared me in my current blood-soaked state. Good. Hopefully, they’d think twice before crossing me.

A sudden hum of excitement rolled through the crowd. Ruhh screamed, and Prince Bakhur hissed out an audible breath. Weaponless, I drew my aching muscles tight, preparing for anything, but refusing to turn around and react to the courtiers’ taunts.

Three beats of silence, and then a slow clap sounded from near the dais, the hairs on my arms standing on end. Goose flesh prickled my skin, and my Aldara mark flared to life, scorching my neck.

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