Page 23 of King of Fire and Flames

What in the dust was going on?

I whipped around to face Arrow and found Raiden and the young human male still standing beside him. Instead of the black and red Fire Court armor, Raiden wore dusty leathers and a dirt-flecked cloak. He braced a hand on his hip, lips twitching, fighting a smile.

What the fuck?

I glanced at Esen. She hadn’t changed and still wore Sun Realm armor, her gaze focused on the floor and cheeks stained red as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

The truth hit me like an anvil to the back of my skull.

I’d been tricked.

A fire fae must’ve used transformational magic and stolen Raiden’s image, impersonating him. But why?

The female fae who had guarded me over the last couple of days was authentic, often speaking of things that only the real Esen could possibly have known. But Raiden had barely said a word, and when he did, he’d sounded odd. Wrong. How had I been so stupid not to guess it wasn’t him?

And what was the purpose of the Sun Realm pretending Raiden had defected to the Fire Court? Nothing in this scenario made sense.

Queen Estella rose and glided down the dais steps to greet Arrow. Linking her arm through his, she guided him up toward Azarn’s throne, a ripple of midnight hair and an indigo gown studded with metallic stars flowing behind her.

“Is Estella a friend of Arrow’s?” I whispered to Esen.

“She’s a strange one. As cold and distant as the stars, except with him, for some reason.”

I wanted to ask about the Raiden impostor, but bit my tongue and strained my ears to hear the conversation between Azarn and Arrow, hoping to glean useful information.

The young male who had arrived with the Storm Court party hadn’t moved from the bottom step of the dais, his black curls framing a lean, handsome face, solemn eyes studying me. There was something familiar about him. The way he stood, loose-limbed, but alert. The strong line of his nose. The fact I couldn’t place him bothered me greatly.

“You wasted no time in getting here, Arrowyn,” Azarn said. “Meet any gold raiders on the journey?”

“We dispatched a small crew. And of course I hurried to Taln after hearing of your plans for the human girl.”

Azarn chuckled. “I thought they would appeal to you. No regrets in giving her up? By all reports, the girl was your favorite bed slave.”

Arrow shrugged a shoulder. “She had her uses. But after a while, all objects lose their shine.”

An object, was I? And the human girl.

What an utter prick.

I pictured his deceitful head falling from his neck and splattering on the marble. I imagined stomping on it, turning his flesh to mush, just like I’d done to Dorn.

Prince Bakhur rose from his chair, swaggered over to the Storm King, and bowed.

“Bakhur.” Arrow barely inclined his head. “Apparently, you’re about to dance with my ex-servant. Brave of you.”

“Oh, why is that?” asked the Fire Prince.

“As small and innocent as she looks, she’s far from a sweet, little kitten,” Arrow rumbled, his gaze fixed on me. “If you wish to keep your eyes, I suggest you watch out for her claws.”

“Duly noted,” said the prince as he started down the dais stairs.

“Wait,” boomed his father, casting a sly look at Arrow. “I believe I would be better entertained if the King of Storms and Feathers danced with his murderous ex-slave. What do my courtiers think of the proposal?”

“Brother, please, no,” whined Ruhh as the courtiers’ shouts drowned out any further objections.

A dirge of music rose from musicians placed somewhere in the crowd—the drums slow but urgent, the strings a caterwaul of twisted paranoia. A perfect melody for a bitter reunion.

An atmosphere of violence surrounded Arrow’s powerful frame as he strode down the stairs, stopping right in front of me. He ignored Esen beside me, who made a clumsy bow and backed away, leaving us to stare at each other with mirrored poses. Jaws clenched, fists balled, and hearts closed.

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