Page 11 of King of Pride and Talons

Their plates were taken and more coffee was offered, which they both refused. The darkness outside seemed to part briefly with the presence of the moon full and bright.

“Would you like to go for a walk with me? The moon is full and can look quite beautiful from the garden."

Thorne didn't realize he was holding his breath until after Breya accepted his invitation without any sliver of caution. Those inquisitive eyes shined again.

“I would love to," she said.

They left the dining room with the king leading the way down a stone tunnel that led to the servant quarters. It was quiet and led to the back of the palace property. The air was warm but not humid.

“Shall we?” he asked.

Thorne held out his arm to Breya, who slipped hers under his bicep easily. The king could barely look at her, he was already so taken, so smitten. It was unlike any emotion he’d experienced.

In her golden glittery dress, the witch was more exquisite than the dazzling moon.

FIVE

BREYA

The moon looked haunting overhead. The clouds had parted for its reveal as if to welcome their entrance into the gardens.

Breya was a witch and had been capable of inhuman wonders since before she could speak. Her healing prowess came to light at the age of six, still young and quite impressionable. Her father paraded her around town like a prize won at a fair, and while she initially didn’t mind it, it eventually became his sole interest in her as an entire person.

Her sister, on the other hand, was deeply affected by it. The seed of empathy had been dropped into Breya’s consciousness then, shaping her future as an incredibly talented yet modest healer. She put the needs of others before her own. No one was ever going to feel less when standing by her side.

Breya felt a similar simmering feeling when she met Thorne, struck by his beauty and benevolence. Then his indifference toward her understanding of matehood turned her attraction sour. Even after the magnificent kiss, which made her knees weak and her cheeks run hot, she thought that he possessed a sense of entitlement that she had gone to great lengths to smother within herself.

But then he escorted her to dinner. He had been so kind, his demeanor evolving, asking her about her background and practices. Breya knew all about shifters. They could be an unruly bunch, especially the alphas, whose stubbornness oftentimes detracted from their inherent allure.

When the king had grabbed her wrist, she had felt an energizing, buzzing, electric blue sensation. To her, that was a good sign. Blue was a comforting shade, like the sky, reminding her of easy free-flowing days of running through the emerald pastures of home.

But none of that soothed her wariness about his intentions. She mulled it all over, her skin still warm from the whiplash of emotions and the appetizing coffee.

“Only a select few are welcomed on these grounds,” Thorne said, his hands behind his back like a soldier at attention.

The breeze brushed through her hair and sent a rivet of goose bumps streaming down her neckline. One of the most common traits of witches was the propensity toward rumination. She could get lost in the dreamlike landscape of her mind for hours while sitting on a park bench.

“Mmm, is that so?” she responded.

They had come upon a gate made of steel, the metal gleaming in the moonlight. It was unlike any garden gate Breya had seen. No vines intertwined the bars, no indication of time passing through the presence of rust. The material was nearly shiny.

But Breya didn't make her confusion known. She was far too tied up in the shock of being led around a palace by a king.

“Yes. It’s very special to us. Not a lot grows in these parts, as you may have noticed. It’s sparse. So I've had a few botanists grow vegetation within these walls.”

Breya nodded.

“Another luxury then?”

She expected him to rebuke her salty, cheeky question, but he did nothing of the sort. His sober look cracked at the seams, a smug grin breaking through.

"You could say that. You will have to see for yourself first though."

The king turned toward the gate, sliding an ancient-looking key out of his cape. It was dark brown, a hint of rust peppering the stone-carved teeth.

He slid it into a lock and made a refined, polite, clanking sound. He opened the gate wide, bowing his head, allowing her to pass graciously.

“Take a look,” he whispered. "I would love to know what you think."

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