Page 71 of Heir

Drak stepped forward. “She is of no use to us. She won’t give anything up. She is a drain on our time and energy. Holding on to her presents us with a risk of her escaping, or breaking free of her shackles and hurting someone.”

“Uh . . . there’s no way she’s breaking free of those ropes,” Maxar said, giving Drak a look that said he was offended. “I know what I’m doing. Fuck you very much. Been playing with fire for a few centuries now.”

Drak ignored him.

“Then she dies tonight,” Omaera said, standing up. She glared down at the demon who still had so much hate and anger in her eyes, even though she was facing death. “Raewyn Vade, I find you guilty of treason, attempted murder, and attempted mutiny. I sentence you to death.” Then she spun around, showing the demon her back and returning to Gemma on the couch.

Maxar nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”

Omaera shook her head. “No. I sentenced her. I should be the one to do it.”

Maxar’s, Drak’s, and my brows all hiked up to our hairlines.

“Normally, the monarch does the sentencing, but not the execution,” Drak said.

“Then they are a feckless monarch,” Omaera said, wrapping an arm around Gemma. “Death is permanent. It is not a light sentence and should only be made when there is no other option. If I’m going to bear the weight of this crown—until I can give it to someone else—then I’m going to be the one to carry out the sentence. It’s only right.”

“Maer,” Gemma whispered. “You can’t come back from this.”

“I know,” Omaera said, swallowing. “But she tried to kill you.” She glared at Raewyn. “She deserves to die.”

Maybe I was wrong, but for the briefest of moments, I could have sworn I saw a flicker of respect flash through Raewyn’s eyes. Then it was gone, replaced once again by deep-seated loathing and contempt for my mate.

“Would you like a fire sword?” Maxar asked.

“Is that clean and quick?” Omaera asked, still hugging her friend.

Maxar nodded. “It will cauterize as it slices, so there is very little bloodshed. Should be an easy cleanup. I can also just cremate her like I did the Phaceanesh in the alley.”

Even though I was no virgin when it came to murder, execution, war, or bloodshed, I would be lying if I said the cavalier way everyone was discussing killing this woman wasn’t affecting me in a nauseating way. Yes, she needed to die. But she was still alive right now, listening to this. Hearing how we were going to dispose of her corpse when she was relieved of her head.

I knew I’d be fine, but I worried about Omaera. She was stoic at the moment, only showing her friend affection, but otherwise numb with rage toward the demon. But how would she cope with this later? When the reality of it came crashing down and the image and smell of burning flesh and a fire sword decapitating a woman returned to her in her dreams?

Because they would.

They always did.

Dreams were something not even the most powerful demon could control.

At least not their own.

They could manipulate others’ dreams, the way Raewyn had been manipulating Omaera’s dreams, but Omaera wouldn’t be able to control her own dreams.

“Maybe you shouldn’t see this,” she said to Gemma. “You don’t need to witness this.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Gemma said.

Omaera’s expression turned gentler than I’d ever seen it. “Please, sweetie. Go to your bedroom and close the door. I don’t want you to see me like this. I have the guys. They’re going to help me. But you don’t need to witness this. Please. Go.”

Gemma’s eyes flicked back and forth across all of our faces, then over to Raewyn. Finally, she nodded and slowly got up from the couch. “You don’t have to do this, Maer. You know that, right? One of them can do it.”

“She tried to kill you, Gem. And I’m the Queen. A good leader doesn’t shy away from the hard stuff. Delia taught me that.”

They hugged. Then Gemma went back into her room, closing the door. A moment later, music began to play from inside her bedroom.

“All right, let’s get this over with,” Omaera said, standing up and taking a deep breath which exited from her chest in a rattling fashion. She went over to Raewyn and glared down at her. “This could have ended so differently. But you’re a xenophobic psychopath. And my kingdom has no place for people like you. Hybrids are people too. Humans are people too. And we all deserve to live.” Her mouth turned down into a frown. “Well, everyone except you.” She held out her hand, and Maxar created a long, broad, flaming green sword. The handle was yellow flames so Omaera could hold it, but the blade itself was a bright green, flickering and dancing. Hot and lethal.

“You won’t have to swing it very hard,” Maxar said. “It will cut through flesh and bone quite easily.”

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