Page 18 of The Death King

“Then give me my freedom now.”

“I am.” He turned his gaze back to me.

The air held a heaviness that made it hard to breathe. I knew there was more to his words, but I couldn’t see past his concealment. I walked into a trap in the dark—and couldn’t see an inch in front of me. “I have a feeling we have different definitions of freedom.”

A smile so subtle moved over his mouth that I wasn’t sure if it was real. If it was a trick of the moonlight, of the shadows, or just my imagination. “You’ll join me in Shadow Stone. You won’t be condemned to manual labor, but to the service of your king. You’ll be well taken care of.”

“And what does service of your king mean?”

“It means you’ll serve me in every way that I ask.” That faint smile disappeared, his rage starting to simmer under his skin. “And you’ll feel honored to do so.”

Honored? I should feel honored to service the king who’d killed my father and destroyed my kingdom? “Does servitude include fucking you?”

His gaze hardened on my face before it dipped down to give me a quick glance over in my baggy tunic and old leggings. “It may.”

“I’m not fucking you.” My savage words came out with their own pair of claws that slashed at the air between us.

He glanced at the compound before he looked at me. “Would you rather be fucked by a buffoon or a king?” His voice deepened, growing tired of the long conversation. He was probably used to issuing orders that were immediately obeyed. Even if he was the monster who’d claimed our home for himself, he was still exceptionally good-looking, so most women probably wanted to fuck him. “That’s the choice before you—now, make your decision.” He turned away from me and approached his massive dragon, Khazmuda. Instead of climbing his dragon by the scales, he quickly pulled himself up by the harness of the saddle, getting to the top in just a few seconds rather than minutes. Atop the dragon, he looked at the landscape that surrounded him, giving me the moment to decide.

I looked back toward the compound, the hill of sand obstructing my vision of that horrible place. If I walked back in there, I would never leave again. My days would be spent in the blistering sun, and my nights would be spent in chains while an asshole forced himself inside me. There was no escape, not with the desert sands surrounding me for miles and miles.

But Shadow Stone wasn’t surrounded by a desert.

It was on the coast, the lush lands right outside the main gates. If I could make it outside, I could get lost in the wild. Once I was out of his grasp, he would never find me again. I could start a new life.

I turned back to the dragon then made my way up, copying the way he’d scaled the dragon’s flank until I reached the saddle. I sat directly behind him, his back and shoulders blocking my view of the front.

“You made the right choice.” He grabbed on to the handles of the saddle. “Hold on.”

“To what?”

Khazmuda launched himself from the ground, jumping into the sky as he spread his wings. It happened in a second, and I nearly toppled backward out of the saddle toward the ground. I grabbed on to the only thing available—the Death King.

He was just as hard as the steel bars of the saddle, his body dense like he was entirely composed of armor. My cheek pressed into his back, and I let out a scream as the world swept past in a blur. “Oh fuck.”

3

CALISTA

My arms were locked around the torso of his armor, and I didn’t slacken my hold even when the ride was smooth and straight. My cheek was pressed to his back, and I looked down at the dark world below. It was a sea of blackness until distant lights became noticeable, the flicker of torches. When I looked the other way, I saw the clouds just slightly overhead, the fluffy pillows that were visible in the early stages of dawn. The sky had faded from a heavy black to a deep blue.

When more torches were clear, I knew we were approaching a heavily populated area. And when the light rose up in the sky, I could distinguish the outline of the castle, torches lit along the stairs of the keeps and battlements. When Shadow Stone had been Kravensworth, I would visit with my father once a year, in the spring when the temperature was mild and travel was easier.

Khazmuda suddenly dipped and began a descent, circling the castle in preparation to land.

My arms tightened around his torso, his flank so wide it was hard to clasp my fingers together in the center. The air continued to blow my hair back, and my cheeks were frozen from the cold. The heat from the desert was long gone.

Khazmuda dipped farther, and my weight pressed against the king’s at that angle. He didn’t move, supporting my increased weight without seeming to notice it. Then the dragon pulled up quickly and righted himself before he landed on an embankment of the castle. It was a heavy thud, and I felt the collision on each vertebra of my spine.

We finally went still, and Khazmuda lowered himself to his stomach to make it easier for us to climb out of the saddle.

The Death King didn’t wait for me. He threw his leg over the side then slid down the rope that bound the saddle in place. When I didn’t immediately follow, he looked back up at me.

“Sorry…I think I’m a little sick.” The abrupt stops and turns made my stomach do all kinds of uncomfortable things.

“You’ll get used to it.”

“I doubt I’ll ever ride a dragon again.” I then did as he had and slid down on the rope to the stone below.

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