Page 3 of The Death King

I screamed and backed away from the window, seeing the distant torches from the city below. Soldiers were running through the streets, preparing for battle. Once my ears recovered from the scream, I could hear their shouts from below.

Then I heard it…the sound of wings.

I couldn’t see it, not in the darkness, not high above the torches.

But I felt it.

I left the window open and ran to my dresser. My clothing and armor were laid out just for the occasion. With shaky hands, I forced everything on, struggling with the clasps on the armor because I’d never been this afraid. All I had was a dagger in my belt, the swords the soldiers carried far too heavy for me.

I left my bedchambers and ran down the long hallway, sprinting to my father’s royal bedchambers on the opposite side of the castle. The door was ajar, and I stumbled inside to see that it was vacant. “Father?”

Servants ran down the hallways, fully aware of the assault that had begun on the castle. I ran back into the hallway and bumped into Marie, the maid who attended to my father’s personal care. “Have you seen my father?”

“I’m sorry, I haven’t.” She ran off without further thought.

The horns sounded, so loud they were audible all the way from the city wall and through the stone that fortified the castle. It was the call of battle, a sound I’d never heard but could recognize instantly.

I ran to the front of the castle, desperate to find my father, knowing he wouldn’t have left me without saying goodbye. I made it to the entrance to the keep, the double doors open to the nighttime air.

My father stood there, dressed in his armor without a helmet, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as the blade remained in the scabbard. I could only see him from the back, but his powerful posture was unmistakable.

I skidded to a halt when I saw what came next.

Out of the sky, an enormous, winged beast slowly lowered to the stone foundation of the castle. It was dark like the night, his scales mapping out the details of his shape, glinting in the torchlight.

When its claws hit the earth, the ground rumbled.

Half the size of the castle, the winged beast was a monstrosity. It bowed its head and looked at the king, its jaws big enough to fit five fully grown men in a single bite. He breathed quietly, his teeth slightly parted, but the sound was loud, like the horns that had just blared.

I was frozen to the spot, so terrified I didn’t even notice the cold as it froze my skin.

None of the soldiers attacked. Cannons weren’t fired. The quiet was so profound that the only sound was the breathing of the beast and the flickering torches.

Then the dragon lowered himself farther to the ground, allowing his rider to climb down and drop to the stone.

I swallowed, seeing the black-clad rider straighten before he unsheathed his blade from the scabbard that hung at his back. His armor was matte black, textured and grooved, containing his muscular physique in an impenetrable shell. Slowly, he moved forward, his gait slow and arrogant. The features of his face weren’t visible from this far away, not when it was cast in shadow, but as he drew near, they came into view.

He had dark eyes like his armor—black not brown like hazelnut or warm coffee. Dark like the scales of his dragon or the sky on the darkest night. They were black…an eye color I’d never seen.

He stopped fifteen feet away from my father, the two-handed heavy sword still gripped in his gloved hand as it rested by his side. The tops of his gloves were covered in grooved spikes, like a single punch to the face could impale the skulls of his enemies. He was tall, taller than my father, taller than all of the soldiers who stood there.

I remained in the back and continued to breathe like I was running rather than standing still.

He gave my father a stare that was both menacing and indifferent at the same time. Not once had he blinked since dismounting his dragon. His eyes held no fear or dread, just a hint of annoyance.

His face was distinguished by its hardness, with its sharp cheekbones and jawline sharp like his blade. Rivers ran up his neck, tight cords like branches from the roots of his muscles. I’d lived a sheltered life of luxury in the castle, so I’d never witnessed such a sight—a man with so much rage. All of it was conveyed in a single stare.

My father didn’t say a word. I wondered if he was as scared as I was.

The Death King spoke, his voice deep like the middle of a rushing stream. “You have what I seek.” He still didn’t blink, his focus more profound than his bodily needs. “Give it to me—and your kingdom will be spared.”

Entranced by his words, I stepped forward, closer to danger, desperate to understand his meaning.

My father said nothing.

The Death King didn’t speak again, but his eyes narrowed in command.

“What do you want?” My father’s voice was surprisingly strong, not quivering the way mine would if I were faced with a necromancer and his powerful dragon.

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