Page 99 of A Dawn of Gods & Fury

My insides churn with disgust, the single carrot in my stomach threatening to reappear. “I seek fresh air. I will be outside in the garden if you require me, though I’m sure your guards will remain dutiful.” No one would attempt anything with these fucking demons ready to pounce.

“Leaving your king at dinner is rude, my love. It will cause talk.”

The last thing Malachi cares about is gossip, but I hear the underlying disapproval in his voice. If I were smart, I would remain where I was, shovel my dinner into my mouth, and smile like a good little queen.

“As you have said, I have much to learn about ruling a kingdom.” I rush away before he can stop me.

My heels click on the stone pathway as I meander through the garden, igniting cold lanterns with flame as I pass. This must have been a lovely place once. I suppose it still is, save for the hideous scar that splits its center. The bodies have been removed and mortals tinker away at the stone fountains day and night, preparing to rebuild. But the swath of damage from dragon’s fire cannot be fixed by any mortal with their cart of tools.

I glance over my shoulder at the castle behind, half expecting to see a cohort of Saur’goths marching to drag me back to face Malachi’s wrath. But he is suitably occupied by all the preening idiots who stroke his ego, allowing me a chance to breathe out here.

I pause by a vine that reminds me of our beloved wisteria, though this one boasts flowers in fuchsia and violet hues of a tropical beach sunset. At least it did. Only a few blooms remain now, while the rest wear a coat of ash. It will die without help.

I weave strands of Aoife and Aminadav together and channel it into the roots of this poor, abused plant. Moments pass and then the ash flakes off, revealing new wood beneath. Fresh buds erupt on it, promising another burst of blooms.

I move on to the next vine.

This, I can do.

The last threads of my affinities flutter, frayed and dim, as I climb the steps to the queen’s chamber. My legs wobble from the exertion. I should not have drained myself so thoroughly for the sake of trees and vines, and yet once I began, I could not stop, the simple act of healing as satisfying as it was therapeutic.

Two guards hovering at my door step forward in unison. “You must attend His Highness in his chamber,” the one on the right says.

Oh, fates. I barely stifle the groan. There is only one thing this could be for, and I am spent. “I am far too tired to—”

“He insists,” the one on the left cuts me off, collecting my elbow, the metal of his gauntlet digging into my skin.

“You dare touch me?” I have never been skilled at containing my temper, and now is no exception. I lash out with my last threads of Vin’nyla, dragging the air from the guard’s lungs. He releases my arm in a fit of coughs, his face turning red as he struggles to breathe.

It holds only moments before I lose my grip of him, my affinities dwindled to nothing. But it’s enough.

Gasping to refill his lungs, he gestures ahead, now keeping his distance.

“Do not lay a hand on me ever again or I will be the last female you touch,” I warn crisply. Perhaps making enemies of the guards is not smart on my part, but they should not forget what I am. Pulling my shoulders back, I walk the rest of the way to the king’s chamber where two Saur’goths wait.

My guards want even less to do with them than me and linger at the corner.

Releasing a heavy sigh of annoyance, I stroll in. “Your Highness, you summoned me?”

“In here, my love,” comes his deep, velvety voice from the direction of the bedroom.

My stomach drags on the marble floor as I move through the expansive sitting area of opulent gilding and moody, soot-black Baroque décor and into the bedroom.

I freeze at the horrid scene before me, grabbing the doorframe to keep from buckling.

This is not Elijah, I remind myself, rage and pain warring inside me as I watch Malachi use my husband’s body to pleasure that simpering Kettling fool, sprawled out on his bed.

“There you are.” Elijah’s deep voice fills my ear. He holds her legs in place as he kneels over her. “I was wondering when my queen would gather enough ‘fresh air,’” he says between thrusts that are growing in intensity by the second.

Lady Saoirse lets a cry slip, and then tips her head back and offers a coy smile. It disappears when she sees my face.

I hope she enjoys fucking my husband tonight because tomorrow I will hunt her down and—

“You can undress now.” Malachi cuts into my murderous plot. “I will be done with this one shortly.”

This is not Elijah, I remind myself as my heart constricts. But Elijah is an unwilling participant. He would never touch another woman, and yet he is forced to do it with me watching. He must be in agony, seeing my reaction to it.

This is Malachi’s style. I knew he would make me suffer, but I should have expected this. “I have been healing the garden all evening and I am tired, Your Highness. I would very much prefer to—”

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