Page 182 of Anathema

In a wisp of a breath, Zevander yanked his blade and held it at her throat, fury tearing through him in pulsing waves of violence. “You fucking look at her, and I’ll carve your eyes from their sockets then cram them down your gullet.”

“Bold words.” The clank of metal from behind warned other Solassion guards had closed in on him. She swallowed, and the blade nicked her skin, leaking a skinny drop of blood down her throat. “One word, and they’ll attack like a pack of dogs.”

A split-second glance showed Ravezio and Kazhimyr stealthily approaching her guards from behind, lending no warning to the danger the Solassions faced right then. While the armored men were formidable, they hadn’t been trained like the Letalisz in mageduell, a fighting technique that incorporated eldritch glyphs and blood spells. Solassions were nothing more than grunts who followed her command.

Zevander slid his tongue across his teeth, the enjoyment of her obvious humiliation exhilarating him. While the rest of the guests hadn’t yet taken notice, it would only be a matter of time before the king caught him threatening the general, and then all hell would break loose.

He released her and stepped back.

Clearing her throat, she waved off her men. “Right. Then, perhaps you might accompany me to my chambers. For old times’ sake.”

“I’d sooner flay my cock with a dull blade than let you within arms reach of it.”

“What a shame that would be.”

“Keep your distance, General. Or, mark my word, you will be dead by morning.”

Her lips stretched to an evil grin. “While I miss the scrawny boy from long ago, I must say, you have certainly not lost your fuck appeal, Zevander Rydainn. I’ll be thinking of you this eve, while your lowly replacement does a poor job of pleasuring me. I’ve not had a proper climax since you left.”

Without another word, Zevander strode off, feeling as if he’d sloughed a massive leech off of him. Had she not been the general of the Solassion army, he’d have gladly turned her blood to stone.

Tray in hand and dressed as a servant in a simple tunic and trousers, Kazhimyr strode up, as if to offer a drink, and Zevander plucked one of the proffered goblets. “Rekindling old friendships, I see.”

“If she’s breathing by night’s end, it’ll be by the grace of the gods, not me.”

“She could only hope the gods would spare her a merciful thought.” Kazhimyr gave him a subtle pat on the shoulder. “Do not let her rattle you, Brother. That is her favored torment, after all.”

Zevander gave a nod, and Kazhimyr weaved on through the crowd, playing the role of watchful servant.

At the far end of the room stood a platform, upon which King Sagaerin stood, waiting for the room to settle to quiet.

Eyeing Dorjan standing behind the platform, Zevander made his way there. En route to the prince, he spied Torryn, who was assigned to watching the crowd, and came to a stop alongside him. “Perhaps you might keep an eye on my sister and Maevyth.”

“I’ve been watching them since the moment they arrived.” It seemed their disguise had failed to fool him, also.

Zevander gave a nod and kept on, until he reached Dorjan, who swayed on his feet, clearly having had far too much wine. An inevitable outcome, really. The prince rarely managed an entire night of festivities without getting drunk, and what’d happened in the village had only seemed to spur more resentment and anger.

More drinking.

“Zev’der … p’haps y’might fetch m’friend.” He wanted Zevander to inform his lover that he was ready for bed.

Having already anticipated the events of the evening, Zevander had requested that the young man head to his chambers early on, to avoid any suspicion. “He’s waiting for you now.”

“Ah, goo’man.” He patted Zevander on the back and started in the direction of his chambers.

Zevander followed, scanning the corridors for any sign of attack along the way.

The prince stumbled, running into the walls, until they eventually arrived at the door of his chambers. Dorjan pushed it open, and within his lover lay naked on the bed, stroking his cock. As the prince peeled away his clothes, Zevander closed them inside.

While he should’ve posted himself outside the door, Zevander refused to listen to the prince fucking all hours of the night when he could’ve been keeping an eye on Maevyth and Rykaia. Instead, he summoned his scorpion and placed it on the floor in front of the door. Should anyone attempt to come after the prince, the scorpion would attack.

When Zevander returned to the ballroom, the king was addressing his subjects.

“My most honored guests, it is with great pleasure that I invite you to witness my beautiful daughter’s Becoming Ceremony.” The waver of his smile hinted at his disappointment. “The winner of this afternoon’s match has been determined. Princess Calisza will be paired with Captain Avith of the Solassion Army.”

A raucous of obnoxious cheering from the back of the room came from the Solassions, and a brute of a man stepped forward. The Imperial Guards maintained the perimeter, ready to act in the event the captain was anything but gentle with the princess.

Zevander scanned over the king’s audience in search of Rykaia and Maevyth, and found the two on the opposite side of the platform.

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