Page 78 of Threaded

His father regarded him with glaciers in his hazel eyes. “Andrian. Do you know why I called you here today?”

Andrian nodded meekly. “You wanted to discuss last night.”

Julian’s eyes hardened. “Yes. That’s exactly what I want to do.” He paused, his fingers drumming on the arms of his chair. “Do you know what that Mark on your chest means? The one that appeared last night?”

If eye contact hadn’t been drilled into Andrian from the moment he could speak, he would’ve dropped his gaze from his father’s brutal stare. “No, Father. I don’t know what it means. But it hurt so bad and—”

“Enough. I don’t want to hear your whining.” Andrian winced at his father’s tone but wasn’t surprised. He kicked himself internally for showing his father that weakness.

“It means that a new queen has been born.”

Andrian felt his eyes widen. “Is there something wrong with Queen Ryenne?”

Laurent’s own eyes narrowed. “No. At least, not yet. But that’s not all it means. It also means that now, you will never be the next Lord Laurent. As of this day, you are no longer my heir. Thank the gods you have a brother.”

Hurt—deep, soul-crushing hurt—tugged at Andrian, and tears threatened to spill over his cheeks. He kept his head high, though, and fought down the pain clawing at his belly, angry and thrashing as it tried to pull him under. He couldn’t show that in front of Father.

“It also means this new queen was not born to our family. I would’ve known if any of your aunts or cousins were expecting. Which means this birth is outside our blood,” Laurent paused, and his next words were nearly a growl. “Our family will once again be skipped for the ability to seat one of our women on the Golden Throne.”

Andrian kept his mouth shut, knowing there was nothing he could say that his father would want to hear.

“And you, Andrian. With that Mark on your skin, your entire future has been changed. You must now move to Verith, permanently, to be trained by Queen Ryenne’s Armature. And one day, when this new queen has come of age, you will be expected to participate in the Selection, where she will pick her own Armature. One of which may be you.”

Andrian felt his breath whoosh out of him, too stunned to feel anything other than utter shock. His father leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking, as he turned his hard expression to stare out the frosted window.

“I would bet she’s another Shawth. I don’t know why that family is always Chosen to hold the monarchy. Victor is ruthless enough to do the job, but it’s not as if there’s anything particularlyspecialabout House Shawth.”

“What if she’s not a Shawth? What if she’s not Royal at all?” Andrian blurted the words, unable to hold his tongue. It was like something had reached down his throat and hauled them out as soon as the thoughts had flitted through his mind.

As his father slowly,tooslowly, turned his head away from the window and back to his son, Andrian knew it had been the wrong thing to ask.

“That would be … impossible. But since you asked the question, Andrian, let me just say this: I will never serve, and will never allow a son of mine to serve, a non-Royal queen, someone of low-born blood who is not deserving of such privilege. If, somehow, she is not a Royal, and if you somehowallowyourself to be selected to her Armature, then I swear upon the depths of Enfara that she will meet a fate worse than death. And you, Andrian—I will make youwatch.”

* * *

A cool, thin layer of sweat covered Andrian’s skin as the memory-turned-nightmare pulled him from sleep.

His ears rang with his father’s words, given to him over twenty-one years ago, the time that had passed doing nothing to weaken their impact or the fear he’d felt that day.

The fear hestillfelt.

His face itched, and he tried to move, to brush away whatever it was tickling his cheek when he became instantly aware of the warmth beside him, the soft skin, the smell of eucalyptus and cedarwood and a hint of jasmine filling his nose.

He cracked his eyes open, just barely, discovering the thick tresses of Mariah’s dark hair draped across his chest, their lengths in his face. He was wrapped around her, almost protectively, as if in sleep his walls had fallen and his instincts had taken over.

Nio. It was an old word given to him by his mother, a word in the language of her people she’d taught him each night before he’d left her for Verith. The borders between Leuxrith and Onita were as good as closed, and he treated it as his personal language. It was all he had left of that soft, gentle woman, a mother he’d been forced to leave too soon and who had suffered a mysterious, tragic fate, something he used when he wanted to speak without being understood.

He’d used the word mockingly at first, a dig at the power crawling beneath Mariah’s skin that she flounced with such pride, not knowing the danger it brought her.

But when she’d lit up his room last night, that bright light burning the air around them, his own magic raking sharp claws down the inside of his spine in answer, begging to be let out …

He shivered.

His movement must’ve been noticeable because he felt her shift slightly within his hold, stirring from sleep with slow, arduous movements. Her body was curled into him, every inch of her skin touching his, her ass pressed against his hips. He stifled a groan as she continued to move, stretching her lithe form ever so slightly, pushing the right parts of her further into the right parts of him. He felt his cock twitch and start to grow in response, his own hips shifting behind her.

How it even had the ability to do that after the night they’d just shared, he had no idea.

Maybe it was her. Everything about her drove him absolutely feral, burning through every wall he’d ever built with that infuriating spark.

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