Page 175 of What Lies Within Blood & Heirs

Alora settled a challenge in her eyes and lifted her chin as she stared down her nose at an exchange of whispers betweenLadomyr and … Lord Terious, if she remembered correctly. One of the lords presumed to own an auction house.

Ladomyr began walking. Normally swallowed by the crowd, the king possessed stimulated eyes instead. Taking notice of not one of his wives, he commanded his way across the floor and settled himself inches from her while Silas disappeared from his usual place in Ladomyr’s shadow.

Alora cocked a feline grin; Jade’s was practically reptilian.

“I’ve never owned a red-haired.”

Alora choked back vomit as the king steadied his weaselly desire over Jade’s gown. Not stopping until he met the melted coin and spine necklace on her chest before licking his lips.

Jade’s eyes darkened with something sinister. Speaking loud enough for everyone around to hear, “My heels are longer than your dick.”

Alora snorted, drawing the king’s attention. “Probably more useful, too,” she added.

Something she thought impossible happened: Jade laughed. But the king wasn’t as impressed.

“How dare you?” Beads of spit pebbled Alora and Jade’s face. A sweaty palm snaked around Alora’s wrist and squeezed hard enough to bruise. “Whores do not speak that way to aking.” In the absence of their High Prince, apparently Ladomyr found his spine. Out from the shadows he’d been lurking in since their arrival, now daring to lay his hands on her as he did for every servant living with scars.

Jade moved to unsheathe a dagger from the slit at her thigh, but Alora’s hand swayed out, palm to her stomach, stopping her. To Jade’s credit, that fiery rage didn’t erupt. She took a step back, nodded, and dangled her fingers near her blades. Waiting for Alora to make the first move.

Alora’s skin heated as a rush of memories ruthlessly battered her attention.

In Ladomyr’s hazel eyes, she expected to see mahogany. On that bald head, immaculately sculpted ebony hair. But nothing but a wretched vermin stared back, soiling her face and arm, which was fit to burst into flame.

Whispers stirred. The chattering of the privileged morphed from conversations about yet another auction house that’d burned the night before by this Night Stalker, and meaningless trivial things, to her and the king.

Every female there, including Ladomyr’s wives, who were close enough to hear, seemed to shrink under the shadows of the males who surrounded them. The way courts were expected to be.

The way she had always been expected to be.

Alora willed embers to remain dormant in her eyes as she wiped her face, then studied the sweaty hand of Kadamar’s monarch. Remembering she no longer shrunk into their brand of vapid and submissive female. No longer the doting and well-mannered betrothed obeying orders with silent lips and bruises hidden under lavish dresses.

She would no longer be easily digestible.

They could all choke.

Her spine reformed of steel. Head held high as death darkened her eyes. “Take your hand off me before you do not have hands.” Who was she to impart such an order to a king? And as if that wasn’t foolish enough, Alora viciously twirled a gemmed dagger from her hair, pressing it against the ribs of Land and Growth. Their king.

Ladomyr leaned in, his spoiled breath repulsive as he snarled, “Hemay have the court fooled into bowing to your false authority, but neither of you fool me. Females are only playthings.” A serpentine smile contorted his ugly face. “I will teach you how to use those lips. I wonder. Do you have as talented a mouth as our High?—”

Strangled choking noises escaped him. His hand dropped from Alora, grabbing his throat as if he had hope of breathing air.

Something like the presence of endless nightmares and cold torment stood behind her. Alora didn’t need to turn. She felt phantom hands on her hips and the kiss of shadow on her neck.

It wasn’t Garrik who’d stolen the king’s air.

But none of the court would know. Because as Alora’s hands ignited with starfire and embers burst in her eyes, Garrik sealed an illusion.

She was going to kill the king. Her entire body thirsted for it.

Like the firestorm in an Alynthian hovel, Alora starved the oxygen from Ladomyr’s lungs.

Garrik held out his trembling fist, fed by the full might of his rage. The veins in his arms bulged from the strain of it. His fingers angled as if he crushed a neck inside of them as darkness wholly consumed his eyes.

Alora felt a gentle caress of power wash over her. Not to subdue, but merely a stroke of gratitude. She watched as Smokeshadows coiled around Ladomyr’s throat. An illusion. A perfect display of Garrik’s infinite power while the decision rested in her hands.

Easy, clever girl.

The mere breath of his voice calmed that unending wrath boiling her veins. It felt as if all of Kadamar would explode.

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