Page 213 of What Lies Within Blood & Heirs

Thalon smirked as the mask of the High Prince donned Garrik’s face.

He paced to a window and browsed the skyline. “Send the Wingborne home. Alert Draven that the Nightfall’s next shift is unnecessary. We leave within the hour.”

“And Ladomyr?” Thalon asked.

“What of him?” The weaselly ilk could wait a thousand years for all he cared.

Something harrowing crossed Thalon’s face. “Might be cause to alert Galdheir if we move out without a word. Perhaps you should meet with him. Have your meeting with…” Thalon paused and knew better than to ask. Not all of Garrik’s surveillants were named. “Call on me when finished, and I will accompany you to Ladomyr.”

Garrik sighed but nodded. “Aiden?”

Thalon shrugged. “Doing what he always does?”

Deciding not to invite those images into his mind, Garrik turned to his bedchamber, to his wife who he intended to spend another few moments with before attending to his duties, and said, “Change of plans. Have Jade collect Aiden and my wife”—Thalon’s face was nothing short of buttery sunlight—“and meet us in camp. We will get Ladomyr fucking over with, then take Blood home.”

In the short time that passed, Garrik’s shoulders had grown solidly tense. Tightened to the point of pain as he cracked his neck, releasing the pressure on his spine while he followed fourHigh Guardsmen and Ladomyr’s general—Kyrell—through the halls with Thalon at his side.

Garrik had to ball his fists to contain the ache of every step separating him and Alora. The primal need to turn around and sink into her until that need subsided. In his side glance, Thalon stiffened. He noticed the way Thalon’s chin lifted toward him, nostrils flaring as he deepened a breath when his eyes fell on Garrik’s chest.

And something … there was something in his eyes.

Garrik could not place it.What?

Thalon’s mouth twisted, eyes narrowed.Have you been using Alora’s soap?

He scoffed in answer while his Guardian swept his gaze out a window, toward the High King’s mountain, toward that balcony looking more like a darkened spot jutting from it and the white hair flowing in the morning light.

Garrik was tempted to close his eyes and feel her there. Instead, he turned another corner.

Silas’s face was grim, critical as his head swayed in Garrik’s direction, and he pushed from the wall. The spymaster’s pin-straight hair spilled over his shoulder like ink, outlining the runes marked down his neck while the left side of his shaved scalp displayed his brutal scar.

With every step, the male’s face tightened, flashing warning in his eyes as he slowly cocked his head at the guardsmen in his way.

The men were stationed in front of Ladomyr’s personal dining room doors. And scanning each one, Garrik regarded the stone-stiff faces. Not one foolish enough to meet his abyss in fear of becoming his next form of entertainment.

Silas’s careful gaze swept between them, stalking behind the barrier, stopped by the wall of guardsmen as one dared to turn Garrik’s way.

Your Highn?—

A guardsman brushed against the skin of Garrik’s forearm as he neared and jumped back, brushing against Thalon, cutting off the male’s voice as terror radiated from his, “P-please… My d-deepest apologies, Your Highness.”

Thalon gripped the male by his armor and snarled in his face before Garrik could, “You dare to touch our High Prince?” Throwing him into the crowd of soldiers before the door to the dining room swung open. “I should take your head for the insult.”

“Your Highness,” Ladomyr said in way of greeting, ignoring the Guardian seething as he strolled through the door and gained Garrik’s attention. “I do hope your morning was most enjoyable.”

Garrik threw him a malicious smirk, deadly, as he forced away the touch lingering on his flesh and replaced it with the thought of Alora’s hands and mouth on him. “It would have remained so should you not have fucking interrupted.”

Ladomyr had the good sense to look nervous. “Apologies, High Prince.” Though no remorse trickled there by little surprise. Ladomyr turned, passed Kyrell, who was stationed at the door, and strolled inside, offering his back like expecting a subject to follow.

Deciding on a morsel of mercy, Garrik said to Thalon before he stepped inside, “Remain here.”

Thalon nodded, cratered the golden sword from his back on the floorboards, and stood as immovable as the mountain the castle was hewn from.

Rounding a table littered with a feast, Ladomyr flirted with death and pulled out his chair, seating himself before Garrik, and announced, “I saw fit to apologize, Your Highness. That perhaps word of your visit will remain in Kadamar and not find the High King?” The groveling may have added another tenminutes to the king’s life. “And I wanted to, of course, offer you the first selection in the Cullings this evening. As is your right and honor.”

Garrik reclined in his chair. “You take me as someone akin to mothering. I could not give a shit about what you desire, Ladomyr. No matter the poor display of remorse. My intentions to inform our High King of your behavior is pending judgment.”

Ladomyr made a gesture of submission and picked at a wooden sliver on his armrest. “Of course, Your Highness.” And nodded to the maidservants waiting on the borders of the room with decanters.

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