Page 238 of What Lies Within Blood & Heirs

“Why is every male in this starsdamned kingdom so fucking stupid?” Jade murmured.

He brushed a calloused thumb on her bloody cheek, caressing her face as he chuckled. “Hello, love.” Shale eyes twinkled. “Got yourself into a fine mess, did you?”

Jade cracked a reptilian smile, and Garrik knew she hid a great deal of pain as she winced. “They thought they could take me.”

“Daft fools.” Aiden shook his head. His grin reached his eyes.

When Jade looked at Thalon, there was pride in those golden eyes, too. Then to silver. Garrik’s held a manifestation of the same. Surrounded by bodies. By the elite of Kadamar slain by their broken and bruised and powerful female at their feet. Their hurricane in a thunderstorm. A force undefeated.

Behind them, the groan of a royal drew Garrik’s attention. As Aiden cradled Jade, her eyes closed, yielding to the exhaustion and adrenaline, Garrik ripped the royal from the floor and blood and held him by his throat.

Like cold death, that voice of nightmares demanded, “Where is my wife?”

Ladomyr’s wives were courteous enough to allow Alora to wear one of their dresses after Kyrell forced her to bathe in front of him. Though she would’ve much preferred the leathers, a gown would be more difficult to kill the king in. As she ran her shackled hands down the fabric, she didn’t doubt Ladomyr had his part in choosing it.

Red.

Blood-red. Extravagant. Full. Too much fabric to have any hope of running in it.

Kyrell’s grotesque face watched her limp around the bedchamber. No.Bedchamberwas an insult. This was a palace. A castle in itself. Nothing less expected of a king, especially one draped in fortune by kissing the boots of the High King. This grandiose was … disgustingly luxurious.

Ladomyr didn’t only love the sight of blood; he lived in it.

Everything from the ceiling to the candles was colored like rubies.

Alora didn’t bother to gawk. She was more repulsed than anything.

Like Erissa’s suites, Ladomyr’s opened to a stage-sized balcony. Large enough to host his own party and dwell over the High City far below. Only his view expanded far beyond Kadamar with a glimpse of Dellisaerin’s impenetrable ice wall so large it seemed like a far-off ocean.

Alora squinted at the dusk shining off it, beaming its crystalline glare across the mountains.The view would’ve been breathtaking if not for …

She made a point not to stare at the crimson cushions elegantly splayed over a gold-stitched red bedspread. The four almond oak posts or the engraved mountain murals of the headrest that jutted to a ceiling dripping with curtains as if it offered a place of rest. But Alora knew by the rings nailed to the bedposts and legs that Ladomyr’s proclivities didn’t involve any sort ofrest.

The chairs along the left side of the bed were indication enough.

Ladomyr enjoyed an audience with his slaves.

Perhaps his wives, too.

Alora gnashed her teeth so harshly they brought shivers—just as nails scraping stone did. She lifted the gaudy skirtsand forced herself to a long table filled with a feast she didn’t care about, no matter the hunger pains, and then crossed the threshold to the balcony.

The hollow thud of wood slammed behind her. Alora whipped her head over her shoulder to find Kyrell baring his clenched teeth. A low growl rumbled from his chest, having slammed his palm down again.

“Something you wish to say?” Alora taunted with a sarcastic grin. Garrik had mentioned a little something about his tongue. About what the High King had done. She twisted around and crossed her arms, smirking. “Go on, do speak up. I can’t understand you otherwise.”

Kyrell’s hand snaked around her throat before she could cry out.

Alora’s back slammed into the threshold, cracking into her half-healed ribs. And for a moment, she imagined those cold, sandy eyes as dark abyss. His mangled face transformed into something so perfect that tears collected in her eyes.

Alora remembered once, her palm flying through the air in an act of treason. To meet cold flesh with her slap that didn’t land the first time. But the second …

The second landed. Just as this one did.

Only Kyrell’s fury wasn’t like Garrik’s in that tavern in Maraz. And his answering slap wasn’t the grace and restraint of Garrik stepping away, leaving her unharmed. Kyrell hit her so violently her lip split and she flew across the room.

Her gown cushioned the fall. Thankful for it because her bruised wrists and wounded shoulder couldn’t have taken the impact otherwise. A boot flattened between her shoulder blades and pushed until her face was crushed against the floor.

Hinges squealed somewhere within the suite. Numerous footsteps—heavy and rushed—scraped along the polish wood,which was drizzled with melted gold paths like grain and golden-filigreed crimson carpets.

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