Page 192 of What Lies Within Blood & Heirs

Then her mind drifted to the lord who had attempted to assassinate her High Prince, and she realized it would never be over. Garrik would always have enemies. Fae, royalty, those who’d suffered under commands he had no choice but to obey. And even when the war with Magnelis ended, there would be faeries who wouldn’t be convinced. That would never understand the Savage Prince was not who Garrik truly was. She would always be in danger.

Forcing a swallow, Alora straightened in his lap, and promised, “I’m not afraid.” She wasn’t. He was worth every risk. Warm skin touched the golden wing embellished over his heart and lovingly laced her fingers through his hair.

“You should be.” Liquid lined his eyes. “I will ruin you.”

“My darling, you’ve already ruined me.”

Shame flashed in his features, but she wouldn’t allow it.

Alora gripped him tighter and explained, “Who I was so long before I met you … I’m not afraid of anything else you could do.”

In fact, she longed for it. Sitting in his lap. Longed for him to run his hands through all the pieces inside her that had been rough, shattered, and jagged before he freed her from her prison. And as she sat there, every shining piece of her now woven with darkness longed for him to understand that, with him, she was brave enough to climb those steps. Brave enough to sit in a crowded throne room with every eye on her. Brave enough to make demands to a king.

Not sink into the shadows.

Not allow anyone to tell her who she was or who she had to be.

Ruined. Shewasutterly ruined.And would never return to who she was before.

Garrik lifted her with a demanding urgency. Pulling at the back of her thighs until her knees straddled him on the throne. Wisps of gray hair fell into her hands when she brushed them from his face. The fabric of her dress slid against his thighs as he pulled her closer and rested his grip on her hips.I can hardly think when you are this close to me.

His ringed palm curved around the back of her neck, pulling her lips to his, and kissed her the same starsdamned way again. Like a crashing wave against the rock, his lips moved. Claiming her as if each kiss after the other would never be enough.

Ladomyr cleared his throat, breaking their embrace.

Alora shuffled to perch on Garrik’s leg, hers draped between his outstretched knees.

“My fool is prepared for your entertainment.” Ladomyr’s face was twisted in disgust, steadily browsing Alora’s body. “Unless Your Highness has found other forms of entertainment.” He paused and gritted his teeth at her—and her crown.

Garrik fell back on his throne and grinned; his savage mask returned. “Jealous, Ladomyr?”

“No. I enjoy my whores on their knees, as you remember.”

Calm—frigid, venomous, silent calm—covered Garrik’s face.

Alora forced herself not to cower at it, more infernally terrifying than anything she’d seen before.

His skin tightened. The bones of his face ended in sharp points, morphing into that fiery beast of marbled skin and razor-tipped teeth. He became death. Demanded it from the slow narrowing of his eyes.

Garrik, with poisonous calm, said, “I cannot kill you, Ladomyr.” Still, his face remained unaffected, sending warnings of obliteration in her veins. “That only means I can pleasure in every second of your torment until you beg me for death. And even then, I will not grant it.” He cocked his head soanimalistically she was uncertain he’d reform as the winged beast on their battle leathers.

“Speak these insinuations again and your tongue will embellish the front gates.” Shadows took control of his hands, though she felt him as solid as flesh and bone. “Do you understand?”

Firekeeper’s realm.Firekeeper’s realmwould be safer than the vengeance on Garrik’s face.

Ladomyr said nothing, as if it was an acceptable response.

Shadows coiled around the king’s feet, hauntingly climbing up the furs of his pants and cape. The glass of Alora’s wine slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor. He coughed out in desperation when a shadow dove into his mouth and wrapped around his tongue, “I understand.”

Alora couldn’t stop herself from scanning the crowd. Expecting to see delight in Ezander’s eyes, but he wasn’t there—he hadn’t been all night. She only found the female adorned in roses with hope brightening her eyes.

Garrik carefully lifted Alora from his lap and stood. Her wintry fabric, covered in swirls of diamonds, swayed as he escorted her to sit on his throne. Like the shards of ice embroidered on her gown, his skin brushed her chin, tilting her gaze to him. “What do you think, my lady? Would you desire to see his fool? Or perhaps Ladomyr could fulfill such responsibilities.”

“I am no fool?—”

“Silence.” The command didn’t come from Garrik.

The entire throne room stilled as Alora leaned back on the throne, crossed a leg over her knee, and raised her chin—her crown—as if she were a queen residing over her court.

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