Page 26 of Claws of Death

“Where are the others?” It takes me a moment to realize Myron and I are the only ones from our group of misfits in this room.

“They are in the throne room.” Astorian gestures toward the room behind him, and I glimpse a large space lined with glimmering walls and columns. Unlike at Erina’s court, this palace seems to be only sparsely populated. The absence of guards along the tall hallways tells me Recienne isn’t afraid of attackers or that prisoners might sneak out of his palace, and the lack of courtiers gives the place a refreshing aura of peace after so many weeks of being put on display whenever I wasn’t locked up in my room.

The air tastes of something floral I’ve never smelled, and the faint scent of magic lingers like the dew on a late summer morning. It’s a unique blend I would find delightful were my stomach not tight with worry over what’s awaiting us on the other side of the threshold.

“Come on in.” His voice carries in like midnight velvet on a phantom wind, and my hair stands on my neck.

This is the voice of centuries of enmity wrapped in deadly charm. The Fairy King.

Myron’s hand wraps around mine as if ready to pull me out of harm’s way should this be a trap, but he follows as Clio and Astorian lead the way into the sun-flooded space.

I don’t know what I expected, but not the simple stone throne on a dais at the far end of the room. Beams of light dance along the glimmering columns, multiplying intomillions of stars. To the left, grand balcony doors stand wide open, allowing a view of the gardens beyond the palace. I have a faint memory of stepping into Erina’s throne room for the first time, the balcony there, and the summer gardens below the windows.

This, however, is different. Hedges frame walkways lined with spreads of wildflowers and vines. Gravel paths curve in seemingly random patterns toward a stone fountain at the center of the garden, and I could swear I see deer stalking near the edge of the park where it melts into wild brambles.

Someone nudges me forward, my feet reluctantly moving toward the dais while my eyes seem spellbound by the tamed wilderness beyond the balcony.

“Everything will be fine,” Myron whispers, the thumb of one hand brushing the bottom of my ribs while his other hand hangs casually by his side, within reach of his sword. The tension coiling through his body is infectious, commanding my limbs to ready themselves to fight or run or both. In my veins, my power rises, ready to be drawn upon if necessary. I battle it back into a low simmer. No matter how painful the history between Myron’s and Recienne’s people, we haven’t come here for old grudges or revenge. We are here for an alliance that could save all of Eherea.

Tearing my gaze away from the greenery, I force myself to take in the male on the throne—the male who caused Myron so much pain.

I don’t realize how much resentment I hold for the Fairy King until I meet his golden gaze when we stop a few feet from the dais and he pulls his full mouth into a quirked line.

“Welcome to Aceleau, Wolayna.” On his forehead, dark strands of hair shift like on a breeze, shimmering with colors reflected from the walls in all hues of the rainbow. For a brief moment, I wonder if my human eyes would have noticed; then I decide it doesn’t matter. I’m this half-Crow creature now, and I’ll take whatever my senses give me. “And Myron…”

Recienne pauses, leaning his chin into his hand, elbow braced on the armrest of his throne. His cream shirt wrinkles under his black velvet jacket, gold buttons shimmering like little suns. But it’s not the attire that makes him so spellbinding. It’s his eyes.

Solid gold set in a beautiful, tan face.

“Fairy King.” Myron is shaking as he forces his head to incline at the monarch who trapped him in a forest for centuries, and waves of hatred roll off of him like the waters of the Quiet Sea break against the Cliffs of Ansoli.

On his throne, King Recienne of Askarea seems to not have a care in the world. “You brought your bride.”

His eyes move back to me, sliding down my form like snakes over marble, and I could swear his smirk turns into one of delight.

Trying not to seethe at him, I take Myron’s hand, holding on, both to keep him from snapping and doing something he’ll regret and to keep myself from screaming my rage at the monarch who kept my mate from finding his freedom.

“I hate him,”I chant in my head. “I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.”Because I do.

It’s only then that I notice the others by the wall across from the balcony where Kaira is nodding her agreementwhile, in her head, she calls the Fairy King all sorts of names even I am reluctant to repeat, pirate and all.

“I bring mywifeeverywhere,” Myron growls, tension coiling even tighter if that’s possible. Why he doesn’t call me his mate in front of the Fairy King must remain a mystery. Perhaps he doesn’t want to give King Recienne more leverage than absolutely necessary. Their history surely suggests any kernel of power he hands the fairy male is a bad idea.

“Even to the battlefield?” Recienne’s question hangs in the air, sucking the calm out of even Astorian and Clio who, until now, have kept a serene confidence in this meeting.

On the side of the room, Royad and Silas have their hands on their blades, ready to draw them at the slightest misstep of the king on his carved throne, while Herinor’s fingers flash with a bright sort of power reminding me of what I failed to contain in the carriage.

Myron seems the only one capable of putting on an unreadable face, no matter how ready to kill he is. “Isthis a battlefield, Recienne?” Omitting his title might have rattled Erina or any other monarch in Eherea, but not the Fairy King who managed to contain a whole people in a forest. Recienne is dangerous and calculating. A master of pulling strings on his enemies. No matter how I’ve come to like Astorian and Clio, I don’t trust this male.

“Neither do I,”Kaira agrees in her mind, showing me a flicker of fire as if wanting me to know she’s ready to burn him at any misstep, no matter how tiny.

Recienne’s chuckle is sunshine laced with darkness. “This, I’ve been told by my general and the sister who’s runoff to rescue him, is not a gathering of enmity but one to forge unlikely bonds.”

I can’t figure out whether that’s real humor in his voice or a facade he’s spent centuries building. All I see is a beautiful deadliness inferior only to Myron’s. A shudder rakes along my spine as the Crow King adjusts his stance and his arm brushes my shoulder where the tattoo tingles with anticipation of an eruption of his power.

His voice rumbles through me as if he’s speaking from within me, our connection stronger than ever in the face of this potential explosion. “Unlikely indeed.”

Ayna

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