Page 61 of Heir to His Court

His stillness seemed an implosion of time and space a second before he stood and was down the stairs, long hair flaring around him in a crackle of energy. I suppressed my instinct to leap away.

He gripped his broadsword, his knuckles white. “If this is your introductory game, Aerinne, it is an unwise choice.”

Softly spoken words. At his back, shadows writhed. Someone inhaled abruptly, the minute sound immediately cut off.

I rose, letting him see the sorrow I nursed, the guilt. “I don’t ask for forgiveness.” I was certain now who I spoke to. Renaud. “You took my mother—I took your son.”

We were even, but I hadn’t the temerity to say so outright. The hatred I’d harbored for Renaud, for his kin, for anyone in this damn city who had taken the lowliest of warriors from me, had already dwindled under the week’s revelations. Had been dwindling for days as the fires I kept lit to feed it died.

Vengeance required energy, power I needed to save my people and myself, if possible. To help save a realm. A quiet shroud settled over me as I watched realization and awful betrayal grow in his eyes. I recognized the expression. I’d felt it when I’d learned Renaud Gautier had slain Maryonne Capulette.

The flicker of darkness at his back grew, solidified. His avatar, his Dark form, manifesting. I almost stepped back. I knew the dragon. The size of it, it’s strength.

His pupils formed slits. “Myson.” He retreated a single step, his gaze fixed on my face, color drained from his skin. It was almost too much for me to watch, but I forced myself not to look away.

Shadows burst from him with a roar that shook the hall’s columns. He rose, wings at his back, power lashing out in licks of flame, in the whip of a phantom dragon tail, as people cried out and scrambled away.

I leaped back, pain tearing through me as I released the harpy and pushed upwards, power, physical strength, and instinct guiding my flight. I couldn’t let him fully change and fly. He’d burn the city down, and I didn’t think the wyverns could prevent it.

We crashed together high in the air above the treeline, chest to chest, his fangs snapping at my face and drawing blood. I hissed and spat, knowing it would be like acid on his pretty, soft skin. He jerked his head to the side, his clawed hands grabbing my upper arms. The fingers were thicker than mine, covered in tiny shimmering black scales, his talons matte and dense where mine were long, shiny and sharpened to lethal points.

“Betrayer,” he snarled. “Enemy. We will drink your blood and eat your flesh in recompense.”

The harpy wasn’t the only bloodthirsty one.

We laughed, answering the challenge. We did not fear; we were fury and challenge. “Our blood is poison to weak Fae flesh. Our meat will fester in your belly. You maytry. It will amuse us.”

We swiped our talon toward his belly, intending to rip out his entrails to prove who would be eating whom. A dragon had not feasted on a harpy in millennia, and our bonded would not break that fast.

The dragon-male flung us to the ground, the strength behind the throw unchecked. We screeched fury and defiance, wings correcting the downward spiral as we spun and shot back up. We wanted his blood under our nails, hot down our throat, but he was our mate. We should probably not make of him a fresh kill unless forced. He was still worth more to us alive than as a satisfying, though fleeting, feast. Let him rage for a time, we would indulge him.

He roared, a sound that should never be able to come from a Fae throat, and dense black flames streamed toward me as I wrestled the harpy instincts back under my control. My wings enveloped me and I dropped toward the ground, diving and rolling when the black flames hit the floor next to me and cracked the marble.

If I had time for humor, I would reflect that this was similar to one of Raniel’s training scenarios. This wasn't the first time he had hurled flames and death from me from high above while I was stuck on the ground evading him.

“Do you know what awaits you, harpy?” Rage made his voice savage.

I almost snorted. I’d failed enough times to know what awaited me if those flames touched me. Except now, I wasn't certain he would pull back the power, make his touch merely excruciating rather than lethal.

My people had scattered, taking shelter where they could and I was pleased they weren’t attempting to intervene. What idiot would, in a fight between two Dark Fae?

Thunder reverberated through the ground as Raniel landed with a dragon’s weight, and walked toward me. Black lines streaked from the corners of his eyes and for a moment, black and gold armor superimposed over the blood colored robes. I didn’t want us to hurt each other, but I would defend myself with force until he killed me.

“Kneel,” he said, guttural, eyes black, his shadows writhing and expanding to fill the room, the sky above. A wind that smelled of brimstone and a carrion picked battlefield rushing through the hall.

I struggled. The harpy kneeled to no male, not even her mate. But if kneeling would shield the others from his temper, I would do it. I forced myself to one knee, baring my teeth in a displeased hiss. My talons raked hair raising grooves in the marble, the scrill a thousand times worse than nails on chalkboard.

“Tell me. Speak the words, Aerinne.” It was not quite Renaud’s voice, still not quite Raniel’s. I heard more of the General in the flat demand, but I doubted the General cared much about Embriel other than the insult that his Heir had been murdered.

I gave. . .the General. . .a bitter smile, more a snarl, watching the war in his eyes. “You knew. You must have struggled with the knowledge, hoping it was a dream. What will you do now?”

The great war sword appeared in his hand. I didn't move, remaining still even when he swung his blade and the honed edge rested against the skin of my neck. He moved so quickly, with such force, that in that split second I accepted my head was about to come off and gift Nur that striking visual she’d mentioned, soaking my white dress with scarlet blood to match his robes. That was why he’d chosen that color, after all. Death, and mourning.

Though I supposed we had already given the Court a show.

Darkan, damn you, get them under control!He was the only aspect fully on my side.

But the blade didn’t break skin and I waited, talons shrinking into hands, wings folding tight against my back. Offering more guilt and anguish would mean nothing. He didn’t care about my regrets—nor should he.

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