Page 265 of Heat of the Everflame

The King flicked me a sour look. “Blessed Father Fortos saw fit to make our men fighters and our women healers.Healersdon’t makecommanders.”

There was oh so much I wanted to say.

About the fact that his most prized Descended were the select few who were neither male nor female, and thus carried both sides of the Fortos gifts.

About the fact that my mother—a healer—was the leader of his greatest enemy, the same group that had bested him on the island.

About the fact thatthiswoman,thishealer, had just made a King-shaped dent in his fortress walls.

But I knew men like him. I’d outsmarted and outmatched them all my life. They didn’t trifle with silly things likelogicorreason.

They were bullies.

And bullies only responded to fear.

I let out a soft, thoughtful hum. “Do you think the Kindred decide together who gets their strongest magic?”

“Doubtful. The other Kindred choose Queens. Blessed Father Fortos has never made that mistake.” He threw me a smirk, goading me to argue. I brushed it off with an agreeable smile.

We stepped into a small, nondescript building, notable only for the heavy presence of soldiers. Inside, a single hallway led to another godstone vault and another pack of beefy guards. They saluted their King and began unlocking the doors.

I edged closer to Luther and hid my hand behind his thigh. “Do you think he might ever change his mind? Maybe realize he was wrong to determine a person’s worth by what lay between their legs?”

The King scoffed. “The Blessed Father is no fool. He knows men are more capable of handling leadership. Only men are strong enough to wield—”

He paused.

Swallowed.

Wriggled his shoulders. Wrinkled his brow.

His face turned pale, then a little green.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

A pungent odor of decay rose in the air. The King tensed, his bulbous muscles straining.

“Is there a problem, Your Majesty?” a soldier asked hesitantly.

“No. No, everything’s fine.” The King tugged at his collar and coughed. A shimmering veil draped around him as his shield dropped into place.

“You’re not looking so good,” I tutted. “Perhaps you need to lie down? Have a little nap?”

I twitched my fingers. The King groaned and clutched at his gurgling stomach, his throat seeming to work at keeping its contents down.

“Which of you is doing this?” he hissed at his men. “This is treason. I’m yourKing.”

The soldiers exchanged baffled looks.

“Your Majesty,” one said, pointing. “Yournose.”

The King’s hand touched his nostrils, then pulled away smeared with glossy red.

“Oh, dear,” I cooed. “That’s not good at all.”

I walked forward, smoothly breaching the wall of his shield, and brushed away the blood from his chin.

His men fell silent. The King’s eyes grew.

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