Page 1 of A Kingdom of Destruction

PROLOGUE

The first time he saw her, she was unconscious.

Even filthy and battle-worn, there was something magnetic about her presence—something that made his fingers itch to trace the curve of her jaw, to test if her skin was as soft as it looked.

He didn’t touch her. Not yet.

Instead, he watched as the guards carried her below, committing every detail to memory. The way her braids spilled like liquid night over the guard’s arm. The subtle rise and fall of her chest. The delicate arch of her throat—so fragile, so easily broken.

The wine in his glass did nothing to wash away the image burned into his mind. Even hours later, the memory of her scent lingered—earth and sweat and something uniquely mortal. It should have disgusted him. Instead, his mind kept circling back to her. Nobody had ever captured his attention like this. Even unconscious, she radiated power. Danger.

His kind of woman.

“Still obsessing over the mortal?”

His brother’s voice cut through his thoughts. He didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge how his muscles tensed. “Just thinking about Father’s latest scheme.”

“Ah yes. The marriage.” Footsteps approached, deliberately slow. “Though he hasn’t said which of us gets to claim her.”

Now he did turn, studying his brother’s face in the silvery light. Searching for any hint of the same hunger he felt burning through his own veins. “Does it matter? She’s just another pawn.”

The lie tasted bitter on his tongue.

His brother’s laugh held no warmth. “Is that why you wanted her moved to better quarters? Strategic planning?”

“You want her rotting in the dungeons?” He kept his voice carefully neutral, though something dark and possessive clawed at his chest. “She’s worth more intact.”

“Intact?” Another laugh, sharper this time. “I’ve seen how you look at her. There’s nothing intact about what you want to do to her.”

The wineglass shattered in his grip. Crystal shards bit into his palm, drawing drops of blood dark as rubies in the moonlight. He welcomed the pain—it helped quiet the rage threatening to consume him at the thought of his brother’s eyes on her.

“Move her upstairs,” he said quietly, dangerously. “Unless you want to explain to Father why we’re treating our future bride like trash.”

“Getting ahead of yourself?” His brother’s voice dripped with mockery. “You might be the better match, but Father said she could pick either of us. Or both, if she’s feeling generous.”

The blood dripped steadily now, each drop hitting the marble floor with a soft pat.Both. The very thought made his vision blur red at the edges. He’d sooner slit his own brother’s throat than share her.

The realization should have disturbed him more than it did.

“Do what you want,” he said finally. “But remember—she’s killed more of our kind than any mortal in centuries.”

“Is that what draws you to her? The danger?” His brother’s reflection appeared in the window, distorted and shadowy. “Or is it the challenge of breaking someone who won’t bend?”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t trust himself to speak past the possessive fury building in his chest. Instead, he watched a drop of his blood trail down the windowpane, leaving a crimson streak in its wake.

If she chose him, she would be his. His alone. And if his brother stood in his way…

Well. Blood had always looked lovely in moonlight.

1

Aven winced, magic biting deep into her skin and leaving a swirl of black ink in its wake.

The human mage slapped her fingers in reprimand. “Stop moving. Otherwise, I’m going to skew the line and ruin the rune entirely. Magic is art and precision, not just slapping a line of power on your skin and seeing what happens.”

The rune was the entire point of this trip.

Aven bit down on her lower lip and forced her squirming to cease as the mage updated each of the runes along her right arm. The sharp twinge of pain never got any easier. Magic came at a cost, and the fact that a human managed—a human wielded a wand—meant something.

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