Page 81 of Fae Crown

West had lost Ramana to our cause. Years later, when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, the death of his mate still etched sorrow deep into his face and dimmed the light in his eyes. To save my sister, Westwould have lathered his naked body in oil, pranced around a chicken coop rolling himself in feathers, and then danced his fucking heart out for the queen and anyone else she invited to the show. He would have hated every moment of his indignity, but he would have done it fuckinggladlyto save his mate, to share one more day with her.

By dragon’s veins, he’d do it to spend one more minute with her.

Had I condemned my own mate before I even got the chance to know her? To remember how she felt wrapped in my arms?

Already half decided to swallow my own dignity and try to smooth things over with the queen, I bowed to her. My lips were parted for whatever supplication would slip past them. I didn’t want to think about what I’d say in advance. Saying it at all would be awful enough.

With my head tipped down, I absently studied her full skirts: a silver, gauzy material that draped across a small dais.

As if I’d already loosed the words, I anticipated the judgment of others:

Rush Vega, the drake who was so strong and determined that he’d returned hope to an entire clan— nay, to an entire kingdom—prostrating himself before the queen so as to become her willing whore. And he showed such promise, too…

The condemnation rankled, squeezing my lungs.

I rose. “Your Majesty, I?—”

“Rush,” she interrupted. “Sit.”

I glanced around. There was no seat near her beyond the one I’d vacated, and no servant hurried to fetch it.

“Of course, Your Majesty. Where would you like me to sit?”

Her smile was there again. Now serpentine, it reminded me of a snake sunning itself as it digested recently devoured prey.

“At my feet,” she said.

Like your whore?I thought bitterly, now pressing my lips shut.

With another bow of my head, I dipped to sit at the edge of her dais, as far away as I could get on the ledge that only extended a few feet to either side of her throne. My fingers clenched with the instinctive desire to reach for the throwing blades I’d concealed along the inside of my waistband. The knives were short—yet long enough to slice her throat and carve through her chest until I could scoop out her heart and crush it to mush in my bare hands.

For the umpteenth time, I lamented that the queen couldn’t die by ordinary means. Not by my hand nor blade. Also not for the first time, I questioned the land’s magic, that it would empower her to continue suppressing her subjects. Didn’t the hereditary royal magic sense her wickedness? She was nothing like the elven rulers of Faerie. History painted them as strong and fierce while also being honorable and respectful of all life in their realm.

The queen flicked a hand and a goblin materialized with the now familiar silver goblet on a platter held high above his head. As she sipped, the already blood-red of her lips darkened.

The hand nearest me beckoned in a come-hither crook. “Come closer, Rush.” Her voice slithered like that same snake savoring its meal.

I swallowed thickly, hating myself for it when her gaze tracked the bob of my throat. I slid next to the perimeter of her vast skirt.

Her fingers wrapped around my hair at my nape and dragged me toward her, until my ass pressed against her feet beneath her dress.

She yanked on my hair and held it so that my head leaned against her thighs. “There. That’s better.” My eyes pointed up at her face.

Unflinching, I stared back at her.

Fuck her. All the fae counting on me would just have to find the way to forgive me—or not.

Becausefuck her.

I pressed my lips shut so tightly I felt the tendons in my neck protruding.

“Oooooh,” she cooed sickeningly. “If looks could kill, I do say yours would do the job.”

She laughed, a delicate roll that would have been pleasantly feminine if not for its source. My blood grew colder.

“But you can’t kill me, can you?” she said. Our audience was loud in its rapt silence.

She released my hair to stroke her fingers along myforehead. This time the tendons in my neck bulged with the effort it took not to flinch and yank my head off her lap and gouge out her eyeballs.

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