Page 121 of Bane of the Wild Hunt

I WILL BE ENOUGH

Amira

Ihad barely processed what I was seeing before Ares had tackled a second man who attempted to use the distraction of the first one being caught to sneak up on us.

Riordan uttered a growl, a purely animal sound that rumbled in his chest under my ear. An overwhelming power began moving under our feet and through the air. The night sky darkened further, and the lights all dimmed until the warm ambience of the coronation seemed to grow cold and vengeful. The wind was suddenly frigid and gave a harrowing moan as it picked up.

It felt as if the very earth and sky had grown angry.

I should have been terrified, but I recognized the taste of this magic, even when it was swelling so heavily that it felt like I might choke on it. Even when it pressed upon my skin like it could crush my bones and shred my flesh with phantom claws.

A reminder that the very fabric of the Vale flowed in Riordan’s veins as her king.

Griffins began to fall to their knees around Riordan, ducking their heads and lowering their shivering wings in completesubmission. They had forgotten, amidst all the petty squabbles and political bullshit, that just because he did not flaunt his power, did not mean he did not have it.

Orion abruptly sat up and released the assassin he had been restraining, however the man did not seem able to move anymore. His body grew painfully stiff, and his face was red like he was struggling with something invisible. He groaned in frustration as he suddenly rose from the ground and levitated upright so that he hovered in the air. Riordan stepped toward him while Orion moved smoothly back to take my mate’s place at my side, so I knew they were coordinating mind to mind. Orion curled his wings around me, his hand clenching on my arm, and I glanced up to see his face was hard with fury as he continued to scan for more threats around me.

I refocused on Riordan and the assassin as the magic holding up the assassin, those phantom claws I had sensed before, began to shred his flesh the way I’d anticipated. The assassin squirmed and growled in pain as a thousand gashes opened up on every inch of his exposed skin.

The absolute rage on Riordan’s face was nothing short of terrifying. Vicious and unforgiving.

“You came for my heart. So I shall take yours instead,” he growled roughly.

Before I could puzzle out his meaning, Riordan had thrust his whole fucking hand into the assassin’s chest, busting ribs as if they were twigs beneath his fingers.

I gasped in shock and reached up to cover my mouth but could not look away as my mate jerked his hand back to remove the screaming man’s heart. He held it up for the assassin to see for the couple of seconds the assassin had before he slumped. Dead.

Riordan dropped the body which crumpled lifelessly on the ground and then tossed the organ carelessly onto the dead man’schest. Then he turned, menacingly slow as he scanned the rest of the crowd that was deathly silent.

“Is it clear enough now what will happen to anyone who threatens my mate?”

No one responded, but Riordan did not wait for a reply before jerking his chin toward the second assassin that Ares was still restraining on the ground.

“Take him out of my sight,” Riordan ordered.

Ares nodded and roughly hauled the assassin upright and passed him off to his men who were waiting.

There was silence as we watched the man taken away, but amidst the shock and horror was an unmistakable undercurrent of awe. For perhaps the first time, I thought the Imítheos might finally comprehend that Riordan had not merely taken the mantle of king by force. All that immense power had been passed to him, and he wielded it with remarkable grace and brutality.

Which was something that both Imítheos and Ktínos admired greatly.

I could feel Orion watching me, his eyes drilling into me like lasers trying to delve deep into my thoughts and feelings on what had just happened. But I kept my eyes glued to Riordan who should utterly terrify me, but with whom I’d never felt safer.

Someone finally moved, breaking the spell that seemed to have befallen the whole field. I turned to see the former Griffin Queen walking toward her son, weaving through all the kneeling griffins with her handmaid behind her. It was so quiet that I could hear the whisper of their skirts passing over the ground behind them.

I could not breathe as Andromeda finally presented herself before her son, still looking a touch bitter after his earlier rebuke, but she curtsied deeply. Then she rose and lifted her hands between them, and a gold crown appeared on herupturned palms. A stunningly beautiful ornament carved into the likeness of outspread wings and leaves.

“You have demonstrated beyond any doubt that this is just a formality. The Vale already bends to your will,” Andromeda said with a touch of emotion in her face.

Riordan swayed slightly, the only sign that her words affected him, and then he bowed his head low enough for her to reach him. He had always looked like a king to me, but when he straightened with that crown upon his head, there was no questioning it. He looked like he had been born with it. Like he was made to wear it.

A cry rose, a shout of endorsement that was quickly taken up by all the guests. They began to rise, some of them eagerly approaching Riordan. He clasped hands and shoulders with Ktínos who did not seem to care that he left bloody handprints behind. It was more than I’d ever seen him allow them to touch him, and he even inclined his head to other Imítheos who were looking at him with a degree of admiration.

After a few moments, he turned toward me. His eyes flitted over me as if searching for harm even though he knew I was fine as he came toward me.

“Are you alright?” he asked once he was in front of me again and reaching for me.

Orion moved unexpectedly to grab Riordan’s wrist just before the king smeared blood on me. Then he plucked a handkerchief from the pocket of a passing servant with his other hand, ignoring the man’s yelp, and passed it to Riordan wordlessly. My eyes widened up at him, but he focused on our king who grunted his thanks and wiped his bloody hands on the stark white cloth.

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