Page 65 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

His words are so drenched with hate, mockery, and cruelty that they cut through all my senses while I fumble with the bottle. He stands to my right, in my blind spot.

I sink down onto my knees as I’m told, right in front of Caryan, and start to pour elderberry wine into glasses. Kyrith’s evil laugh makes me shudder once more.

“So docile. The very opposite of Lara, don’t you think?”

A laugh ripples through the crowd, especially from the women,while I struggle to keep my hand steady.Lara. Who the hell is Lara? Another human perhaps?

“Why don’t we see how far your docility goes? Since you’re already on your knees, you could give our Dark Lord a little demonstration. Make yourselfuseful, so to speak. Like a good slave,” Kyrith mocks, not yet done with me.

Another round of laughter spills over me, but I can feel the sudden tension, can feel everyone looking at me now, as if they haven’t caught a glimpse of me before.

Everyone can hear my racing heart, I’m sure.

Instinctively, I glance up at Caryan, only to find him looking right back at me, his irises like shaded onyx, circled by a rim of gold. Depthless. Unreal. His expression would be a mask of boredom and latent disinterest if his eyes weren’t as ravenous as earlier when they took me in.

I glance down again, blushing violently as Caryan says, “That’s enough, Kyrith.”

“Why? If you don’t want her, why not give her to me, my king? I promise to make a woman out of her. Teach her how to be a good girl, so she’ll be fun when you get her back.”

“As far as I remember, she’s still mine,” Caryan answers casually, but there is an edge to his voice now, followed by a subtle prickle of power that runs through the room, whetting itself as it goes.

“It’s just a little fun. Come on. You could use some. It’s equinox after all, and you must admit, after what was done to her, she doesn’t look too hard on the eye. Some might even call her beautiful with all that gold on her. Mistake her for something other than half-human scum,” Kyrith goes on unperturbed, seemingly ignoring the warning. The charged air. He bends over me and twirls a strand of my hair in his fingers as if to make a point.

I stop dead. The marks on my neck bristle at the touch. It takes all my self-discipline not to pull back, not to drive my elbow into Kyrith’s nose.

I truly consider it and maybe would have done just that if thereweren’t a growl coming from Caryan’s throat, so deep and frightening that it makes my blood freeze in my veins.

Kyrith laughs it off, but I know he, too, feels the effect of Caryan’s power, because he lets go of me as if I’m hot iron.

Caryan’s voice is leashed lightning as he snarls, “Take your hands off her.”

“I was just kidding, my king,” Kyrith says, but his voice sounds a little shaky. Betraying him.

“Were you justkidding?”

I can’t read the shadows in Caryan’s eyes when I dare to glance up. Liquid night fills his eyes before shadows erupt.

Bones crack. Kyrith screams.

His right hand, the hand that just touched me, is fractured, his fingers disintegrated and at odd angles.

Caryan’s still lounging on the sofa, but his voice has taken on a horrible calm. “Next time you decide to speak like that to your king, or touch something that’s mine for that matter, you’ll find yourself without a head. Now go and see a healer.”

There is a primal dominance in every word. And for a second, everyone seems to stop breathing.

When my eyes shift to Riven’s, he gives me the slightest raise of his eyebrows, utterly unfazed by the violence. A gesture that seems to say,the bastard deserved it.

Caryan waves a hand. “Help yourself to the drinks.” An order, not a suggestion—a king has spoken—and they all scramble to their feet, reaching for the bottles and glasses as if they can’t oblige fast enough.

I watch them, still kneeling. The darkness of Caryan’s magic is like dew on my skin. My fear, a wild sea within me.

Caryan leans forward, bracing his arms on his legs, and says to me, “Come over here.”

I tremble, willing my heart to calm. I hoped I’d be beneath his notice. Quick to forget. Not interesting enough.

I don’t trust my knees when I get up and approach him.

“Closer,” he orders.

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