Page 35 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

Until a cutting voice startles me. “Lower your eyes, slave, for this is the High Lord of Darkness you’re looking at. You’re never to look one of us in the eyes unless called upon to do so.”

Slave.I flinch at the word. At the harsh tone. My head snaps to the other huge man, who’s stepped up to me so quietly I didn’t hear him coming. Handsome. Blond hair that reaches down to his shoulders, striking green eyes, and sharp, hard features glower at me.

Again, fangs flash where his canines should be. He has them bared at me. An animalistic hiss emanates from his throat when I don’t obey. “Lower your eyes or I’ll teach you manners, girl.”

“I’m no one’s slave,” I reply as coldly as I can, straightening my shoulders and lifting my chin, not willing to show any of them how scared I truly am, although they definitely can hear my wildly thundering heartbeat.

The hateful grimace on his face stays as he declares, “You are now, since Lyrian Elderberg has just sold you off. So lower your eyes or you’ll regret it. This is the last time I’ll tell you.”

I barely hear the last part.Sold you off.

My eyes flit to Lyrian, who is still cowering at the Dark Lord’s feet, his expression so rattled and shaken I wonder whether he understands any of what’s happening here. He doesn’t seem the least bit surprised by their fangs, by just having been bitten. No. If anything at all, he just looks broken.

Maybe it should satisfy me on a deep, dark level to see Lyrian like this, but all it does is stir my diffuse fear, confusion, and rage.

It’s this rage that makes me step forward, up to him, looking down on him for maybe the first time in my life. He flinches slightly,as if he’s afraid I’ll strike him and crawls backward. I clench my fingers into a fist. Maybe I should.

Instead, I ask, “You sold me? You fuckingsoldme as if I was your fucking property? After all I did for you? After all you’ve made me do?”

Fury makes my voice tremble. I should have known. Riven warned me. Told me that Lyrian kept me for this sole reason. I have been nothing but a life insurance. I don’t know why it matters so much. It shouldn’t. I know it shouldn’t.

My eyes fill up with tears of rage and shame and helplessness nonetheless. I try to swallow them down. I can’t start crying in front of Lyrian, in front ofthem, but the indignity of being sold like athing...

“My, my, Lyrian. I must say you have withered.” Riven’s voice is a silken purr. He saunters over to my side, his hands in the pockets of his trousers, looking down at Lyrian with a cruel smile on his lips. “But I suppose staying holed up in an area like this for more than a century takes its toll.”

He clicks his tongue as he surveys the room. “But you could have renovated. It smells like a grave in here.”

“Please,” Lyrian says. He is trembling with fear, I realize. “The Dark Lord spared me.”

In a flash of motion, Riven’s hand closes around Lyrian’s thin throat, his teeth dangerously close to his face. Despite myself, I marvel at the grace of his immortal strength, the movement smooth as silk. I envy it, how easily he manages to scare someone like Lyrian. Another part of me is frozen in terror at the undiluted rage in his voice.

“Spared you? Oh no—he condemned you, Lyrian. Do not make me ponder what that means.”

“Please, my lord. I’ll do anything.” Lyrian’s gone stiff as a stick.

As quickly as Riven came, he withdraws his hand and straightens, casual and careless again. His voice is almost gentle as he says, “Please what?”

“Don’t kill me.”

Riven considers him with a gaze as if he were dirt he would kickaside with his boot. “Ah, groveling. The most sincere form of manipulation. I almost forgot how much training you had, back at the elven king’s side in Palisandre. Before you ran and started this—flourishing trade.” Although Riven’s voice is still soft, his eyes are not. Those eyes burn with a dark fire.

“Please…” Lyrian starts again.

Riven holds up a finger. “None of that. No more pleading. It is tiresome. And pathetic. You are far too desperate. To be kept alive, you should be trying to keep me entertained. And your king, of course.” Riven’s smile becomes a vicious, dark thing. “What about this? Normally, I would make you bow, but given that you’re already on your knees, I’ll make an exception. Kiss our king’s boot and then crawl back over here and kiss mine.”

Lyrian keeps staring as if he can’t remember where or who he is. His face, for the first time since I’ve known him, is blank. Vacant. Bereft of the cruelty, of anything.

“Go on. Do it before I change my mind and decide to decorate this lovely carpet with your innards,” Riven chimes lightly, as if he hadn’t just delivered a death threat that makes the blood in my veins run cold.

Lyrian startles out of his stupor. I hold my breath as Lyrian—the cruel, cold, arrogant Lyrian I know, who’s tormented me all my life, starts to indeed crawl over to the Dark Lord like a dog.

Riven clicks his tongue and points to the ground. “Lower, Lyrian. Your head should be touching the ground, so low that I don’t have to see your ugly face anymore. You know what this is supposed to look like. You have watched it so many times in Palisandre.”

Lyrian lowers his head to the floor, so close his chin touches the carpet as he moves to the Dark Lord.

“Oh, and make it memorable, Lyrian,” Riven croons after him. “After all, this is your new king in front of you, and you certainly don’t want to upset him. He is not as forgiving as I.”

Lyrian doesn’t look up to the king as he whispers, “My king, it is my sincerest pleasure to serve you.” He lowers his head and presses his pale lips to his leather boot. Then he crawls back.

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