Page 38 of The Forbidden Dragon King
Above me, the Shadow Fae soldiers try to respond to my order, weaving between the ruby dragons and their riders, but they’re cut down by the wall of fire.
“Nay…” I can’t look away, as one after the other, the people who have followed me for a decade, entrusting me with their lives,my friends, are burned to ash.
The air is thick with the stink of seared feathers and flesh.
I crouch on the high branch of an oak tree, shaking with shock and adrenaline, as my world burns around me.
Ravens caw and flutter their wings in fright. They circle me, protectively.
Feathers, blood, and ash rain from the night sky. The moon is veiled by smoke.
This must be what Shadow Hell looks like. The devils have ambushed the only family that I have, my brothers and sisters in the army.
My elite bodyguard, the featherglass.
I’m not with my main army, since the featherglass and I are visiting the sacred Rune Forest to celebrate the Unseelie Rite of Spring.
This is an ambush.
My bloody fault.
I gag, covering my face.
It should have been a Spring Rite with starlight, mead, and sweet sighs of pleasure. Now instead of blossoms falling softly on my head, I have the ashes of my people raining softly down on me, making my lavender eyes sting.
I am not crying.
The ashes are tears enough, weeping over this ancient Rune forest, where together my featherglass and I have celebrated feasts, dance, sung, and fucked with wild joy.
May the Shadow Devils break the wings of these invaders.
My kingdom is falling.
I wipe at my cheeks desperately, but they’re smeared with mud and ash. My silver curls are now black.
I’m marked.
Shadows flow around me like the waves of a stormy sea. The ravens ride them, cawing more loudly.
A tempest is blowing through me. Above, storm clouds gather. My elemental magic is calling the rain in my rage and distress.
My tall bronze and emerald crown of intricate feathers has never felt this heavy.
My iridescent black raven wings tremble. They drip blood.
It’s not mine.
I bare my sharp, gleaming canines. Then I drag out my two favorite daggers. They’re made out of bronze and have taken the lives of dragons and vampires alike, even a Vampire Queen.
I’m more powerful than anyone on this battlefield, the legendary King Daire: Sole royal survivor of an entire Winter Court that was wiped out by the brutal Tarquin.
I am the Raven King who has waited a lifetime to avenge my slaughtered people.
Now, Tarquin’s brother has shocked me by becoming as much of a tyrant as his brother was, when I dreamed that he would be different.
I should have known. After all, Aurelius is the Golden Dragon risen again.
How can this be how the fae fall?
