Page 15 of Little Mate

That’s where his idiocy began. His downfall.

Giving those under your command certain liberties—to feel as though they have a say or are equal—leads to revolt. History always repeats itself.

No group in my kingdom has a leader or voice; I am their God. My word is the law.

The wizard looks away from me, his eyes turning toward the others in the room: his brother-in-law with his wife, his mate holding their small child close, and lastly a woman whose glare is grating on my patience.

Some of these people are innocent. Some are greedy. Reckless.

The latter had been part of Moore’s death—engaged in more than one sit-down with a few of the smaller tribes and three others who he fails to name in a documented accord I found inside his desk. The same desk where his father agreed with the fallen king many years ago for a plot of land the older Mariano wanted, before either man had children, in exchange for serving as a high-ranking member of Moore’s guard.

I was here for that one as a witness. As an impartial signature.

Something the asshole in front of me isn’t aware of.

After every king ascends to power, all others convene. Every race.

An amicable pissing contest to fortify power and amend alliances. We don’t have to like each other; I despise all of them…except Moore. Him, I could tolerate.

He understood the pecking order, and after such a meeting, I helped with this small matter during that visit.

“Where is she?” At the sound of my voice, the others cower back. Even my men take heed, but none more than the woman and child shaking a few steps from their supposed leader. Their fear is palpable, chokes the room, and he finally reacts.

In our world, males are protective over their mates and offspring—an ingrained reaction.

It’s why their king came to me. I’m the only one who can protect Gabriella, even if my intentions are morally grey.

“Let them go.”

“Tommaso, I won’t ask again.”

“Vaffanculo.” He grits out before spitting at the floor near my feet. His disrespect will cost him. “I’ll never tell you.”

“Cover her eyes.” From my periphery, I see the woman rush to follow my command. Crouching, Tommaso’s wife turns the child and hugs her tight, keeping her cherubic face away from us. Then, I’m in front of him before he can react, my hand on his jaw. The bones protest under my grip, grinding a little harder when I squeeze, and I can just make out the subtle crack on the left.

The sound never gets old.

Not enough to hinder his use, but it will hurt throughout our little conversation.

“Let him go, you filthy—” The glaring old bag doesn’t get to finish. The female guard standing behind her doesn’t think twice and smacks her mouth, the teeth break a little—the cut on her lips and gums jagged and very messy. Her screams are garbled, the blood pooling in her mouth before spilling down her chin.

“She smells putrid.” My nose scrunches up in disgust. “Her sickness has spread.”

“We’re doing her a favor.” Josephine eyes the woman with nothing but animosity. Her husband, Brodej, does much the same, except his eyes are on the terrified couple. “Once a cunt, always a cunt.”

“Personal, Josephine?”

“Not the first time we’ve met.”

I don’t ask anything else. Instead, I refocus on the man on his knees before me who tries to speak past my grip. “Something you want to say?”

“Please,” he chokes out, body trembling. “My mother—”

Yanking him up by the hold I have on his jaw, I lift him to eye level, feet off the ground. “She’s earned the privilege to be here. Would you deny her that right? To be acknowledged for her deeds?”

“Don’t hurt her.”

“I’m not the one touching her.” Before he can speak again, I flip his position so he can face them all. My hand on his neck keeps him in place. His pulse thrums under my fingers. “Yet, her fate is in your hands.”

---