Page 83 of A City of Flames

“What?” He sounds just as startled. “I—” Another frown. “A man gave it to me.”

“A man?” Remaining calm seems impossible when I know exactly who that man is.

His head bobs but even then, he looks doubtful. “The conversation was a bit hazy, but he told me to hand it to the trapper whom you worked for before coming to the city.”

“Iker,” I say slowly but my voice is full of demand. “What else did the man say?”

Iker hesitates, perturbation lines his expression as he tries to recall. “He said—” A pause, biting his lower lip. “He said it’s one of the most expensive crystals one can get, but it will help us with our freedom.” He frowns at the end as if he himself doesn’t quite understand and spots blur my line of vision. “What does—”

“Did he mention anything over what to say to Ivarron?”

He nods, pursing his lips. “Just that... the rumors about the Golden Thief’s blood are a myth and to accept this token as a form of payment for releasing us and that if it’s still not enough he will personally take matters into his own hands.” Expelling a breath, he goes on, “Shit, I must have drunk something weird, that was the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had with anyone—and trust me I’ve had plenty, you know me—”

Iker’s words drown out, echoing the walls of the palace. I’m not even looking at him, I don’t think I’m looking at anything. Ivarron wanted Darius’s blood, he’d entrusted me to get it. And for my brothers I’d not backed out on it, I’d taken the request as if he were asking me to go trap a creature like any other day.

And Darius... a chord of guilt plucks at my heart. He’d lied about his blood then done this? Why did he go through all that trouble? Why didn’t he tell me the day we were at Tarron’s tavern?

In some form it’s like he wants me to hate him, despise every ounce of him and he succeeds every single time but then what was his purpose in this?

“—Let’s hope Idris doesn’t ask any questions over this now, you clearly seem shocked,” Iker’s words draw me back to the real world and I look at him as he sighs.

“Who wouldn’t be?” I answer, absentmindedly. One can only be astonished by news like this. If Darius had tried to use his powers on Iker it’d clearly not worked, maybe it’d been his weakened state from putting on a glamor for so long but either way I’d have found this out. “Just... just hide it away from everyone and take it to Ivarron as soon as you get back.” I turn the other way once he nods in silence. My hand still shines in gold dust as I search for everyone else.

“Trapper?” Iker’s hesitant voice pulls me back and I twist, watching him scratch the back of his head. “Who is the Golden Thief?”

A wicked smile dances across my lips. I wait a few seconds then say, “A dragon pig.”

Iker bunches his brows not understanding my answer and I can almost hear what Darius’s reply to me would be... foul mortal.

The sun gilds throughout the hall, setting soft strokes of yellow upon the throne. I stare mesmerized at it before a large hand spans across my middle, then the other slides up my neck.

I exhale deeply through my nose, biting my lower lip as I drop my head back onto someone’s chest. My hand drifts up to caress his hair, wanting his mouth to meet my own. When I turn to look at him, it’s Darius.

His hooded gaze lands on my lips, and the corner of his lip kicks up. “Have you ever fucked in a throne room before?”

I’ve never done anything.

Regardless, I shake my head, unable to form a word.

He lets go of me, and I swing around to face him.

I want to tell him I miss the contact of his hands on me, yet I still can’t seem to speak.

He reaches to touch the side of my face, and I shudder, pressing my hand against his. Closing my eyes, I wait for him to feel me again—to have his fingers run over my curves and take me on that throne.

I can sense his lips graze mine like a feather as he whispers, “take off your dress.”

My smile is a whisper of its own. “Make me—"

A branch thwacking across the window outside my room has me scramble awake and rise into a seated position. My hair sticks to my neck, and I pant, clutching onto my nightgown by my chest. It was a dream...

A dream where I was in the throne room like he’d said earlier. “Prick,” I mutter, and Freya seems to hear it as she stirs awake and sits up, yawning.

“Is everything okay?” She asks, half asleep, her curls all over the place.

I nod. “Just a dream I had.”

One that Darius messed with.

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