Fate of a Royal (Lords of Rathe, #1)(65)

“Hmm.”

“You think this has to do with the Ministry?” I start moving toward the alley that’s tucked between the shop for magic, and the Elves Getaway. Last time I set foot in the Elves Getaway, I lost two days and don’t remember a fucking thing. Freaked me the fuck out.

I will be the darkest and most depraved being in existence with a fucking smile and anticipation, but fuck with my senses? They’re lucky I didn’t fall into a fit of rage and erase their existence.

“It’s been thousands of years that this council has stayed together,” my father says. “I don’t think they’d risk me losing my shit by measly little explosions. No. This is reckless and immature. It’s the doing of someone who lacks basic knowledge on murder.” I snicker. “Have you pissed anyone off lately?”

“No.” I squeeze my phone, picking up my pace down the alley. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“Meet me in the Royal Room in a few. We need to call a meeting.”

I hang up on him and pick up my pace, shoving past everyone. I hit the end and pause, looking from left to right, seeing no one there. “What the fuck.”

“What is it?” Legend asks from behind, coming up beside me.

“Someone was watching.”

Legend frowns, looking at me from the corner of his eye after a moment. “You let her go, didn’t you? Now you’re on edge?”

I point my glare his way. “Who?”

“London.”

I shake off his question, waving a portal open and stepping through. It closes behind me as we both enter the Grand Royal Room. “No. She’s at home.”

“Home?” Legend asks as I dip my hand into the Blood of a Sinner Cauldron, ridding myself of retribution and revenge and entering with a level head and loyalty of a Stygian—

or so the Book of Death claims—and drag my thumb over my forehead into an upside-down cross.

“Home.” Legend follows the same movement, dragging the blood over his forehead. “As in where our mother is?”

“She’ll be fine. It’s safest there with all this bullshit going on. No one can get anywhere near the palace without waking the dragon.” The walls in the Royal Room are stark white, with a gold and rose chandelier that hangs from the ceiling in the middle of a sparse rectangular table where silk black chairs surround. The chandelier swirls to life as both Legend and I take the chairs at the end of the table. Father sits at the head, his eyes on both Legend and me.

“Where are your brothers?” he asks, straightening his shoulders. His arm rests on the table, his muscles rippling with angry veins.

“I came straight here. Legend was with me when I heard. Didn’t take the time to tell them yet.”

Another portal opens, and three more Elders walk through.

I lean back against the chair, running my finger over my upper lip without taking my eyes off him. I don’t bother with the Elders. I don’t fucking like them, so I’m not going to pretend. I’ll leave that for my parents since they’re the ones who actually signed the fucking treaty.

Me? I’d just kill them all and make everyone fall in line. Fear. It’s what almost everyone uses when our family name comes up, with good reason, only I don’t give a fuck. Fear is a weapon, one that I have no problem utilizing. My father doesn’t either, but he’s either hiding shit or growing weak. I don’t know which it is.

I don’t know which is worse either.

What I do know is my bloodline could flip this world right back where it needs to be before dinner even gets cold if we wanted.

And I want.

My parents, well…they just don’t want the Argents in our business, and this has proved to be the best way to keep them out. Outside of straight-up domination, that is.

My father knows what I’m thinking, his eyes dancing, but only for me to see, before it’s gone.

“Sit.” He gestures to the chairs on his end of the table. It’s not until the table is full, with my brothers included, that I realize I took the spot at the other, directly opposite father.

I shuffle back slightly, reaching for the rolled blunt on the tabletop.

Father looks between the joint and me before finally opening his mouth. “We have an issue.”

“We know.” His voice is familiar, but I don’t know enough about him. Odin Finn is the youngest of the Elders as far as appearances go, but his age outlives almost all. All except my father.

Odin tosses the packet of cigars onto the table, scratching the back of his neck. His blond hair grazes against his hands, and I catch the tattoos on the side of his neck. “We suspect these explosions have something to do with you and your family since none of us have any issues.”

“Who would even try, if not for the people sitting in this room right now?” Creed asks the question we’re all sitting here asking. Silently. Creed isn’t about the bullshit. He will speak his mind when most won’t, and we love him for it. Mostly for the amount of control the man has.

My dad, Sin, and me? We skip to the bloody parts. Legend has yet to be seen, but I’m betting there’s just as ruthless a being buried in him as me.

“No one is stupid enough to try, and if they are, they aren’t smart enough to be able to do it more than once.” Creed leans forward, and the door opens behind us as a waiter walks in, a long silver platter hovering over one hand and the other holding a cocktail tray.