Something was wrong, something beyond the traitors who roamed my country.
I was not unfamiliar with the feeling, the constant gnawing in my gut. It was a restlessness I felt deep, an ache that had not gone away even with Isolde’s return.
I had never thrived on peace. I was a creature forged by violence, honed by hate.
I wanted blood.
I had always thought that finding my lover—the one who had spurred my desire to conquer the world—would ease this rage. It had proven to be a fire that not even she could quell.
She had only made it worse.
It did not matter that she had returned to me, soft and full and smelling of jasmine. The nightmare of her death clung to me, my constant companion, my greatest fear. It did not matter how many years passed or how much time separated me from the night she died; it would always feel like yesterday. My mouth always tasted of her ashes. The scent of her burning flesh and singed hair undercut every smell I inhaled.
Leaving her behind today only fueled the anger in my blood.
I had no trust that anyone would guard her as I did, but I knew just as well that Isolde would dislike having her freedom impeded. I could not bar her from leaving her room, the castle, or Cel Ceredi without consequences. I had to grant her space and hope her trust extended to no one save me.
We had no one.
Nothing had been more obvious after Ravena’s attack when two of my noblesse and another yet unknown individual among my inner circle betrayed me—betrayed us.
My fingers tightened on Shadow’s reins as I waited, impatient for Sorin and Dracul’s return. They had flown ahead to scout once more. I was certain the traitor noblesse were intent on reaching another kingdom, but escaping the boundaries of Revekka was not so easy with our armies scouting and marching across the land.
“The queen is safe with Tanaka,” Daroc said, guessing my thoughts as he rode beside me.
“My queen would take up a blade before Tanaka could draw enough breath to tell her to hide.”
Tanaka was not a warrior. He never had been. He was a statesman; his eternal love was politics. If anything, Isolde would ensure his safety.
“Miha and Isac are there,” said Daroc. “Gavriel too.”
I clenched my jaw, uncomfortable at the thought of anything happening in my absence, but Isolde had survived despite the odds, fighting vampires, the crimson mist, a witch, even her father.
She was resilient. She was my queen.
I would not fail to protect her again.
“Isolde is not safe until Gesalac and Julian are dead,” I said.
“Even with their deaths, she is not safe. She will always be in danger as long as she is mortal.” Daroc paused.
I knew what he would say next. I could feel it in the air between us where hostility built.
“As are—”
“I am well aware, General,” I cut him off. I was never eager to be reminded of my weakness, but I was even less eager to hear Isolde continuously targeted as one.
Daroc had never been fond of my fixation with Yesenia’s return.
In some ways, he was no different than Gesalac and Julian, who seemed to think she was a distraction.
“If you did not deem emotions outside disfavor and anger as weaknesses, perhaps you’d have an easier time with Sorin.”
Daroc worked his jaw, and his frustration only fueled my need to fight. Since I’d found Isolde atop my palace, injured and exhausted, the desire had vibrated my very bones. I wanted to level kingdoms and end bloodlines. I could feel it in my blood, rushing through my veins, a demand, a vicious need to expend my rage.
It was a demon that had clung to me, even two hundred years later. It had even been there at my birth, and it had been coddled by neglect and abuse.
“I meant,” Daroc managed, clinging to his control, “that you should consider turning her as soon as possible.”
“As if I have not considered it,” I snapped.
As if I had not fantasized about it every time I took her blood. It would take only a deeper bite and a taste of my blood. She could feed from me once the ritual was complete. A dizzying wave of lust fired from the bottom of my stomach to my head.
My cock grew uncomfortably hard.
I wanted her bite. I wanted to feel her teeth sink into my skin. It would be just as intoxicating as being inside her.
I felt the groan gathering in the back of my throat.
“Fuck,” I grumbled.
This was not the time for fantasies.
“Whatever is holding you back is irrelevant,” Daroc said. “You should have turned her the moment you took her blood. You knew the consequences.”
While he condescended, I knew my worth to Dis.
I was her power on earth.
I was how she conquered.
If Isolde died, I died, and Dis lost everything.
“Remember your place, General.”
“Shall I remind you of yours? You are a king. A conqueror. Not a star-crossed lover.”
I drew my blade, and the point came within a hair of Daroc’s neck. He didn’t flinch, did not move to take up his own weapon. He only glared back at me.
There was a long stretch of silence.
“My decisions regarding my queen are of no concern to you.”
I expected him to reply, to inform me that my link to Isolde made her everyone’s concern, but he maintained a stern expression. Before he could speak, two shadows passed overhead—a falcon and a black bat.
Sorin and Dracul had returned.
Of my noblesse, only those two could shape-shift, and they commanded among the ranks of my army several others who had the same ability.
“Is everything all right?” Sorin asked.
Neither of us moved, and our eyes did not leave the other’s. I waited for Daroc to surrender to my command, knowing that he too raged inside. We were not so different, he and I, but where he would exercise control, I unleashed violence.
It was the reason I conquered and he followed.
Finally, he nodded, narrowly missing my blade.
I left the end pointed at his throat a second longer before sheathing the weapon and turning my attention to Sorin and Dracul.
“You have news?” I asked.
Sorin’s eyes were locked with Daroc’s but soon shifted to mine, and while there was tension there, I could not tell what the tracker was thinking.
“We have tracked Julian east, beyond the borders of Revekka,” Dracul said when Sorin did not speak.
I ground my teeth at the knowledge, despite expecting this. Vela lay east, and King Gheroghe had recently petitioned me, hoping to become immortal in exchange for his surrender. In doing so, the human king had offered the perfect refuge to the traitor noblesse. He was also stupid enough to accept if Julian suggested turning him—stupid not only because I would kill him when I found him, but also because he trusted Julian, a vampire who wanted power and would use Gheroghe’s kingdom to rise against me.
Likely, Gheroghe would not survive the bloodletting.
“We could not track Gesalac beyond your realm.”
Which meant he had likely taken refuge in a village, but where? More importantly, who was protecting him? One misguided Revekkian? Or a whole town?
“Dracul, take your men. Hunt for Julian. You are to kill anyone he turns.”
The noblesse bowed in acceptance of his charge.
“And Julian? How do you wish for this traitor to be returned to you?”
I considered his question, though I knew the answer. I wanted him alive. I wanted him to die by my hand, but that did not mean he should not suffer until his fate.