Rekk brings the stick to his lips, draws on it, then blows a plume of smoke in my direction. “This is cozy.”
My eyes narrow. “You have some gall bringing a Moonplume to my kingdom without a blue bead in tow.”
The tone of my voice says everything my words do not: if his beast wasn’t shackled with that tattered white flag, I’d hammer him to a wooden pole on the esplanade. Let the sun bubble and blister his skin until it’s falling from his bones. Then I’d cut Raeve loose. Sit myself center stage and watch her have her bloody way with whatever’s left of the fuck before carving his head free and tossing it to Rygun as a snack.
He shrugs. “Líri’s not large enough to carry two riders, and with The Great Flurrt looming, most of Gore’s flock had been turned out,” he says past a slashing smile, dragging on his smoke stick again.
In other words, he didn’t have the patience to wait. To put his beast’s well-being before his own selfish whims, expecting us to patch up the mess when he arrived.
My muscles bulge and swell, tendons stretching as I battle the will to lunge forward and rip his head from his shoulders—promises and wars be damned.
Another suck of his smoke stick, and I notice his other hand is gloved.
I jerk my chin at it. “So it’s true.”
“What is?”
“A member of the Ath bit off the tip of your finger.”
“She did. I’m yet to find a Runi talented enough to undo the damage.” He pulls off his glove to boast the gory nub, inspecting it from all angles. “She, too, was a feral bitch.”
My hands fist so tight my knuckles pop.
“I heard your beast was in the vicinity at the time of her execution. That he shoved a couple of Moltenmaws out of the way to snatch her off the stake.” He looks at me through slit eyes—a look that chills me to the marrow.
My gut sours with the thought that this fuck has even the smallest inkling of what went down in that coliseum.
“He was turned out. Can’t fault the beast for liking the taste of fae,” I lie, cutting him a threatening grin.
“Ah.”
“Tell me, Rekk Zharos, why have you soiled my ground with your presence?”
“I’m hunting someone.” Head cocked to the side, he pulls on his stick again. “The Princess went missing just after her anointing. Her pah sent me to track her down.”
I almost laugh.
Of course he did.
Everybody knows this male has hung off Kyzari like a sticky shadow for many phases, desperate to vie for her affections. Only Tyroth would use that to his advantage in the urge to find his precious daughter, who won’t stop slipping free of the cage he’s kept her in for far too long.
“Well,” I mutter, looking at him down the line of my nose, “find comfort in the fact that if she were my daughter, I’d do anything in my power to keep her well the fuck away from you.”
He makes a chuffing sound, pulling another sizzling draw before he taps a wad of ash away. “I tire of your words. How about you take a stroll into your chambers and wash whatever whore you’re wearing off your cock while I scour the city, hmm?”
I consider the implications of popping a single eyeball. I could probably get around it politically, but Raeve’s another story …
I think she’d be disappointed in me, and that’s the last thing I want.
“Look all you want, you won’t find Kyzari here. And you won’t scour my city without wearing iron cuffs, escorted by a barrage of beaded chaperones,” I say, gesturing to my guards lined up at the entrance to the Imperial Stronghold, each of them boasting red, clear, or brown beads in their beards or hair. “I, too, will escort you. I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course,” he grits out, flicking his stub on the ground, the embers hissing like a dying serpent before I crush it beneath my heel. “And my saddlebags?”
“Will be removed and brought to your temporary quarters where you’ll be under full surveillance every second you sully my kingdom with your putrid presence.”
He extends his hands, a sadistic smile curling his lips as Colet approaches with the cuffs and latches them onto his wrists, locking them in place. “Is this an honor you bestow upon all who visit your Stronghold?”
I return his smile, exposing the full length of my canines. “Only the ones I fucking loathe.”
Ipace sweeping semi-circles around the pallet, clenching my hands into fisted balls, releasing them. Clenching them again. Energy lashes at the underside of my skin like a metal-tipped whip, slicing through my resolve with every powered stride.