My brows pull together, gaze cutting back to the male standing before me—unmoving.
Unblinking.
Sire.
Fucking Sire.
Realization washes over me like a dunk of icy water, whipping all the warmth from my body. “You’re a … king.”
“As I said.” There’s a brief pause as he flicks up his hood, casting his face back in a shroud of shadow, though his eyes still glimmer like a crush of embers caught in the orbs. “Is that a problem, Moonbeam?”
A swell of fiery rage packs my chest and mouth so full it’s impossible to speak. To tell him yes, that’s a problem.
The Shade, The Fade, and The Burn are each ruled by a different Vaegor brother, each cut from the same vile cloth.
I’ve seen King Fade from a distance—Cadok Vaegor. This male is not him. Meaning he either rules The Shade or The Burn.
The Shade is said to be even more rotten than this kingdom, if rumors are anything to go by, the cold, shadowed expanse governed by King Tyroth Vaegor. A cruel king with a heart said to fester from the loss of his queen.
The Burn … well.
Few who venture deep into the sunny part of the world return to tell the tale, though it’s said King Kaan is savage and bloodlusting. That Rygun—his ancient Sabersythe—was too big to fit in any of the city hutches the last time he came to Gore. That he lets the beast hunt freely across his kingdom, firing cities with his blazing breath and feasting on his folk whom he cares little about.
I’m not sure which option is worse. Who I’d least prefer to be sharing this cell with right now, breathing the same filthy air.
One thing’s for sure—I wouldn’t bow to any of them, even if a sword was notched at my neck.
A stampede of booted steps echoes down the corridor while I hold his stare, the racket coming to a halt before my cell. In my peripheral, I note the shadowed silhouettes of heavily armored guards.
“Runi,” one of them bellows, “what are you doing in cell seventy-three?”
The King doesn’t break my stare as he says, “I’m the resident healer. I was instructed to inspect this prisoner’s wounds.”
I give him an incredulous look.
“Impossible. Everyone is under strict instruction not to enter that cell. She is our most dangerous captive.”
I would be flattered, but there’s no room for it beside the bubbling well of undiluted rage piling up my throat like a dragon about to wield its first flame.
“I must order you to exit her cell. She’s expected at trial before the Guild of Nobles. We’re to escort her straight there.”
Music to my ears. I don’t want to spend another second in this monster’s presence.
“Yes, resident healer,” I say, serving him a sour smile, “kindly step out of my chambers. I have no need of your assistance—now or ever.”
The air between us becomes impossibly tight, and he grunts, stepping back.
The guards flood my cell in a spill of bloodred armor and the smell of polished leather. A male grips me by my wounded shoulder and jostles me forward, a wince hissing past my clenched teeth.
“She’s been pinned,” the King proclaims, his voice a veiled death threat I want to scrunch up and stuff back down his throat.
I don’t want him whipping out his imperial cock for me. Certainly not when he doesn’t bother to whip it out for his own folk.
He eyes the guard like he wants to rip out the male’s trachea. “Why?”
“Because she speaks with Clode and Bulder.” I’m held in place while another guard unlocks the metal pole connecting my chains. “The very reason this cell was off limits.”
“How do you know?” the King queries as I’m attached to an iron leash I consider using to strangle them all—until I see the red elemental bead hanging from the lobe of one of the guards.
Perhaps not.
“She took out an entire unit in the Undercity. Collapsed the lungs of seven soldiers before she even began tossing her blades. She slaughtered another twelve in ways that would make your insides wither, forged a cleft in the ground that took another six, then bit off the finger of a prestigious bounty hunter employed by The Crown.”
Well.
Good for me. I’d pat myself on the back if my skin wasn’t flayed.
“Wanna tussle?” I ask the King, flashing him a complimentary grin he can take to my grave, wondering why he doesn’t look anywhere near as outraged by my large body count as I expected him to be. “If I win, you purchase my sentence, and I go back to killing vile males with small cocks and enough ego to justify their sick behavior. And you get to go back to … well, hunting moonshards.”