Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 200096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1000(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 667(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1000(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 667(@300wpm)
“What?” I don’t bother hiding my shock. “Who would dare claim that title falsely?”
“Besides you? This one calls himself King Malachi.”
I snort. “A usurper of a usurper and he presents himself as a fate.” An act long since forbidden, even in the days before Islor’s existence. To take a fate’s name is to be condemned to Azo’dem.
“You do not know this new king?”
“This fool? No, I cannot say I have any inkling who would be so audacious.”
King Cheral studies me a moment, as if searching for a lie in my words. “Audacious or not, he has released the eastern lords and ladies and claimed peace in Islor.”
“Peace. With my brother free and commanding our army at the rift.” For Zander surely has won the soldiers’ hearts over with his idealism. “This is too far-fetched a tale for me to bite on. But I applaud your attempt.” I clap my hands slowly.
“You do not believe me.” He holds the letter out.
I move for it but then stop. Is this a tease? An excuse to approach him so his guards can beat me mercilessly in front of his wives? I note the overzealous one from the battleground hovering nearby.
“Go on … They will not harm you.” He shakes his head curtly at them.
I step forward and collect the letter, my thumb skating over the flame imprint in the wax. As familiar as it is to me, the scrawl inside is foreign. King Cheral and his brides’ gazes burn into me as I devour the single page’s contents. “He claims he has rid us of the blood curse?” I read out loud. In her letter, Romeria painted herself the catalyst of this change. So, was she working with this King Malachi who has now stolen my throne? Have they done it together?
After all that, did she betray my brother?
“That is why you refused Satoria’s blood, is it not? Because you no longer need it. That is quite the secret to keep.”
At mention of her name, my eyes dart to the wife in question to find her watching me. “I would not have taken it, anyway. I do not feed off those forced to offer.” Though something tells me she would gladly supply me. She’s not nearly as diminutive as I once thought.
I return my attention to the letter, reading the last line out loud. “‘All will bow before me.’ Interesting letter for the king of another realm to receive.”
“Clearly, he does not understand much of our borders and political systems.” King Cheral holds out his hand, a wordless request for me to return the correspondence. But there’s a flicker of something in his eye—is it worry?
With one last glance at the floral writing—it looks feminine—I comply.
“According to Tuella, you have been healed by the one power,” he says, changing subjects.
“I have been healed many times.”
“This was no ordinary wielder,” Tuella edges forward from her corner. “This one is a creator of all four elements.”
“You mean a key caster?”
“If that is what your people call them.”
I shake my head. “We haven’t had one in two thousand years. Mordain and Ybaris have made sure of it.”
“And yet the wound in your chest was healed by one.”
I falter. That caster with the silver eyes. I’d never seen her face before. Could she have been kept hidden from Ybaris? From Mordain?
“You really have no idea what is happening in your realm.” I note a hint of sympathy in King Cheral’s tone, even as he mocks me.
I could come up with a quippy answer, but for once I’d prefer the truth. “Care to enlighten me then, since you seem to be all knowing?”
He stands, smoothing a hand over the shoulder of the wife on his right—a stunning brunette and the oldest by appearance. His first wife, if I had to guess. “One of the problems I have with your kind is your arrogance.” He rounds the cluster of chairs and moves across the room, toward a golden pedestal. “You believe yourselves above all, taking what you wish from anyone, be it a royal or a slave. Even as a king, you made no effort to educate yourself beyond your own borders. Tuella’s homeland of Udrel is a … what did you call it? A fairy tale? No, it was a fable.”
It’s good to know our conversations are repeated, word for word. Did Satoria explain to her husband how long she stared at my cock?
“All must cower before the great and formidable Islorian ruling class.” He embellishes his words with a theatrical bow, followed by a sneer. “You are but specks like the rest of us, bending and breaking to a higher power’s will.” He beckons me forward with a waggle of his fingers, as if I’m a slave.
My fists ball at my sides. Funny, one of the problems with this mortal king is also his arrogance—specifically, ignoring the reality that I could snap his neck long before his guards reach us. But saying that out loud will likely earn me a fight I don’t know that I can win, injured as I am. Besides, I can sense the energy radiating from across the room. Whatever King Cheral wants to show me, it excites him.