Series: Lords of Rathe Series by Meagan Brandy
Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 98580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“Almost worked, little siren.” My free hand darts up, gripping the snake in the air as it lunges at me. I snap its neck in two.
Tears fill Ophira's eyes as I toss it to the floor and her away from me.
“Knight?” Mother walks up.
“She tried to use her siren call against me.”
“What a stupid, beautiful girl,” my mother murmurs, pushing Ophira's hair from her forehead. “Dismiss her, my son.”
I meet Ophira’s eyes, speaking what she tried to prevent. “You are unworthy of the crown and released to Rathe.” The instant the words are spoken, a cloud opens above us, raining down on her until she’s swallowed by the ground.
Sighing, I sit down.
Mother smiles as she pats my chest, spins and heads for the door. “Next!”
Here we fucking go again.
Nineteen
Knight
This time is different. With the rage still burning against my mating bond, I’m even more desperate to get this bullshit over with. Find a queen. One who isn’t smart enough to know that I love her, but deluded enough to think she can be queen. I look over the people sitting around the table. Now with me at the head. I still don’t know how I feel about being pushed into a position I was so sure would be for Creed, but the longer I sit on the throne, the more I feel the ghosts of my ancestors demand I be there.
“Knight. Have you decided your top three?” Odin asks, his face carefully masked. He represents the Monsters and is usually the quieter one during a meeting. The one who hovers in the background and watches. Never gives too much, and always keeps his distance. I think that's why my father hated him the least of all the councilmen, maybe even liked him, if only a little.
“No.” My finger taps against my now empty glass of hard liquor. “I hate them all.” I flick my finger in an upward motion and my empty glass is slowly refilled with more amber liquid.
“Well.” Legend chuckles, and if he wasn’t so fucking far away, I’d choke him out. “Not all...”
I grind my teeth, ignoring all the questioning gazes. When I can’t ignore any more, I drop my focus to the ground beneath us. It’s completely clear, with fat puffy clouds passing through the bottom of our feet. From a distance, you can see the city of Stygian, the castle, the catacombs, and the high arch of the bridge that separates us. I pause when the showgrounds come into view. Deep mahogany, blood red, and teal blue lights flash from down below, as the circle of the Ferris wheel spins. People down below have no fucking clue what the fuck goes on up here in this little floating room of secrets.
“Well, we need a new King if we want the balance to remain between us all. The longer it goes on, the more likely the risk of the civilians of magic deciding they might like to push boundaries. And let's not get started on the bitchy Shadow Beasts.”
“They won’t push any boundaries,” I whisper from behind my glass, removing the top buttons of my shirt. “Because if they do, I’ll kill them.” And I would. All of them.
“Like you killed the man who you went and...”
“Tortured?” I raise a brow at Magdalena. “You can say the word you know, doesn’t make you any less ... Argent.”
Her eyes narrow and I know she’s thinking about the way she found her son hanging in the gardens two nights ago—temporarily dead and nothing but a bag of broken bones.
“You should not be interrogating anyone about the King’s death without the entire Ministry present,” she dares. “Your father—”
“My father is dead, and in case you’ve all failed to realize, I will not do things his way. Bottom line?” I look across the room, meeting the eye of each Ministry member representing a different faculty of Gifted. “I don’t trust any of you. Likely never will. If I get a tip from my people that could lead my family closer to the person who killed our father, our King, my brothers and I will do whatever we feel is fit, and there isn’t a damn thing anyone in this room could do to change that.”
“There have been some whispers. About the reject.”
My eyes slice to Agro, the man who represents the Fae, the vein in my neck stretching as I reign in my rage at his choice of word.
Silence falls, and the clouds at our feet grow darker, soft sounds of thunder cracking within them. It has started.
I shouldn't fault him for it. I did reject her, tossed her to the wolves—literally, with Sinner’s help that day on the terrace. So, yes, she’s a reject. Bound to live a life of solitude and shame, but that doesn't make me want to tear his head off and feed his brains to his family for dessert for mentioning her. In fact, I’m open to keeping her locked in her own little room in my castle as I live out this reign. She could be my pet. Fuck her when I need, and then use my fake Queen as a show for the people.