Page 180

Garrik gripped Ghost’s reins, watching his skin blanch through cascading inked eyes. Though his armor covered him,he knew his veins turned dark like the night sky, bulging across his arms and chest. Through a swirl of Smokeshadows, a glassy, obsidian, spiked crown rose atop his head.

Becoming the monster was easy. Acting as one was an art he wished he had never mastered.

Draven’s horse stomped aside as the last of the Dragon’s front line parted. Adorned in a haunting Smokeshadow cape flowing down Ghost’s hindquarters as she walked, Garrik stalked to the wall. Each calculated step more daunting than the last. Even Ghost played the part—and played it very well. The warhorse of a demon.

Garrik gritted his sharpened teeth. Eyes—predatorial—locked onto Brown-eyes as Alora and Jade fell in behind, flanking him.

There was no denying it. The pure fear in each one of their faces on the wall was exhilarating, feeding into his horrifically barbarous visage. It was wrong to love it entirely, to enjoy how their faces made him feel. A side effect of her lingering magic-hold on him. Yet, he reveled in it, knowing that his image alone made their knees buckle. Some had even pissed themselves in his presence. A reminder of how prey cannot help but turn from such a predator, the body their greatest enemy when instincts take over.

Perhaps if they were not young-using-cowards, he would not feel this way. But today, he fed on that fear, basked in it, as it fueled the beast inside even more so.

Garrik’s face shifted to that of death and endless nightmares as he spoke in a monstrous growl. “What do we have here, Draven? Are we late to a barbecue?”

The Dragon’s battalion commander wickedly smiled. One hand squeezed the pommel of his sheathed sword as a swift breeze disturbed short almond hair. “We seemed to not have attained an invitation, Your Highness.”

“Pity. I do quite enjoy burning cities.” With a click of his tongue, Garrik’s beastly grin widened as his murderous eyes flicked to the drifting smoke in the sky beyond the gates. “There is not much left for me to play with. Quite disappointing.”

Wide-eyed, Brown-eyes’ voice cracked, shouting, “We don’t want trouble. Leave or you’ll die today.” He slapped the shoulders of two younglings, motioning them to lift their bows.

Garrik and Draven wolfishly grinned at one another. A deep rumble bellowed from the Savage Prince’s chest, roaring. “Pettythreats do not work on me. I will be using your city for my legion. Choose your next words wisely or find your headsspikedanddisplayedin the square to remind you of who the fuckIam.”

Brown-eyes pivoted his head, turning to the others around him. “Who do you think you are, the High King?”

“No.I am his son.”

The air pressure instantly shifted as cold, dark wind blew.

Disgusted by his own words, Garrik tilted his head and held the illusioned wicked stare on the male, who took a trembling step back behind the younglings.

Coward.Garrik’s vision turned dark. He gnashed his teeth together until it hurt and bared them with a growl. That male would be the first to die.

Whispers filled the forest. The young held up arrows from the wooden walls. Bows shaking in arms too small to pull the bowstring to where their mouth met fleshy cheeks. The lack of training made him vigilant, though he knew his Dragons watched each twitch of their young hands. Too unpredictable in their age to foresee when they would let an arrow fly.

But even the older males—in ripped and charred clothing—held their weapons unsteadily beside them, some quivering with the same name on their lips. Chanting as if to pray to Maker of the Skies to receive mercy.

They were fearful, and a fearful faerie could always be trusted to do something foolish.

Garrik shifted his beastly eyes back to his Shadow Order and Dragons.

It took immense power to speak to the multitude as one. And he did it without taking a single breath. Effortlessly.The young remain unharmed.

As a whole, the legion pounded a fisted forearm over their chests and drew their blades. The sound echoed through the mountain. His eyes fell on Alora, whose throat worked, eyes scanning the wall before meeting his. Her glowing sapphires began to turn away.

You do not turn away.He called to her mind, seeing her fear there,See the battle in their eyes. Promise them war inside yours until their eyes burn and they turn away. Demand their fealty. Make their backs break as they bow to you.

She nodded and straightened in her saddle, replacing her spine with an iron rod. Glaring white-embered eyes into his.

He almost felt the scorch of that gaze when her face went taut and merciless. Almost … wrathful. Gripping the reins on Storm, Alora’s chin tilted high, and he imagined a shimmering, golden crown on her white hair.

Starsdamn.Garrik’s thighs flexed. He needed to adjust his armor.

She looked like she belonged there, like royal blood ran through her veins and commanded an entire kingdom—realm—to bow. Stronger than she knew, almost deadly. He shoved that image to her mind, heart jerking as he watched her breathe deep, accepting who she was coached to be.Starsdamnthem. Just like that. Even I have to look away.

Stop.She raised her chin a little higher with an amused grin.

Yes, Your Majesty.

And suddenly it was her pushing an image to him.