Page 79

Long, agonizing minutes passed before he spoke again, and when at last that hardened voice thundered, it rattled everything in the tent. “Law in my camp dictates a painful death if you turn your sword on my Dragons. When you joined my legion, you swore to it on your life.” Garrik stabbed his sword into the ground as something sharpened in his voice, and he bared his teeth.

Alora didn’t dare move for fear his wrath would be unleashed on her.

“You betrayed my fucking trust today.”

Jade’s breath escaped her. “Sire?—”

“Silence,” Garrik growled. Smokeshadows exploded around him. “If it were not formy flesh,my blood, Alora would be dead, and you along with her.”

Jade scowled. Her body tensed as she retorted, “If it were not forher,Aiden would be sleeping in his?—”

Garrik kicked his blade in such a way that it lifted from the dirt and traveled into his awaiting palm. With an incredible twist of his wrist, the cold of the sharpened edge met flesh. One smooth motion. That’s all it took. And his other clasped around the back of Jade’s neck, drawing her into the blade until crimson appeared, and those furious, silver eyes turned into endless oblivion.

“One more word,” he dared.

She lowered her head until her chin kissed cold steel, reverent against his sovereignty.

Garrik carefully pulled away, tossing the blade onto the soft furs of his cot, and released his grip. He stood for a momentglaring at her, considering his next words, when a silent whimper traitorously escaped Alora’s mouth.

Shit.Her body uncontrollably trembled as he turned his darkened eyes to her.

“Alora,” was all he said, his attention shifting as that anger seemed to subside slightly. “I ordered you not to leave camp. You disobeyed my command, causing harm to one of my Shadow Order and endangering everyone in this valley.” And like a king on his dais—on his golden throne—Garrik twisted and sat rigid in his chair, measuring them until his ticking jaw stiffened.

Fury couldn’t even come close to describing the brutality on his face.

And in that moment, Alora wished that the gamroara would’ve killed her instead.

Blaring, hot anger simmered into cold indifference and disdain. Garrik’s Smokeshadows tendriled around his limbs, making him appear more ruthless and powerful and eternally deadly.

“I cannot allow rogue action to endanger my legion. Because of the disobedience you have both displayed, my ruling is this.” He angled his head, critically surveying them as he rested his elbows on the armrests, steepling his fingers in front of his face.

“Alora, you cannot be trusted to flee from camp. Jade, your malevolence, causing harm to your sovereign, and endangering the life of a Dragon calls into question your loyalty.” He turned his contempt to Jade. “Your duties as my Shadow Order are withdrawn until I am satisfied by your fealty. And as you know, I am not easily convinced. You will not attend my war tent, your opinions are dismissed. You will personally stand guard … to Alora. If she flees, there will be consequences.”

Jade’s face tightened as his gaze snapped to Alora.

“Barring our arrangement, you do not possess the freedom to do as you wish. Not until I can trust you. You will not go anywhere without Jade’s escort.”

“And what am I to do when she sleeps? Camp outside her chambers?” Jade scowled and crossed her arms.

“You will share lodgings.”

“I’d rather sleep in pig shit.” Jade pressed her lips tight and burned her glare into the High Prince’s face.

“That can be arranged,” Garrik snarled. “Regardless, you will not leave each other’s side. Have I made myself clear?”

Jade trembled her own snarl. “Yes, sire.” And nodded before ripping her glare to the table of parchments.

Garrik shot Alora an impatient, pointed look. “I am waiting.”

And she barely heard her own voice over the quaking of her bones. “Yes.”

His face tightened, rising from the chair as if he were in a throne room of golden tapestries and marbled floors. Finding his boots inches from her own.

Her head as high as his sculpted chest, she could feel how angry he was by his breathing alone. Then, freezing fingers gently gripped her chin, lifting her face. Her eyes trailed over the black tunic, glimpsing a raised, rigid scar on his neck, his defined, gritted jaw until she met his darkened eyes.

That touch so demanding, she couldn’t prevent the ruthless shudder burning down her spine as he growled, “Sire.”

And she realized her seemingly lethal mistake.