Page 55 of A Bond so Fierce and Fragile

“Enough,” the king snarled.

Torkher froze with one foot midair—almost as if the king’s order had tugged on a blood bond.

But Merrick knew better. Torkher was loyal in the way the king always sought from him and his friends, wholly and utterly without reservation.

Only the roar of water sounded around them as Merrick, Raine, Ardow, and even Lessia, who had somehow managed to sneak up to his side, stared at the king and his men, all other noises muted in the charged air that seemed to wrap the ship.

A sense of foreboding settled over Merrick, the sight too similar to the one they’d had a week or so ago, and he couldn’t help but step in front of Lessia again, his hand seeking her shoulder and holding on so tightly he was surprised she didn’t try to pull away.

“You’re not surviving this, Rioner.” Merrick couldn’t help an ember of smugness seeping into his sharp words.

Because the king wouldn’t survive this. Not with the fury driving Merrick. Not with Raine in his element.

Merrick hadn’t missed how two of the guards’ mental shields must have slipped as their eyes now flew across the deck, bright from fear, but their bodies remained still, relaxed even, as Torkher and the other guard snarled at Merrick’s words.

And the king wouldn’t survive Lessia’s determination, which Merrick could feel falling off her in waves.

She was angry too. Not in the raging, nearly uncontrollable way Merrick was, but in a guided, more focused way. As if there was only one thing she needed to achieve.

And from how her eyes remained locked on the king, even with Torkher trying to catch her gaze, Merrick knew precisely what it was.

You’ll get your revenge.

He’d told her that once.

He’d broken too many promises already, but he’d make sure he kept that one.

As if she could read his mind, Lessia placed one of her broken hands over his own and squeezed his fingers, and he couldn’t help but shoot her a quick smile and was immediately rewarded with one in return.

“Perhaps I won’t survive…” the king mused. “But perhaps neither will you. My brother was stupid enough to believe himself untouchable, and would you know? He’s dead. Not sure if your little mate there had the chance to tell you.”

Merrick had to hold Lessia back when she charged toward the king.

“Not yet,” he hissed as she struggled against him. “Soon. But not yet.”

“He killed him! He fucking… slit his throat!” she screamed, her eyes shifting color, but not into the beautiful gold of her magic.

Instead, they deepened, the amber turning into dark honey… the shade eerily similar to that of the uncle who now laughed at her from where he stood, still surrounded by his guards.

“I’m so sorry,” Merrick whispered urgently. “You will get your revenge. I promise. But you need to hold on a little longer.”

Lessia continued shaking her head, but after finally letting herself meet Merrick’s eyes, the movement slowed until she stopped struggling against his hold.

When her chin dipped, although barely perceptibly, Merrick allowed himself to look forward again.

His eyes narrowed on the guard closest to the king as he continued to let his arms loosely run up and down her sides, continued to try to get her calm enough to see what he and Raine had been trained on for so many centuries.

They needed a weak link.

While Raine and Merrick could probably take on other guards here themselves, Torkher would put up a real fight… and the king himself was not to be underestimated.

The one Merrick now focused on was a fire wielder.

Merrick didn’t know him, didn’t recognize his face, but the arms of his tunic were charred, and the scent of smoke that tinted the wind didn’t leave any question as to what he was.

But there was something about the way he moved that was familiar…

Not as if Merrick knew him, but as if… as if he’d known someone like him.