Page 45 of Blackheart

“Show me to him.”

He’d said he was going to hunt for dinner.

He was aliar.

The woman guided us through a well-kept garden of various white flowers. She was petite, only slightly taller than I, with slender limbs and a slight slouch as she walked.

“Are you a warrior?” she asked awkwardly.

I had never been asked anything like that before. With no notable muscle on my body, it was blatantly obvious I was not. I couldn’t even lift a sword properly.

“No,” I said.

“Oh.”

“Why?”

She shook her head. “I just thought you might be. Anyway, the master of the house will want to meet you before we show you to the guest room.”

I was not expecting to be hosted through the night.

“Does a lord live here?” I inquired cautiously.

“No, just a master. We’re all titleless here. My name is Sitara.”

She padded up the shimmering steps before twisting the golden doorknob and leading me inside.

Life-size sculptures of bodies were displayed around the seating area. Lavish weapons hung on gilded walls beside at least a dozen paintings, all of different women.

Everything was too formal and over the top. The white and gold couches were unrealistically pristine, and the chandeliers overly shiny. Too polished to be real.

"Zain, your company is here," Sitara chimed. We waited a moment in silence.

She had claimed Riven was here, but could I trust her word? There were plenty of weapons on the wall I could grab, and while the swords would be too heavy, there was a slender stone club no bigger than my forearm. It was entirely out of place.

The club’s long wooden handle was black, with a thin silver material spiraling to the top. The end held a flat stone, the silver securing it in the shape of an ‘X’. Embedded in the middle of the stone was a round, dazzling, violet gem.

It was a beautiful, dangerous weapon.

"Elora… of Blackheart," a charming voice purred.

I turned away from the stone club, finding a strikingly handsome man with champagne skin and scarlet hair tied into a loose bun. He wore a fitted black dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up his forearms, and a pair of tan trousers. He did not looklike a Sapphire either. Feline-like curiosity swirled in his eyes as a smile crept across his lips.

“And you are?” I asked, still standing near enough to the stone club to grab it if needed. Its violet gem sparkled in my mind, calling to me.

The man ambled over to a glass cart, which was well stocked with high-end liquors. We never had the luxury of experiencing these in the Waywards.

Riven swore he did not drink.

"I'm known as the Warlock of the Western Woods. You may call me Zain, if that is to your liking," he said, swirling a freshly poured drink.

He flashed a quick smile before pouring a second glass.

I didn’t bother returning the gesture. ‘Warlock’ was an unusual term. The only Warlocks I’d ever heard of were ones used long ago to defend heretic kings prior to the Lyonaire reign. Myfamily’sreign.

My stomach churned.

Riven entered the far side of the room, escorted by several women, all wearing sheer gowns. He narrowed his eyes, jaw tight.