Page 22 of Blood King, Part I (Crowns #4)

“I just came from city center,” Kord said, changing the subject. “The nobles are fleeing. Should we pursue?” His shift was cold, still filled with anger. Cyrus didn’t fault him. This entire circumstance was bringing out strong emotions in all of them.

Cyrus set his focus on what mattered. The nobles were fleeing. Nobles like Pyro. As much as he wanted to pursue them, they weren’t organized enough for this. “No. Not yet. Secure the capital.”

“I’ll need more men.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” Cyrus told him. “I have a whole hall of them, and they need something to do.”

Kord nodded. “We’re only going after the nobles. We’re leaving the citizens.”

Cyrus was fine with that. Most of Rael’s citizens lived on the brink of poverty and were uninvolved in the wrongdoings of their government.

“What do you want us to do with nobles we capture?” Kord asked.

He rocked back slightly. “Capture? Why would you capture anyone?”

Kord glanced at the men around them, then back to Cyrus. “You want us to kill them all?”

“What else would you do with them?” He had patience for what weighed on his men’s hearts, more patience for Kord in particular, but Cyrus needed him to be strong now. This was a war. “Do you pity them? Do you want to grant everyone mercy? When they had no mercy for us?”

Kord stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. “No.” He paused. “But what about those who didn’t own slaves?”

“Show me a noble in Rael who didn’t own a slave,” Cyrus said.

The sun was just peeking over the horizon, and while daylight misted the capital, the palace was still dark.

Cyrus gripped his sword tighter as he walked.

His skin was sticky with the blood of nobles that he’d executed on the way to the palace.

There were fewer now in the capital, given most had fled, and those who’d thought they could still fight back—he’d showed them they could not.

The general masses he’d left alone, those with no status, disadvantaged by the class system, living in poverty and squalor.

They could take what they wanted now, for all he cared.

His footsteps echoed as he strode through the high-arched main hall of the palace.

It was quiet. Too quiet. He walked as if in a dream, not a dream of glory and victory but a dream where one finds himself in a place he doesn’t know.

A place he doesn’t belong. But Cyrus had no intention of belonging.

He was here only to ensure all who had needed to die had done so.

Killing the king wasn’t enough. His mangled body still welcomed anyone who entered the arena. His blood was still on Cyrus’s skin.

But it wasn’t enough, and Cyrus was here to take it all.

The dogs had followed him from the villa, and they trotted off to look around. He let them go. He took the stairs up to the royal wing, passing bodies that had been left where they’d fallen. Various weapons lay scattered across the floor. He’d have his men come back for these later.

The rooms were mostly empty, save a few that held what was left of their unfortunate occupants. He continued down the hall, but when he reached an alcove with two double doors slightly ajar, he paused. Blood marked the entry. This chamber was larger than the others. Perhaps the king’s.

He stepped inside.

Floral draperies hung long over the sets of double doors leading to a balcony, and a large vanity topped with perfumes and jewelry sat along the far wall. The open door of the adjacent dressing room held gowns upon gowns and shelves of shoes.

No, this wasn’t the king’s chamber, but it certainly belonged to a royal. A female royal.

Cyrus’s eyes traveled the room and landed on a four-poster bed. In the center of the bed lay a woman. He drew nearer. He knew this woman, with her deep auburn locks and heart-shaped face.

It was the princess.

She hadn’t escaped.

Her throat had been slit.

He didn’t feel sorry for her. She’d often accompanied her father to the bloodsport matches. She had cheered for those she’d wagered on and worn colored ribbons of her favorite houses. She’d enjoyed blood.

And she’d gotten it.

Cyrus turned and stepped from the room. Where was the queen?

His question was answered at the cross section of another hall, where he found not only her body but also the body of the king’s mother.

It was true, then. The royal family was dead. All of them.

And Cyrus had Pyro back at the villa. So why could he still not escape the clawing need inside him? The need for what? There was a hunger he couldn’t satisfy, a thirst he couldn’t quench.

His eyes drifted to the last alcove at the end of the hall. He wasn’t sure why he bothered, but he moved to it, pushed the doors open, and stepped inside.

The chamber reeked of male power. This was the king’s chamber.

His eyes traveled the room. Nearly everything had been overturned—the armoire thrown open and emptied, drawers pulled from the long dresser and their contents spilled onto the floor.

However, jewels and valuables still lay strewn about.

Strange that not much seemed to have been taken, but someone had been looking for something…

The largest bed he’d ever seen sat in the center. He stepped to the corner and ran his fingers over the down cover and silken sheets. His brow dipped. This was Rael—a cesspool of a kingdom festering in the sun. Who needed a fucking down cover?

Who needed any of this?

No one. That was who.

Cyrus pulled a candle from a wall candelabra and dipped its flame toward the silk.

“You’d burn it?” came a voice from behind him.

He whirled around.

It was the witch. He stared at her for a moment, at a loss for words. He hadn’t seen her since she’d left him with Pyro in the center of the arena. He’d thought she’d gone.

“You don’t think I should?” he asked.

She flicked her fingers, and the candle’s flame disappeared.

Cyrus snorted. He supposed that was his answer.

She stepped closer to him. “The front of the arena—was that your doing?”

She must have seen King Orrid.

“What if it was?”

A hint of a smile passed over her lips. “And you’re still not satisfied? You’d destroy everything here sooner than you’d take it for your own?”

“Why would I want what he had? What he touched? What he defiled with his very being?”

She stepped closer. “His kingdom is now your kingdom. His palace, your palace. Is that not the ultimate feeling of victory—taking all the spoils, knowing he writhes in the hells as he watches you enjoy his fall?”

Cyrus didn’t know if he even believed in gods anymore, or their hells. He did like the idea of Orrid seeing him now, but he’d stabbed him through the fucking eye.

“Burn it,” he told her.

Her eyes narrowed. “No.”

“You want this palace?” he asked her. “This chamber?”

“I absolutely want this chamber.”

“You’d sleep in his bed?”

She stepped closer. “I’ll do more than sleep in it.”

He wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but then she loosened the dress from her shoulders and dropped it to the floor. Underneath she wore a chemise, but it hugged her body closely and left little to the imagination.

The chained woman he’d seen in the cart, the helpless woman strung in the cell—she was gone.

The woman that stood before him now was pure power.

Her alabaster skin was flawless, and her dark hair hung long over her breasts.

She was beautiful. More than beautiful, and it stirred his arousal. But he pulled his eyes away.

He was pretty sure he now knew what she’d meant. “I don’t require this of you,” he said. “The bargain we made when I freed you, I laid out my full intentions. I have no expectations of you outside of that.”

Her eyes narrowed, and her lips parted slightly as the corners of her mouth turned up. “Oh, this isn’t about you.” She put a hand on his chest and pushed him back toward the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“If you can’t guess the answer to that, you’re an idiot.” She pushed him farther back. “Is this not what we agreed? That we could use each other?”

The back of his knees bumped the bed. “Yes, but…” Still? And did she really want to use him this way?

“Do you not want me to?” she asked.

He expected a question like that to come with a pause, for her to wait for his answer, but she didn’t.

She only pushed him more forcefully, until he found himself on his back on the bed.

And he wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted.

This witch was a beautiful woman, but he had no connection with her.

Of course he’d lain with women he hadn’t felt connected to before, but that was…

different. Cassia, Gemma—at least he’d known them, and they’d all been very aware of what they were doing, allowing pleasures of the flesh to distract them from this hell of a kingdom.

Here with the witch… Well, he didn’t know what this was, but as she climbed on top of him with her eyes dark and prowling, he was pretty sure it wasn’t for pleasure. At least not his pleasure.

However, he couldn’t shake the want she pulled from him. He wasn’t sure why she wanted him , though. “I am covered in blood,” he said.

“Exactly,” she breathed.

Then he understood. This was a thread of spite in a tapestry of revenge. This king had tried to kill her. Now she’d take his palace, his chamber, his bed, and fuck his bloody usurper in it.

And Cyrus had no problems with this. Actually, it made him want her even more. He let her straddle him. Pain shot up his injured arm, but he ignored it. If anything, it confirmed he wasn’t imagining this absolute madness.

The witch pulled at his belt. He grasped her hip with his good hand, but she pushed it off. “Don’t touch me,” she said.

Perhaps he should have been offended, but he wasn’t. She wasn’t letting him have her. She wasn’t giving herself to him. This wasn’t for him, or even about him. A wave of power flowed over Cyrus—an unseen force holding him down. He couldn’t move.

He wouldn’t have tried to touch her again, but she seemed intent on making sure of it. He didn’t fight—he wasn’t upset by it—he only watched her.

She pulled his cock free, her warm hands quickly making him hard, and angled herself above him. She didn’t even bother looking at him as she pulled the bottom of her chemise just out of the way to take him inside her.

Cyrus groaned as the wave of sensation rippled through him.

It was different from anything he’d experienced before—better.

Maybe it was the surprise of it all, or because there was something profoundly erotic about being held unmoving, able only to watch.

Whatever it was, every sensation was heightened, every fiber of his body begged for more. And then she began to move.

She didn’t look at him or touch him beyond their joining, but her breaths came faster as she gripped the silken sheets in her fists, and she let her head fall back.

Cyrus tried to roll his hips to meet her, but he couldn’t, and it piqued a desperation in him. He wanted more. He needed more. Regardless of whether she felt his need or was driven by a need of her own, she quickened her pace.

The wall candelabras grew brighter, and hotter, as did the inferno between them. He was going to lose himself—

“Witch,” he rasped.

She rode him harder, lost in her own vengeful pleasure, not hearing him.

“Witch, I’m close.”

She needed to stop. But there was no stopping her. He couldn’t move. And then it was too late. Release hit him hard, and he surged with a growl. His body desperately tried to buck against the force that pinned him, but the invisible force still held. “Witch!” he roared.

She let out a gasp, curling forward as she quaked on top of him in her own release. Her warmth pulsed around him. Her pace slowed until she came to a stop, her breaths short and heavy, and finally, she looked at him.

“Get off me,” he panted.

Confusion etched across her brow, but she pulled herself off. The invisible force let him go.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked.

He staggered up from the bed, away from her, still panting. “I released inside you.” He raked his hand through his hair. How had he been so foolish? “I can’t have a child.”

“Do you really think I’d let myself be seeded with a child? By you ?”

Her emerald eyes stared back at him. She almost looked offended. He didn’t care about her insult, only the implication of her words. “You have the power to prevent it?”

“Of course I do.”

Relief filled him.

Her eyes narrowed. “Have you never climaxed in a woman before?”

The question caught him off guard. “I can’t want to bring a child into this world.”

Her tongue flicked across her teeth, and a cruel smile pulled at her lips. “Well, did you at least enjoy it?”

He snorted. This woman was bold. “I was a little preoccupied trying to hold, so I have to admit I didn’t appreciate it to its fullest.”

“Well now you know for next time.”

Again, it took him a moment to find his reply. “There will be a next time?”

She slipped off the bed. “You were actually enjoyable.”

He felt like that might be a compliment. But wait… “I’m not looking for a relationship,” he said.

“Neither am I.”

Confusion flooded him. “You want me only to sleep in here, then?”

“No. Find your own room.”

Cyrus chuckled in disbelief. “So… you’re just going to call on me? To visit you at your whim?”

She tilted her head to the side. “Does that work for you?”

He was speechless.

She didn’t wait for his answer, only picked up his sword and belt and pushed them into his arms. Then she herded him back toward the door.

“That’s it?” he asked.

“That’s it.”

What a strange woman. He stumbled backward as she pushed him again.

Then she paused. “Oh, wait.” She took a small bowl and dagger from the side table. Working quickly, she sliced across his palm with the blade, holding his wrist tightly to allow the blood to drip into the bowl. It was his injured arm, and he gritted his teeth. Still, he didn’t stop her.

When she was finished, she shoved him backward again. “Now get out of my room,” she told him.

“Wait—”

But she didn’t wait. She pushed him out into the hall.

“What’s—”

She closed the door, and the slide bolt clicked into place.

Cyrus stood, his clothing still undone, staring at the locked door in front of him and holding his belt and his sword as blood dripped from his hand.

He didn’t even know her name.