Page 65 of Blood King, Part I (Crowns #4)

Chapter fifty-one

Cyrus found himself in the center of the throne room, surrounded by Essandra’s coven.

It wasn’t the place he would have preferred, but they needed a space that would accommodate them all.

There were more witches now. Many had arrived with the refugees, not necessarily escaping slavery but escaping persecution.

They’d heard of Cyrus’s promise of protection, and of the high witch by his side.

The room was cool—a nice reprieve from the sun. Everan and Brant stood in a corner with a few more of Cyrus’s men.

Essandra faced him. She pulled her dress from her shoulders and let it drop to the floor, stepping out of it, naked.

Despite what they’d shared, he’d never seen her body, but he didn’t think now was the right time to appreciate the opportunity, and he quickly averted his eyes.

He cut his men a harsh glance but was pleased to see they’d done the same.

“Take off your clothes,” she told him.

“Is this some kind of… sex magic?” he asked quietly.

She pursed her lips to keep in a laugh. “No, that’s not a thing.

But unless you want your garments infused with power, for anyone to wear, you must take them off.

Especially jewelry.” She reached behind her neck, pulling off her necklace, and handed it to a blond-haired witch who stood beside her.

Then she stepped into a large circle that had been chalked onto the stone floor.

Cyrus didn’t think himself a shy man, but standing there, surrounded by a large group of people waiting for him to take his clothes off…

he felt a little shy now. However, he did as he was bid and stripped down.

He paused when left with only his braies but then stripped those off too.

Now he stood infinitely more uncomfortable.

Essandra waved her hand for him to join her inside the circle.

He did.

She held her hands out, palms up, and nodded to him. He did the same.

Two women stepped forward, one on either side of them. They each delivered a slice across Essandra’s palms with a blade. Then they moved to him and did the same.

Essandra took his hands, pressing her palms to his, and the coven formed a large circle around them.

Cyrus glanced around, until his eyes landed back on Essandra, who gave him a reassuring smile. Then the witches started chanting.

“What are they—”

“Shhh.”

Cyrus quieted. He focused on Essandra, but he still kept his eyes from wandering down her body.

The chanting paused.

Essandra brought his hand to her mouth and drew her tongue across the line of blood on his palm. Then she took a smear of her own blood and dabbed it across his bottom lip.

He took it into his mouth.

The chanting started again. This time, Essandra joined in. She started quietly, whispering the foreign words, her eyes dropping closed.

The air shifted. A prickle crept up the nape of his neck.

A pressure grew in his veins. Pulsing. Building.

The chanting grew louder, and her voice did too.

His whole body thrummed.

They grew louder. And louder.

And then they stopped.

Essandra opened her eyes.

All was quiet.

She smiled.

He glanced around again. Were they finished? Was it done? Nothing felt different.

“Is that it?” he asked.

She nodded.

Quite… anticlimactic.

Essandra let go of his hands and stepped from the ring. The blond-haired witch swept a robe around Essandra’s shoulders.

Cyrus followed, but as he stepped over the chalked line, something hit him like a battle clash. It slammed into him. His knees hit stone. His ribs locked as a force in his chest pushed the air from his lungs.

“Cyrus!” Essandra dropped down beside him.

But he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak.

Darkness closed around him.