Page 27 of Cruelly Fated (Princes of Avari #1)

Twenty-Three

KYON

I scrubbed the plate a hundred times like it was cursed. I was overdoing my homemaker image—the cleaning crew did my dishes since I rarely did more than sleep around here, but I needed to keep busy. I slung the dish towel over my shoulder and gripped the sink, now facing the apartment.

Allie stepped out of the bedroom— my bedroom—with her bag on one shoulder.

I exhaled a controlled breath, relieved that she left her other bag behind.

Her gaze landed on me immediately, and a blush bloomed across her cheeks.

Her steps quickened. She glanced at me again like she couldn’t help it, eyes skimming over my face, down my chest and abs, pausing low enough to make my blood stir before she caught herself and tore her eyes away. Again.

I pressed my lips into a hard line, swallowing the urge to say something that might make her bolt.

I didn’t mind her looking. Hell, I wanted her to look.

The memory of yesterday still burned hot through my body.

It was all I’d thought about. I wanted to crawl into that bed with her and pleasure her again.

It took all my control to remain still last night when she left that bathroom.

The ding of the elevator signaled her departure. I slapped the towel onto the island and leaned on it, head lowered.

What the hell am I doing?

The phone in my pocket vibrated. My father’s secretary had been trying to get hold of me for hours, but I was in no rush to answer his call.

He’d cast me aside, forgotten me when it was convenient, and now he wanted to talk?

Still, I’d expected this call eventually, especially if my mother had started pressing him for answers.

Torian had called in the middle of the night after returning home to find us gone, along with one of his cars. I had fired off a quick text message back that I was fine, having no desire to talk to anyone.

Allie had taken over my thoughts .

She’d seen my dragon, the monstrous, unhinged thing inside me that nearly tore her apart because I lost control.

I curled my fingers until my knuckles popped.

It was an accident. Torian couldn’t have known how little she understood about what happened when a dragon was denied the shift for too long.

I wished he had stayed. Or that Valor had. But what was done was done.

And the girl hadn’t run.

If anything, Allie had seemed more intrigued than afraid once I reigned the creature in. She stayed. She touched me… Scales rolled beneath my skin like a tide caressing shore. After whimpering all night, the dragon finally settled, calmed by her scent now present in the entire apartment.

Our mate , it whispered.

I huffed. Allie wasn’t our mate. Couldn’t be. Not because we clearly didn’t even date, but because she wasn’t a dragon. Dragon shifters mated with their kind. Just like wolves mated wolves. That was how it worked.

Perhaps I had let my dragon’s fantasies spiral unchecked far too long. It felt good, back in prison, to think of her as ours. To look forward to her visits. She kept us sane in isolation. But reality was knocking. I was the son of the dragon king. His enforcer.

And I couldn’t ignore his call any longer.

I picked up the phone and hit speed dial.

Some penthouses had rooftop pools or gardens. Mine was a slab of charcoal-gray dragonsteel alloy custom-forged to resist heat and claw scoring, my personal landing pad only elites could afford.

I stretched my arms wide, breathing in the only freedom I had. Because once I entered my father’s estate, I’d be his subject again. All dragons bowed to their king. As an enforcer, I had a double duty to the crown. If the position hadn’t been filled in my absence…

I fell into a crouch, one fist pressed to the alloy, and let the shift consume me.

The first crack of my spine echoed off the steel plates, followed by the deep, seismic grind of bone restructuring. My breathing seized, then burst in a growl as fire lit my veins, old magic tearing through muscle, sinew, and my soul.

My skin hardened. Limbs stretched and joints twisted. My torso elongated as wings tore from my back, membranes unfurling with a leathery snap that vibrated through the air. Horns burst through my skull, curving back, the familiar weight reminding me what I was. What I had always been at my core .

My jaw split open with a shrilling snarl, reshaping into the tapered snout of the beast. Claws slammed against the dragonsteel, scattering sparks across the surface.

The wind caught under my wings as I rose to full height, towering against Avari’s sky. Smoke curled from my nostrils. The world smelled different in this form—more industrial and humid. A faint scent of burnt coffee drifted from a block over and I sneezed. Gods, I hated the black bean juice.

I gave the city one slow blink.

Then I roared and launched into the sky.

Beneath my wings, Avari stretched in all its pulsing chaos: skyscrapers clawing at the clouds with their glass mirroring each other, fae bustling along the streets, non-stop traffic… Hovercrafts wove between towers like fireflies.

I banked east, leaving the high-rises behind.

The skyline bled into rolling hills, dotted with gated estates, mansions with helipads, and glowing pools.

Then the land turned wild. No roads. No sign of life.

Just jagged stone and forest shadows stretching for miles.

And there, carved into the heart of a black mountain, loomed the dragon king’s stronghold.

My childhood home and a prison in its own right.

I hurled myself onto the guest landing pad, unsure of my standing. Was I still the king’s son? Or had we become strangers the moment he’d written me off? I was looking forward to finding out.

I shifted into human form and stepped into the waiting chamber, a butler at the ready with a crystal glass balanced on a tray. I waved him off, shoved my hands into the pockets of my suit trousers, and paced the room lined with antique shelves.

They held treasures passed down through bloodlines: obsidian-bound tomes scrawled in ancient Draconic, carved jawbone chalices from conquered beasts passed between heirs during coronations, aether crystals said to contain the echoes of fallen dragons, even the last known sky pearl.

The chamber could pass for a museum, but that’d be a grave mistake. The display served as a message, a FAFO of sorts: fuck around with the dragon king and find out .

It meant to intimidate.

I’d seen it too many times in my life for it to have any effect on me…

The double doors, carved with the sigil of our bloodline—claws curled around a crown of flame—creaked open.

The dragon king stepped in.

Tall and broad-shouldered, clad in a bespoke black suit that fit his frame like dragon’s skin, he seemed to suck the air out of the room with his mere presence.

Smoke curled faintly from his nostrils. His golden eyes gleamed like hot lava, always calculating.

He didn’t walk so much as glide with purpose like a predator that never needed to pounce because its prey always surrendered without a fight.

“Ah, my son,” he said, his tone rich and effortless, yet colder than mountain stone. He extended a hand, and when I clasped it, he pulled me into one of his signature half-embraces. His other arm came around my back with the force of a clawed wing, swift and tight, then gone in the next breath.

I’d seen him do that before…to rivals. To diplomats he didn’t trust. To traitors whose heads he still ended up taking later. A show of dominance disguised as sentiment. So that was where we stood, then.

“I am mighty glad your innocence has been proven,” he said, turning away with a smile that never touched his eyes. “And I welcome you once more into my home. As my firstborn son.”

Bullshit.

I lowered my gaze, dipping my chin in a bow of forced deference. “I’m grateful for your generous welcome.”

He waved the words away. “No formalities needed between father and son.”

But he said it like a warning. The man knew how to play the long game of posturing. He always had.

He gestured toward the receiving room, and I fell into step beside him.

“I never doubted your loyalty to me,” he said as we walked, “but in these…delicate political times, I had no choice but to distance the crown from you. Optics, you understand.”

I understood perfectly. He feared weakness more than he feared war. And now, it seemed, he feared me.

We passed under the vaulted arch of the receiving room, the ceiling inlaid with cracked obsidian and aged gold. Dragonsteel sconces lined the walls, casting flickers of ever-burning flame. My father stopped by an arched window that overlooked the mountain ridge, with a small liquor bar beneath.

He poured himself a glass and gave the amber liquid a single swirl.

“Tell me, son…” he said in a level voice that put me instantly on guard. “If the Council were to question my rule tomorrow, if they whispered of replacing me, would you stand by my side?”

In his typical ruthless fashion, he remained staring out the window as if he weren’t weighing his subject's fate based on their single answer.

He’d welcomed me home, called me his firstborn again. Now he was twisting the blade to see if I’d flinch. To see if I’d bleed loyalty.

My jaw ticked. “If they questioned you, they’d be questioning the throne itself.”

A pause stretched thin between us as he pondered his judgment.

His shrewd gaze slid to mine.

“Good,” he said, with that cold ghost of a smile he reserved for political victories. “Because if the crown begins to slip, I will need someone to scorch the hands reaching for it.”

The sconce flame danced in the reflection of his glass.

My gut told me our conversation was only a beginning…

He’d continue testing me. If the assassins he’d sent into the penitentiary were any indication of what was to come, I needed to watch my back closely.

Having Allie around posed a slight complication.

Dragons didn’t hand out tests unless they had a plan in place for ho w to dispatch failures.

I feared my girl would get caught up in it.

At last, the king moved, settling into the throne-like chair at the head of the room, one arm draped over a carved dragonbone armrest, the other cradling his glass like it held prophecy.

“Your mother is hosting a ball next week. The silks are dyed, the menu is finalized. And the guest list…” He exhaled, a breath that almost passed for amusement. “She hasn’t been this animated in years.”

He scowled. “It’s in your honor, of course. The return of our son.”

My throat dried. I hadn’t set foot in that ballroom since I was a boy, and even then, only to stand there and look like an heir. Then Torian came along and assumed the role.

“You’ll be expected to attend.”

Not a request. A statement as inevitable as gravity.

I gave a slow nod, keeping my expression neutral. But deep down, I knew this wasn’t about celebration.

The dragon king never played host without sharpening his talons first.