Page 20

Chapter

Twenty

A ZALEA

My eyes flutter open, and I’m met with a cold absence on the other side of the bed. Kyson is gone. A low growl vibrates in my throat, frustration simmering through me like a brewing storm. Of course, he would leave before dawn, evading the barrage of questions he knows all too well are perched on the tip of my tongue. I throw the blanket back with a huff, the air chill against my skin.

I snatch a robe from the end of the bed and draw it around me. The fabric clings to my body, offering a scant comfort as I stride across the room. My fingers grasp the door handle, turning it with more force than necessary.

I open the door to the corridor to find Liam, his feet moving in a rhythm known only to him, his voice lilting softly as he sings a tune under his breath. He twirls, a solitary dancer lost in his own performance, but halts mid-spin as our eyes lock. His dance ends abruptly as if he’s just now aware of his audience.

“My Queen,” he greets, the words rolling off his tongue.

“Good morning, Liam,” I respond, my tone light despite my frustration. “Do you know where the King went?” My eyes search his, seeking an answer, but also gauging whether he’ll be straightforward or send me on a merry goose chase for information.

Liam’s eyebrows hitch upwards, his lips curving into a mischievous grin that doesn’t quite reach the worry etched in the corners of his eyes. “He’s with Trey,” he says, almost casually, like he’s commenting on the weather rather than the whereabouts of my missing husband. “Kyson’s trying to untangle the mess you left with Gannon and Dustin.”

My heart hitches as I process his words. “Huh?” escapes my lips. The command I had given in a moment of heated emotion now feels like a bomb I’ve inadvertently set off.

“Your command,” Liam clarifies, gesturing with a slight roll of his wrist. “The one where you ordered them from following or touching you.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, chastising myself.

“Right,” I mutter, more to myself than to him, a reminder that my words carry more weight than I realize. “And Kyson thinks I can just... undo that?”

“Perhaps,” Liam mumbles, his tone noncommittal, but the twinkle in his eye suggests he knows more than he’s letting on.

“Great,” I mutter, feeling the weight of my unintended consequences. “And why is Kyson talking to Trey?”

“Ah, matters of loyalty and trust, no doubt,” Liam replies with a coy smile. He leans against the cool stone wall, arms folded across his chest, his casual stance belying the gravity of the situation at hand.

“To see if he’s a traitor,” he answers, catching the question in my eyes before it spills from my lips. The man who threw himself between me and death is now being doubted and is under suspicion.

Liam tilts his head, studying me, his light tone belying the tension in his posture. “What’s wrong, Lass?” His gaze, sharp and probing, searches for cracks in my composure.

I shake my head, the frustration knotting in my stomach like a storm cloud ready to burst. “Nothing,” I say, but my voice betrays the turmoil inside. Kyson’s evasion is weighing on me. “He just doesn’t answer my questions or runs from me when I have them, and now he’s questioning one of my guards and hiding from me again!”

Liam’s grin is all mischief as he leans in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Stubborn man, the King, but you just have to think. There’s a time he can’t run.” My brows furrow at his riddle, the answer skirting just beyond my grasp.

“Think about it, Azalea,” he nudges gently, his eyes gleaming. But my patience is threadbare, and I’m not in the mood for games.

“Your cryptic advice does wonders for my mood, Liam,” I retort, my sarcasm falling flat. His eyes dance with amusement, the kind that comes from knowing secrets the rest have yet to discover. “Was that supposed to help me?”

Liam’s laughter rings out again, clear and untroubled, as if he’s privy to a private joke between him and the universe. “I don’t know, did it?” He stands there, still as a statue save for the twinkle of mischief in his gaze, watching me wrestle with the puzzle he’s laid at my feet.

I shake my head, unable to stifle the chuckle escaping my lips. Liam flashes me his typical, mischievous grin, as if daring me to question his methods.

“You’re an odd man, Liam,” I laugh.

“That’s why I’m so much fun,” he replies.

“What about Abbie?” The question bursts from me, concern threading through the irritation in my voice as soon as I mention her name. She’s been too quiet, too absent, and it doesn’t sit right with me.

Liam straightens up, the smile never quite reaching his eyes as he responds. “She’s with Clarice,” he says, and the next part comes out almost reluctantly, “though I know the Ling wanted you to wait here until he returned.” He watches me closely, gauging my reaction.

My eyebrow arches involuntarily at his words, a silent challenge against the notion of being caged by commands, even if they come from Kyson himself. Liam’s lips twitch at the sight of my defiance.

“Did he now?” My tone is deceptively calm.

“And with that look, I don’t think you intend to wait around for the King to return,” he laughs.

“No, I want to find Kyson,” I state, the words slicing through the thick air between us when his gaze roams over me before it flickers away.

“Probably be wise to put some clothes under your robe, My Queen,” Liam’s voice is light, but I can hear him holding back from laughing. At his words, a flush crawls up my cheeks as I glance downward, realizing I’m still naked beneath the thin silk.

“I don’t mind the view, my Queen, but King Kyson may not approve of you sharing it,” he laughs, and I snap the robe together.

“Right,” I mutter, more to myself than to him. With a swift pivot, I return to the room, my mind racing with thoughts of Kyson. In moments, I’m slipping into a dress that clings to my form like a second skin.

Once properly dressed, I stride out, Liam’s presence at my back. The murmurs of feuding leaking through the door of the King’s office grow louder with each step, the voices sharp and jagged, cutting through the air.

Without hesitation, I push the door open. The space beyond the threshold feels charged, alive with tension. The arguing halts abruptly as if my entrance has snuffed out the flame of their conflict. Heads turn, eyes widen, and the room falls into a shocked hush.

“You’re awake!” Kyson’s voice slices through the silence, a mixture of surprise and something else—an emotion I can’t quite place.

I nod, unwilling to offer more than necessary, and sit in his chair.

Kyson’s posture is rigid, and the lines of his body are taut and straining as he stands over Trey. Gannon’s hands are planted firmly on Trey’s shoulders, holding him in place. I catch a glint of frustration in Trey’s eyes.

“Please, continue,” I say, my voice calm but carrying an edge that dares them to challenge my right to be here. “I believe I have an interest in the matters at hand.”

“No, you need to leave,” Kyson growls, and I ignore his words.

Dustin’s presence is a storm cloud in the corner, his body rigid against the bookshelf, arms crossed over his chest. The lines etched into his forehead speak of a raw, simmering anger, and his eyes—sharp, calculating—remain fixed on nothing and everything at once. Damian, on the contrary, seems to wilt before us, with dark circles under his eyes resembling bruises from to be exhaustion.

“Kyson,” I begin, but he cuts me off with a raised hand.

“You should go back to the room,” he says, voice firm yet not an order.

I level my gaze at Kyson, my voice steady but edged with the authority that comes with my title, if I’m going to claim it, I should be allowed to use it. “Trey and Dustin are both my guards, aren’t they? If you’re speaking with them, I have a right to know about what,” I tell him. The growl that rumbles from Kyson’s throat is low and laced with frustration. Trey’s shoulders shake ever so slightly, his lips pressed tight in an effort to hide a smile, while Dustin merely shifts his eyes toward Kyson, silent as stone.

“Oh, she has a point,” Liam remarks, the light in his eyes dancing mischievously while the King glares at me.

“Wait, I thought you said I commanded Gannon and Dustin away?” My confusion sharpens into irritation, and I swivel to face Liam, who leans casually against the door frame.

“You did,” Liam confirms with a nod, his expression serious for once.

“You commanded them not to follow or touch you. You came in here. They can’t touch you or follow you if you leave, which you will have to fix.” Kyson tilts his head, regarding me with eyes full of something akin to concern.

“I don’t trust many with you as your guard, and until then, you are stuck with Liam or me permanently attached to you.” Kyson shakes his head, the disapproval clear in his posture.

Kyson’s gaze narrows. “And you were supposed to ensure she stayed in the room,” he directs at Liam.

Liam tilts his head slightly, his voice laced with mock innocence.

“Was I now?” he quips, “Right my King. Well, for next time then, would you rather I pin her to the bed or tie her down?” The words slip from Liam’s lips with a rogue’s grin playing at the edges, but they land heavily in the thick air of the room, like stones into still water.

Kyson’s growl rumbles through the silence, a low warning that vibrates against my skin. His eyes flicker with a fire not entirely meant for Liam but for the situation that has grown beyond his control.

“Enough,” Kyson snarls. “We can continue this later.”

Gannon’s response is instinctual, protective—a growl emanating from deep within as he reluctantly loosens his grip on Trey, stepping back with a scowl etched onto his face. He folds his arms across his chest.

“Continue what later?” The words tumble from my lips. They’re once again keeping me in the dark.

Trey straightens, his posture rigid, as if bracing against an invisible blow. His eyes, wide and earnest, seek mine. “The King thinks I’m the one who poisoned you.” He pauses, swallowing hard, the Adam’s apple in his throat bobbing with the effort. “I explained how it’s impossible to harm you, even if I wanted to, not that I do, my Queen. It’s all just a huge misunderstanding!”

A growl, low and menacing, cuts through Trey’s defense—a sound that seems to originate from the very walls of the room. Kyson’s warning to be quiet is clear.

I shift my gaze between Dustin and Liam, the weight of their previous accusations against Trey hanging heavy in the air. Dustin’s shoulders are squared, his eyes a clear challenge as they lock with mine. With a nonchalant shrug that doesn’t quite reach his storm-cloud eyes, he concedes, “It appears I was wrong.” His words are clipped, edged with a reluctant admission as he glares at Trey.

“Really?” Liam quirks an eyebrow, skepticism lacing his tone. He leans forward slightly, arms crossed, his attention drilling into Trey. “He’s suddenly off your creepometer?” The question is pointed, almost mocking.

I watch Liam’s face harden, the cheerfulness that danced in his eyes moments before extinguished by a flicker of suspicion. “I still think there’s something slimy about him,” he accuses, his gaze narrowing to slits as he peers at Trey.

Trey’s jaw clenches, and I can see the muscle tick beneath his skin, as if wrestling with himself. His hands, which rest on the table, form into fists so tight his knuckles bleach white. “Don’t shove your prejudices against me, even if they aren’t intentional,” he snarls back, defiance raising the pitch of his voice. “We all know why you blame me. It’s because I’m the only Royal Guard that was originally a Landeena, an outsider. I wasn’t part of the Valkyrie Kingdom. That’s what pisses you off. Just admit it!”

Liam’s face reddens, and his words spit out like daggers thrown with precision at Trey. “You got in on a whim! You don’t get to waltz on in and become part of the guard without working for it,” he snaps, his finger jabbing the air toward Trey as if to pin him to his accusation.

“Enough!” Kyson growls, his eyes sweeping across everyone. “Everyone may enter the trials. He never cheated, and he was blood tested like everyone else.”

“Wait! What’s going on? What prejudices are you talking about?” I ask. Kyson’s lips press into a thin line, his silence as telling as any confession. His eyes, dark pools of thought, avoid mine.

Dustin moves forward, his broad shoulders set in a way that tells me he’s bracing for the weight of his next words. “When all the Kingdoms were alive, we all used to compete.” His voice is steady, but underneath, there’s an edge. “Landeena’s were known for cheating. The competitions had huge rewards. They liked remaining in control.”

My head tilts, puzzlement etching my features as I struggle to piece together the fragmented history that Dustin lays bare. “Huh?”

Kyson finally breaks his silence. He rubs at the stubble on his jaw, a gesture of frustration that’s become all too familiar. “The King ones were separate from that of the Guard ones. We competed, but not like that. The game trials were just for added effect to amp up the Kingdom’s,” he says, his head shaking as if to dispel the memories.

“What would you win?” I ask curiously.

My question hangs in the air for a moment when Kyson’s gaze locks with mine.

“Pure bloodlines,” he starts, his voice a low rumble of distant thunder. “Reign over the council for that year.” The air thickens as he continues, “My father bet was Landeena’s first daughter.”

I feel my breath catch, a silent gasp that fails to break the surface. “You,” he adds, and it feels as though the world tilts on its axis, “you were the bet between our fathers.”

“Not that he ever won that one. However, I did. For years before, though, it was tradition for the kingdoms to compete.” Kyson explains. Meanwhile, a low growl escapes from Liam, making me glance at him.

“Wait, slow down. How many Royal families were there? I’m so confused right now. They would bet on bloodlines?”

Kyson exhales a heavy sound. He strides from behind the desk, and as he approaches, I rise instinctively from his chair, the leather still warm from his presence.

Kyson lowers himself into the seat. His demeanor is noticeably calmer as he reaches for me. His hands, strong enough to kill, are tender as he guides me onto his lap, wrapping me in an embrace that feels like both shelter and captivity.

Damian moves, taking a seat next to Trey, whose eyes flicker. Gannon sprawls on the couch, his posture relaxed but eyes sharp, missing nothing.

“Oh yes, story time!” Liam declares, voice slicing through the tension with the ease of a blade through silk. His excitement is infectious enough to draw a chuckle from Dustin, whose demeanor cracks just a bit at Liam’s antics.

Liam nudges Gannon, forcing him to scoot over on the couch, making room for him. The movement leaves Dustin as the sole figure standing; his arms crossed over his chest when Liam speaks again.

“I have a knee, good sir. You may use it,” Liam offers, each word dripping with mischief as his eyebrow wiggles in a gesture that’s borderline scandalous.

Dustin’s reaction is immediate, his usual composure splintering under the weight of embarrassment. His cheeks flush a deep shade of crimson, a different contrast to the mask he usually wears. He growls, low and dangerous, a sound that might’ve sent anyone else scattering. But not Liam. He thrives on this; I can tell by the glint in his eyes.

“Will you stop with that filth talk? We fucked. Get over it and stop mentioning it,” Dustin hisses, voice barely controlled as he levels a glare at Liam, one that could curdle milk.

“Correction, we are fucking. I never said I was done with you. Now sit,” Liam growls. His grip wraps around Dustin’s wrist. With an unexpected yank, he deposits Dustin onto his lap, a move so swift it leaves no room for Dustin to fight him.

A chuckle rumbles behind me, warm and deep from Kyson as we all watch Dustin struggle in Liam’s lap. “Stop squirming, or I will spank your tight ass,” Liam warns and Dustin growls.

Dustin’s eyes flash dangerously, his jaw setting in a hard line when Gannon speaks up.

“I told you not to go there, and I warned you that he’s clingy as fuck!” Gannon’s voice cuts in with a laugh.

Liam’s retort is instant. “I’m not!” His eyes flash menacingly.

Dustin’s chest heaves in a silent huff, his irritation palpable, yet restrained.

“You’re so cute when angry, like a savage chihuahua,” Liam chuckles as he reaches out, fingers aiming to tweak Dustin’s reddening cheek.

Dustin’s hand shoots up to intercept Liam’s, slapping it away with a swift motion.

But their banter lightens the tension in the room.