Page 12 of Lord of Ruin (The Age of Blood #2)

Meeting with the King still felt a bit like going to war, but Samuel only knocked once on the door before throwing it open. He pulled Shan in after him, not giving the King time to respond, and Shan gave him an approving squeeze.

She supported his boldness, and he could only hope that the King would as well.

But the King wasn’t even looking at them, did not even seem aware of their presence.

He was dressed as impeccably as ever; even with the grand ball that he had sidestepped completely, he still wore one of his many fine suits like armor, a kind of untouchable power that Samuel still did not know how to mimic.

Despite the way that they mirrored each other, connected by a tie of blood that spanned more generations than Samuel wished to consider, for every bit of humanity in Samuel the King reflected it back in stone.

And yet, tonight the King exuded an air of frustration and anger so palpable it nearly choked them, even as he stood with his back to the door, peering into Samuel’s liquor cabinet, which still existed mostly for appearance’s sake.

Even with the issue of his gift nullified by Isaac’s interventions, Samuel preferred to stay away from the hard liquors.

Navigating this world was difficult enough while sober.

Still, he was thankful that Jacobs insisted on keeping it stocked as the King helped himself to a glass of bourbon, the amber liquid sloshing into a pair of crystal glasses as the King poured with a heavy hand.

It was an unusually aggressive motion from the usually restrained Eternal King, and that brief moment of confidence Samuel felt shattered, souring into the bitter taste of fear.

Perhaps he had been too bold after all.

“Your Majesty?” Shan asked carefully, stepping forward. Something in her had changed, suddenly, like a lever had been thrown. Lady LeClaire was gone, and in her place was the Royal Blood Worker, ready for duty. “What has happened?”

The King did not respond immediately—shockingly, he just passed her the first glass before downing his own. It was strange to think that the King knew their habits and preferences so well.

Shan just held her glass in loose fingers, the tension ratcheting even tighter as the silence dragged on.

Finally, the King dropped his empty glass onto Samuel’s desk with a thud , his gaze dark and expression grim.

There was something just this edge of feral about it, in the way his green eyes glinted like gemstones and his lips pulled into a snarl.

“There has been a breakout,” he began, voice low with rage.

“Somehow, Isaac de la Cruz has escaped, and he left a trail of bodies in his wake.”

The glass fell from Shan’s hand, shattering into pieces as it hit the floor, the bourbon seeping slowly into the wood. Samuel had never seen Shan so flustered, her mouth forming the shape of words without a single sound being uttered.

The King noticed it as well—this wasn’t a reaction that could be faked, and of course he would suspect her first and foremost. She was the schemer.

Samuel was the pawn.

He put his hand at the small of her back, stepping into the conversation with a single word. “How?”

“Now that is the question,” the King seethed. Samuel was still getting used to it, the sheer force of the King’s power, something he had been unable to pick up on before.

Another gift from the very man they were discussing.

It was a thorny mess of emotions, from the bruising betrayal that Samuel had nursed alone on long, lonely nights to the unrelenting relief from being free of the Aberforth Gift.

To the uncomfortable realization that after spending a lifetime believing himself to be Unblooded, he was a Blood Worker after all.

So, when the King saw that reflected in the expressions that Samuel had not yet learned to master, he missed the very thing Samuel needed him to. The relief that his plan was working— had worked. Now he just had to see it through.

“What do we do?” Shan said, finally shaking her uncertainty.

The King nodded, settling into Samuel’s chair and steepling his fingers. This was the way he preferred it, both of them turning to him like he was the master of them all. Yes, they had their roles, but in the end, the King expected them to serve.

Samuel couldn’t wait for the day when they needn’t grovel any longer.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your engagement ball, truly,” the King said, inclining his head with an artfully designed expression of sorrow.

It was almost believable, it might have been, if Samuel hadn’t been learning the contours of the King’s lies, the way he was too perfect, too exact.

“I know how much work the both of you put into it. But you needed to know as soon as I did. We must begin work first thing in the morning to rectify this—we cannot let them spin the narrative.”

“Naturally,” Shan agreed, with a slight sneer. “Those pamphleteers haven’t stopped.”

The King clenched his fist on the table—a bit of frustration that did not feel entirely affected—and nodded.

“Quite. Tomorrow, I need my Councillor of Law to get ahead of this. What happened tonight was a disgrace, and we need to ensure that this does not happen again. If they will not listen to reason, perhaps they will respond to fear.”

He did not wait for Samuel’s response—there was no need to.

Despite the bile that burned the back of his throat, Samuel couldn’t contradict him directly.

Instead, the King turned to Shan. “And while he sees to that, we will need something else to distract the presses from this. Tell me you have a solution to the problem of the blood supply, Shan. Give me anything to work with.”

For his Royal Blood Worker, he would give a moment to respond, an opportunity of agency that Samuel hadn’t earned.

He tried to not let the jealousy hurt.

Shan, for her part, merely inclined her head, looking strangely resigned. “I have an idea, Your Majesty. But I need a little time to finalize the details. Can I present the proposal to you tomorrow?”

They waited for a long moment as the King considered, then he nodded. “Very well, LeClaire. I’ll have my secretary reach out to yours. Tomorrow, then.” Standing, he cast a final look at Samuel. “And the same to you, son, once you’ve handled things with the Guard.”

And with that, he saw himself out, leaving them behind, shaken, like a storm that had swept through their lives and left it uprooted.

Meetings with the King often felt like that.

Turning to Shan, Samuel caught her hands, pressed his lips to the back of them. “Your plan, what is it?”

Shan curled her fingers around his, gentle with her claws on his soft gloves.

“Let me finalize it first, Samuel. It’s…

complicated.” Closing her eyes, she let out a long sigh, a bit of vulnerability that she wouldn’t have dared show even a moment before.

“Besides, the question of Isaac is far more pressing.”

“Ah, about that.” He braced himself—deceiving the King, while terrifying, was one thing. Deceiving Shan—he still wasn’t sure if that had been the right thing to do. “I have something I need to tell you.”

“Oh?” Shan said, infusing the word with so much weight that Samuel felt fear slice right through him.

“It’s a long story, but first,” he pulled back, “let us finish this party. Then, we shall meet with Isaac.”

He waited for her response, expecting anger, but she only raised her hand to her temple and groaned. “Blood and fucking steel, Samuel.”