Page 5

Chapter four

A strid held her ground as Dimitri stepped into her space. He stood more than a foot taller than her—an advantage she could more than equalize by tearing his soul from his legs.

The corners of his mouth lifted in what could be construed as a smile. He reminded her of a wolf who’d cornered a rabbit, certain of its impending kill. Only she wasn’t a harmless woodland creature. If he wanted trembling prey, he would not find it in her.

“Your presence is requested in the War Room,” he said with a slight bow.

Astrid blinked and her heart raced in a sudden rush.

Her cousins regularly requested her council during times of war.

Her insight and plotting produced victory after victory, yet her name was never hailed when they returned triumphant.

They sought her out in her temples, libraries, and gardens, but never invited her to their War Room.

Astrid thought of the females who accompanied her winged betrothed, the weapons on their hips. Astrid’s rank and station were the only reason she learned to handle a blade. To kill discreetly before donning the mask of a stricken queen who happened upon her husband’s assassinated corpse.

Perhaps the serpent was guiding her to a better life. One where she would be respected for her insight and intelligence—not discarded for the simple fact she didn’t have a cock.

Astrid curtsied. “Thank you, Lord Dimitri.”

Excitement quickened her steps as she rushed to the War Room.

She thanked the Three-Faced Mother she decided against returning to Sterling.

If she worked out her aggression on the winged spy, she would still be washing the blood off herself.

She must get to the War Room before her father had her attendance revoked.

Astrid turned down a corridor. The sound of heavy boots echoed her steps.

She slowed and glanced over her shoulder to find Dimitri following.

His grey wings crowded the width of the hall like an ominous shadow.

She eased her pace, and her winged escort adjusted his to remain a half-step behind.

She didn’t want his wings near her and wondered if perhaps it was considered rude to have a female beneath his additional appendages.

She’d never bothered to learn the customs of Ledivion—the kingdom she planned for years to raze and prove her worth to her father and misogynistic kingdom.

Two guards stood at the doors. Astrid stopped before them and lifted her head higher as they crossed their spears.

“Open the doors,” she ordered.

The males didn’t budge. Their expressions wilted into sympathy. “Princess, you know—”

Astrid jumped as the leading edge of Dimitri’s wing whipped past her, flinging her dark hair in a rush of momentum. His talon crashed into the oak, splintering the wood beside the guard’s face.

They jerked back and trained their weapons on her winged escort.

“Don’t disrespect my future queen,” he threatened. A portion of the door tore free with a flick of his wing and the twin doors creaked open. His large night-grey wing waved in a flourish before her. The movement reminded Astrid of a gentleman welcoming a female.

“After you, Princess,” he said. Dimitri glared at the guards, daring them to interfere.

Astrid wasn’t sure what to make of him. She was grateful he forced the guards to step down, but his methods were unorthodox.

Did Ledivites not bother with pleasantries?

She’d snuck into the War Room more times than she could count.

The large room with arched ceilings and stone pillars were familiar to her.

She’d come here as a child with her cousins, dreaming of the day they would see battle and expand the borders of Clorea.

She approached the ornate table dominating the center of the room.

It had been her sole companion among her stolen moments in this room, but today, it felt like a stranger.

Her father’s hateful gaze caught hers and fury coursed through her blood. Astrid lifted her chin, holding his stare. His opinion no longer mattered. He’d sold her to Ledivion, and her new kingdom would accept her vicious nature and sharp mind.

If he was lucky, she wouldn’t steer her new king to conquer her homeland and offer her the Serpents’ Crown as a wedding gift.

The seats on either side of her future husband were occupied.

Her family and the nobility making up Clorea’s council lined one side of the table and the winged Ledivites crowded the other.

She took the only available seat, beside Dimitri.

She’d never been invited here as the Princess of Clorea, but she would force their acceptance as the future Queen of Ledivion.

The clattering of armor and the clink of metal drew Astrid’s attention. Her mother stared at her father through the crossed spearheads at the War Room’s entry, ringing her hands.

“Let her enter and shut the doors,” Dimitri demanded.

His king didn’t chastise him, and her father meticulously folded his hands. Astrid stole a glance at Dimitri’s signet ring: a sword flanked by a pair of membranous wings.

Who was he to speak commands so freely? And for his king…

Astrid expected her father to clear a space beside him for her mother. He didn’t acknowledge her presence when she stood beside him. Astrid’s ire only grew as her mother slinked to the empty seat across her and Dimitri at the end of the table.

Her father stood. “A hundred thousand soldiers will be added to the garrison defending our western border.” He placed markers along the map depicting Clorea. “Fifty thousand to the South and Southeast.”

Astrid clicked her night-streaked nails against the carved walnut edge as she examined her mother.

The Queen of Clorea should be proud, but her mother sat in silence with her head downturned.

Astrid wondered if her father would blame her for her forced attendance.

Surely it was King Ambrose who demanded her presence.

Her father couldn’t possibly place the blame on her mother’s shoulders.

Astrid suddenly felt sorry for her and wondered if she’d been more spirited in her youth. If her father’s constant dismissal and exclusion eroded her into the quiet female she was now.

Astrid dismissed her musings. Her mother allowed this life to befall her; accepted the collar her father strangled her with. She stole a glance at King Ambrose. He ignored her entirely and studied the map. His blatant disregard stung.

But I am here, Astrid reminded herself.

She scrutinized the map between them. Her father foolishly left the northern border thin.

He thought of Ledivion as an ally who would protect their shared border.

She would convince Ambrose to crush Clorea and gift it to her.

It would be a simple task with a third of his troops bolstering her kingdom’s weak points.

He could wear his crown of daggers, and she would wear the Serpents’ Cro—

Pain suddenly seized her, and Astrid’s scream locked in her throat. Her focus left her as her own soul’s brilliance shone through the flesh which housed it. Through blurry vision, a haze of tiny golden stars stirred as though caught in a current.

Astrid clenched her teeth and flattened her hand to her sternum. She restitched her soul to her body, replacing each snapped thread as what felt like serrated teeth dragged over every inch of her. It tore bits of her soul free, but Astrid was able to withstand the onslaught.

Agony blinded her as her muscles spasmed.

Her father choked as the glimmering aura of his soul tore from his body in a wild rush.

Blackened veins surfaced over his skin as his body shriveled like a corpse left in the desert.

His dark eyes grew cloudy before they sunk into his death mask framed in now thin, gray hair.

Her father’s desiccated body fell onto the table. The Serpents’ Crown tumbled from his once-proud head, clattering across the map of Clorea.

This can’t be. Astrid struggled to breathe as the other members of Clorea’s court withered before her eyes. She was well-acquainted with poisons, but she’d never seen anything kill in this manner. Astrid turned, following the ribbons of stolen souls as they condensed into a single stream.

Dimitri stood and the souls spiraled around him, tossing his dark hair until the glimmering haze vanished between his lips. Astrid scarcely recognized their flickering presence; all she could see was the vortex of shadows raging in the center of his chest.

There was no star-lit haze of a soul present.

His shadows lashed at the misted light, extinguishing the stolen souls of her court. Astrid could only stare.

What was he?

“Asti,” her mother cried, leaning over the table. Her arm outstretched toward her as her warm brown skin withered and black veins forked up her arm like the roots of a noxious plant.

Astrid lurched for her mother, clawing at the table. A single touch was all she needed. The Queen was weak and a coward for swallowing the life her father saddled her with, but she didn’t deserve to die.

Not like this.

Their fingertips touched and Astrid’s magic surged over her mother. Dozens of golden threads stitched and restitched her soul to her body. A healthy flush returned to her mother’s still face.

She’s unconscious, not dead. Astrid shoved her panic down.

She threw herself into Dimitri next, catching him by the throat and flattening her hand over the side of his face.

His soul was a wild current beneath her touch as charged and fathomless as a raging sea.

Their magic collided and his soul writhed beneath her touch.

She concentrated on the feel of him. Her nails dug into his throat as she tore his soul from his body.

Dimitri’s back bowed, and his wings snapped open, shoving the heavy table several inches with an angry groan. He fell to his knees staring deep into her eyes as his sharp features contorted in pain.

Astrid smiled. Once she was done with him, she was going to collect the rest of her betrothed’s court.

The pain glazing Dimitri’s molten gold eyes evaporated, and Astrid faltered. He caught the back of her knee and stood, taking her with him. Her back slammed onto the table the next moment, knocking the breath from her lungs. His fingers now cruelly circled her throat in a crushing grip.

Astrid held his hate-filled gaze and clutched his wrist. She focused her power as he wedged his hips between her legs. She ignored the burning pinpricks in her lungs. He must be an E’lan Vital. Once she tore his soul free this would be over—the others would be easy prey.

She tore at his soul again and again. In her desperation, she wrapped her legs over his ribs and dragged him closer. She slammed her hand to the center of his muscular chest, focusing on the vortex of shadows twisting within him.

Her magic viciously lashed and struck, but it was Astrid who was caught. Freezing cold encased her limbs as what felt like serrated teeth raked over her body. It cut chunks of her soul free, and a chill fell over Astrid as the starred-haze of her soul extinguished between his lips.

Dimitri chuckled darkly and the harrowing attack ended as suddenly as it began.

Astrid fell limp against the table. His crushing grip relented, and she choked, sucking in wet coughs.

Astrid struggled to keep her eyes open. She was the strongest E’lan Vital in history and this male commanded her soul like she was a common novice.

Dimitri smiled as though he was pleased with her.

Too weak to rein in her power, she could only stare at the shadows curling in his chest. They seemed calmer, satisfied , with the souls it consumed.

She winced as pain erupted over her scalp.

He lifted her by a fistful of hair and leaned so close the warmth of his breath feathered across her mouth.

She wanted to scream. To snap her teeth at his arrogant smile. His soul would be hers. She would tear it from his flesh. He wouldn’t look so smug after she bound his soul to his skin and gave him to a leather worker to fashion into a throw pillow.

He drew on her soul once more and Astrid tensed. But this wasn’t the desperate tearing that assaulted her moments before, the serrated teeth gentled. The sensation danced over her nerve endings.

Her pain evaporated, replaced by ecstasy. Euphoria stole her breath as her nipples tightened and heat pooled between her thighs. The edges of her vision blackened.

This wasn’t over. She could kill him…

She desperately clawed at consciousness.

Astrid’s arms remained useless at her sides, indifferent to her struggle. Dimitri dragged his thumb across her bottom lip, and she didn’t have the strength to fight him.

His callused hand smoothed down the back of her thigh before trailing beneath her skirt. He squeezed her ass, and her vision blurred. Inky black splotches marred her sight as her consciousness slipped.

His deep, accented voice followed her into the shrouded oblivion.

“Take this one to my carriage. She’s mine.”