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Chapter fifty-seven

D imitri dragged his brother’s shaking body a short distance to his room.

He had no pity for Ambrose. He could have reigned over Ledivion for centuries, but he’d inherited too much of their father’s cruelty and arrogance.

Constantine had taken his mother from him and died for it—but Ambrose’s sin was far worse.

He’d broken Ledivion’s oldest law and trespassed on Dimitri’s right of conquest. His prize for battles hard fought in Vinceret’s name. Conquests were untouchable. Astrid should have been safe.

His brother should never have touched her.

“How long did he have you?” Dimitri asked as they entered their room. If Ambrose had raped his wife, his death would last lifetimes.

Astrid arched her brow and glared at him from the corner of her eye. “He didn’t have me. I was killing him before you interrupted me,” she answered, opening the top drawer of his nightstand.

His brother’s scent lingered on her, but there was no arousal. No heavy odor of cum.

His little wife gathered all her jeweled hair sticks and gleefully unsheathed her weapons before rowing them on their bed. He’d need to speak to Keres and find out exactly how many hidden knives she’d crafted for his wife.

Astrid took her jade-handled stiletto and jerked Ambrose’s face up. “Since you’re so jealous of your brother, I’m going to take your eyes,” she said, slicing into the delicate skin around the socket. “You can watch him fuck me with a cock much bigger than yours. Over and over.”

Pride bloomed in Dimitri’s chest as he watched his vicious neva work. She removed an eye, unbothered by the tears streaming from the other.

Astrid placed her bloody trophy beside her collection of daggers and Dimitri recoiled at the trail of gore it left on the white fur throw. He would have the bedding changed as soon as his wife was satisfied.

She extracted his other eye and dropped the pair into a wineglass. The nerves trailing behind them flapped like little fish and Dimitri cocked his head. He’d never encountered a soul weaver of her disposition, and her violent quirks made his cock hard.

“Hold his wing out,” Astrid said as she stepped into the bathroom. She filled the wine glass with water and returned to him.

Dimitri let his brother fall face down and lifted one of his gray wings.

Astrid held the glass out toward the wing and the twitching nerves and veins acted as a tail, propelling the eyes frantically against the glass. Dimitri chuckled, amused with his wife’s new toy.

“I’m going to cut off your wings, Ambrose. The skeletal display will be fixed to my throne here in Ledivion, and your membrane will upholster it.”

The eyes swam faster, splashing the surface. Astrid giggled, flattening her hand over the top before they could leap out and fall to the ground. She lifted the glass to her face and breathed, “You’re so dramatic.”

Astrid placed her makeshift aquarium on his desk and balanced a book on it before turning to Dimitri. “Will you rule Ledivion as Dimitri Morana, my king?”

His father’s name strung after his anchored a sharp, and visceral reaction. Rage and pain warred inside him. He would have done anything for his dead father’s acceptance.

Once.

“No. My father’s line never accepted me.”

Constantine conspired to kill him for nearly a decade. If only he’d believed Dimitri when he told him he had no aspirations for the throne. Dimitri never wanted to rule.

But his neva did and demanded every star lighting the night sky.

He grinned at her. “I’ll rule alongside you as your Death Spirit.”

She smiled at that. A true smile, without calculation or scrutiny. “You should kill your brother’s court and start fresh,” she said, drawing his sword from his hip.

Astrid slid the blade beneath the base of his brother’s wing, and it fascinated him. He’d hacked off his share of wings, had even torn them off on occasion, but his wife slipped the blade’s edge between the bones. Carefully severing tendons and ligaments—like she was butchering a swan.

“It takes more than one person to rule an entire kingdom, wife,” he said.

She nodded and gathered the folds of Ambrose’s severed wing before flopping it onto their bed.

“Do you think if you make a mess of our bed, I won’t fuck you in it?” Dimitri asked, flashing his teeth.

“I think I want a workroom, but we make do with what we have,” she answered, gesturing for him to lift the other wing.

Dimitri raised the membranous limb as Astrid harvested her trophy. She moved to his head next, not taking the same care she had with his wings. Ambrose’s corpse slouched forward and fell to the ground. Astrid swung at his neck and the tip of Dimitri’s blade clanged against the wooden floor.

“Enough,” Dimitri said, retrieving his weapon from her. He glanced over the room and frowned. “Where’s my other sword?”

Astrid shrugged. “I don’t know. He killed me,” she said, kicking the maimed, bleeding heap. “You need to take his head to the court as proof of your Crimson Ascension, my love.”

Dimitri’s chest ached. Her words made this real. “You love me now?”

“You’ve proven no one stands between us,” she offered. “Trust deepens over time.”

Dimitri clasped her face, holding her jaw while squeezing her cheeks. His gaze fell to her full, pouting lips. “Does it, wife?”

She smiled, leaning into his hold. “Betray me and I’ll add your wings to my throne.”

Dimitri laughed, believing her. His lips met hers and she opened for him. Immediate. Trusting.

And he tasted blood.

A sampling of the violence she endured—and enacted. His queen was as merciless as she was vengeful.

“Love me, and I’ll never betray you,” he murmured at her lips.

Astrid pushed against his chest, and he took a step back. “Take his head to Ambrose’s council and send Keres to me if you see her.”

The playful stares and sweet smiles he’d once coveted were there between them, in their own way. Their affection wasn’t soft, but he’d developed a bond with Astrid. The same deep connection he’d observed during his years at court among established pairings.

His feral neva loved him, she just didn’t know it yet.

“Keres and the earth weavers will be here after I speak with the royal council,” Dimitri said, collecting his brother’s head. “Our room will be converted into Ambrose’s grave.”

Astrid’s brow knit. “You build arenas where your royals actually died?”

Dimitri nodded.

“Will they care if he’s still alive? Parts of him, anyway?” she asked.

“No,” he answered, then reconsidered his response. “If they do, I’ll kill them.”

The way her midnight eyes glittered made him want to stay in bed with her for the rest of the day.

“I want to break a sword and throw it on his grave, too,” she rushed out.

His wife knew Ledivite rituals. This pleased him beyond measure. “I’ll amend any ceremony you wish, love.”

Scrutiny returned to her stare. “We’ll rule together, in all things?”

“I need only one thing,” he purred. “You, in our new bed, waiting for me.” A flush colored her cheeks and his chest squeezed again. “Get dressed, neva. The earth weavers will arrive before I return. Keres will show you to our new rooms.”

Dimitri strolled into the hall with the proof of his Ascension swinging by his hair as he whistled a tune. The length of his hall was empty, but it usually was.

A noble coming down the stairs froze as Dimitri entered the first communal space. The male paled and immediately fled. Others reacted the same and Dimitri began to grow suspicious after he’d failed to spot a single royal guard.

He pushed the door open to the royal council and raised his brows. More than a dozen royal guards were clustered with the courtiers. Their chatter ceased as he stepped over the threshold.

The nobility shrank from him, but the armored Ledivites held their ground.

At least they have the sense not to draw their weapons. Dimitri would hate to have to kill them all and his little wife needed guards.

Dimitri tossed the head into the room. It fell with a thud and rolled toward them, marring the stones with splotches of blood.

“My wife, Princess Noctis, killed King Ambrose in my room. Make the arrangements.”