Page 11 of Taken by the Leviathan King (Abducted by the Ruthless Royal #15)

Chapter eleven

IMOGEN

The royal markings on my skin pulse with a faint blue glow as I adjust to the weight of my new reality.

Queen .

The title still feels foreign on my tongue, but the power coursing through my veins is undeniable.

I flex my fingers, watching the subtle shimmer of scales catch the ambient light of Krak’zol’s war chamber.

“You’re staring again,” I tell him without looking up.

The bond between us has heightened my awareness of his presence—the weight of his gaze is almost physical now.

“You are... magnificent,” he rumbles from across the room, where he studies tactical maps with Zorath.

The deep timbre of his voice sends an involuntary shiver down my spine.

“Save the flattery,” I reply, though warmth spreads across my cheeks.

“We have more pressing concerns.”

Zorath clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable with our charged exchanges.

The loyal advisor has been on edge since our return from the Heart, alternating between reverent bows in my direction and worried glances at the war table.

“Rynor’s forces have taken the eastern ridge,” he reports, gesturing to a three-dimensional projection of underwater territories.

“His corruption spreads. Three more warrior pods have fallen under his influence.”

I approach the table, studying the map.

Something nags at me—a pattern in Rynor’s movements that seems oddly familiar.

“These attacks aren’t random. He’s systematically cutting off access points to the Heart while gathering resources.” I trace a finger along a deep trench.

“But why take this outpost? It holds no strategic value for an assault on the Heart.”

Nira, who has been silently mixing healing salves in the corner, looks up sharply.

“That’s where they took Bethra. My sister.”

The healer’s hands tremble slightly as all eyes turn to her.

In the days I’ve known her, I’ve never seen the composed healer show such vulnerability.

“Your sister?” Krak’zol’s brow furrows.

“You never mentioned she was captured.”

“Because I was told not to burden the king with personal matters during wartime,” Nira replies, her eyes downcast.

“Bethra was studying ancient healing techniques in the eastern sanctuaries when Rynor’s forces took the ridge. She’s been his prisoner for three cycles now.”

The implications hit me immediately.

“That’s why you’ve been helping me so readily. You’re hoping we’ll rescue her.”

Nira meets my gaze, unashamed.

“She’s my only family. And now she’s held by a monster who twists minds to his will.”

I turn to Krak’zol, whose expression has hardened into something unreadable.

I don’t need our bond to know what he’s thinking—a rescue mission is too risky, too personal, when the fate of kingdoms hangs in the balance.

“We need to get her out,” I say before he can object.

“Imoogeen.” His voice carries a warning.

“Rynor would expect such sentiment. It could be a trap.”

“It’s not just sentiment.” I step closer to him, lowering my voice.

“Think strategically. Nira and Zorath are your most loyal advisors. Rescuing Bethra secures their complete devotion. Plus, a prisoner from Rynor’s inner sanctum could provide critical intelligence about his plans for the Heart.”

I watch the calculations play out behind his silver eyes.

He’s weighing risks against potential rewards, the soldier in him battling with the protective instinct that’s grown stronger since our bonding.

“You’ve been queen for less than a day,” he finally says, “and already you’re commanding rescue missions into enemy territory.”

“Is that a yes?” I raise an eyebrow.

A low rumble emanates from his chest—something between a growl and a laugh.

“It’s an acknowledgment that arguing with you would waste valuable time.”

Zorath looks between us, clearly trying to hide his surprise at Krak’zol’s acquiescence.

“The fortress is heavily guarded, my king. Rynor’s corrupted warriors patrol in overlapping patterns, and the waters surrounding it are laced with toxic elements that would weaken even your royal guard.”

“Then we don’t take the royal guard,” I say.

“Just us. Krak’zol and I.”

“Absolutely not,” Zorath protests.

“The king cannot risk—”

“The king,” Krak’zol interrupts, “will decide what risks are acceptable.” His eyes haven’t left mine.

“You believe we can infiltrate undetected?”

I nod.

“Our bond gives us an advantage. We can communicate silently, coordinate without signals that might alert his guards.” I turn back to the map.

“Besides, two can move more quietly than an army.”

The plan comes together quickly.

Nira provides detailed information about the fortress layout—she’d been there many times to visit her sister before Rynor’s betrayal.

Zorath reluctantly offers intelligence on patrol patterns and guard rotations.

As we prepare to depart, Krak’zol draws me aside.

From a ceremonial chest, he retrieves a small blade unlike any I’ve seen—its edge glimmers with an otherworldly blue light that intensifies as I reach for it.

“It’s made from heartstone,” he explains, placing it in my palm.

“Rare, even among my kind. It responds to your energy signature now that you’re bonded to the Heart.”

I test its weight, feeling an odd resonance as I grip the hilt.

“It feels... alive.”

“In a way, it is. It will always find its way back to you.” His massive hand closes over mine.

“Like I would.”

The raw honesty in his voice catches me off guard.

Before I can respond, he leans down, pressing his forehead against mine in a gesture that feels more intimate than any kiss.

“Be careful, little queen,” he murmurs.

“Your human recklessness concerns me.”

“Your overprotective hovering concerns me,” I counter, but there’s no bite in my words.

The waters grow colder and more turbid as we approach Rynor’s territory.

Krak’zol and I swim side by side, our movements synchronized through the bond that pulses between us.

His awareness, a warm, protective net, brushes against mine, searching the dark waters.

I focus on the path, feeling the toxic currents like a physical pressure against my newly sensitive skin.

My transformation has given me abilities I’m still discovering—enhanced vision that cuts through the murky water, sensitive skin that detects minute changes in current and temperature.

When a patrol of corrupted warriors approaches from the east, I sense them before I see them.

Three guards.

Heavily armed.

Moving in standard formation, I project through our bond.

Krak’zol’s response comes as a mixture of images and sensations rather than words—a hidden crevice in the reef wall to our right, the necessity of stillness, a warning about the guards’ enhanced senses.

We slip into the narrow space just as the patrol rounds the corner.

The crevice is barely large enough for one Leviathan, let alone two.

Krak’zol’s massive body presses against mine, his arm wrapping protectively around my waist to pull me deeper into the shadows.

The corrupted warriors pass slowly, their movements unnaturally synchronized.

Their scales have a sickly green tinge, and their eyes glow with an eerie light that makes my stomach turn.

Through our physical contact, I feel Krak’zol’s rage building—these were once his people, now twisted into something unrecognizable.

Easy, I caution through the bond.

Your anger ripples the water.

He responds by pulling me closer, his body curving around mine like a living shield.

We remain motionless until the patrol disappears, communicating only through fleeting thoughts and impressions.

They’re changing the patrol patterns, he observes as we emerge from hiding.

Rynor grows more paranoid.

Or more prepared, I counter.

He knows you’ll come for the Heart eventually.

We approach the fortress from below, using natural formations in the sea floor to mask our approach.

The structure looms before us—a grotesque parody of Krak’zol’s palace, all sharp angles and unnatural geometries that seem to hurt the eye.

Bethra will be in the central chamber, I relay, recalling Nira’s detailed description.

Rynor keeps his most valuable prisoners close.

Krak’zol’s response is tinged with concern.

You sense the corruption growing stronger here.

It will affect you more than me.

He’s right.

Even with my transformation, I’m still partly human.

The corruption emanating from the fortress feels like static against my skin, uncomfortable but not yet painful.

I can handle it.

My hand tightens on the heartstone blade, the smooth hilt suddenly slick with a nervous sweat.

My breath catches in my throat; a cold knot forms in my stomach.

What if this doesn’t work?

What if I’m not strong enough?

I shove the doubts down, but they linger like a bad taste.

We find an unguarded service tunnel—used for waste disposal, judging by the foul current flowing from it.

The passage is narrow enough that Krak’zol must fold his massive shoulders inward, his powerful tail propelling us through the darkness.

Inside, the corruption is palpable—a sick energy that coats every surface.

Guards patrol in rigid patterns, their movements mechanical and their eyes vacant.

We dodge between patrols, using our bond to coordinate perfectly without words.

We’re nearly discovered once when a guard changes direction unexpectedly.

Krak’zol pulls me into an alcove, his body curving around mine protectively.

His heart thunders against my back, a powerful rhythm that somehow steadies my own racing pulse.

The central chamber is exactly where Nira said it would be, but getting inside proves more difficult than anticipated.

Four guards stand at the entrance, their weapons charged with the same sickly energy that permeates the fortress.

We need a distraction, I project to Krak’zol.

His response comes not as words but as a tactical plan—complete with timing and positioning.

I nod, impressed by his strategic thinking.

Using the heartstone blade, I cut through a series of tubes along the wall—some kind of hydraulic system that helps regulate pressure within the fortress.

Water begins to rush in uncontrolled bursts, setting off alarms that send the guards scrambling to investigate.

We slip inside the momentary chaos, finding ourselves in a vast chamber filled with containment pods.

Most are empty, but in the center floats a single occupied pod.

Inside is a female Leviathan who bears a striking resemblance to Nira—the same delicate facial structure and healer’s hands, but her scales have begun to take on the sickly green tinge of corruption.

Bethra , Krak’zol confirms through our bond.

I approach the pod carefully, searching for a release mechanism.

The controls are unfamiliar, covered in symbols I can’t decipher.

Allow me.

Krak’zol moves forward, his claws working quickly over the panel.

The pod hisses open, and Bethra’s eyes snap wide—not the warm amber of Nira’s, but a glowing toxic green.

She lunges at me with unexpected speed, her hands curved into claws.

“Traitor queen!” she hisses, her voice distorted.

“Rynor knows you’re coming. Rynor sees all!”

Krak’zol moves to intercept her, but I hold up a hand to stop him.

This isn’t Bethra speaking—it’s the corruption using her voice.

“Nira sent us,” I say calmly.

“Your sister needs you.”

Something flickers in those poisoned eyes—a moment of recognition quickly swallowed by rage.

She launches herself at me again, but this time I’m ready.

Using my new strength, I catch her wrists, holding her at bay.

“She’s too far gone,” Krak’zol growls.

“We need to subdue her and leave before—”

“No,” I interrupt.

“I can reach her.” An idea forms in my mind—dangerous, possibly foolish, but our only option.

“The bond with the Heart gave me abilities. I can try to connect with her mind, break through the corruption.”

Krak’zol’s alarm pulses through our bond.

The risk is too great.

You could be infected.

“We didn’t come this far to leave her behind.” I meet his gaze steadily.

“Trust me.”

His silver eyes flicker, a storm raging beneath the surface.

I feel the conflict through our bond – a clash of protectiveness and strategic calculation, a war between his heart and his duty as king.

It’s a fleeting tremor, gone in a heartbeat, but it leaves a raw, vulnerable energy in its wake.

Finally, he moves behind me, his massive arms encircling both Bethra and me, creating a physical anchor.

“I will hold you both,” he says, his voice low and fierce.

“If you start to turn, I’ll break the connection immediately.”

I nod, then press my forehead against Bethra’s, closing my eyes to focus.

The mental connection forms more easily than expected—a side effect of my transformation, perhaps.

I push past her outer defenses, encountering waves of corrupted thoughts that burn like acid.

Rynor’s influence is everywhere, a tangled web of lies and compulsions.

I search for Bethra’s true self beneath the corruption, following threads of memory—Nira and Bethra as children, swimming through sunlit shallows; Bethra studying ancient texts, her healer’s hands gentle and sure.

“Bethra,” I call to these memories.

“Your sister is waiting. Come back.”

The corruption fights back, sending jolts of pain through my mind.

Distorted images flash before me—Rynor standing before the Heart, draining its power; the oceans boiling with toxic energy; Krak’zol defeated, his people enslaved.

With horror, I realize these aren’t just nightmares—they’re Rynor’s plans.

And at their center is a specific time: the celestial alignment three days from now, when the three moons of Sanos will form a perfect triangle above the Abyss.

“The Heart will be vulnerable then,” Bethra’s true voice whispers through the chaos.

“That’s when he’ll strike.”

I grab onto this thread of her consciousness, pulling with all my strength.

Help me fight him, Bethra.

Show me how to break his hold.

Together, we push back against the corruption.

It’s like swimming against a riptide, exhausting and seemingly futile, until suddenly we break through.

Bethra gasps, her eyes clearing momentarily.

“Tell Nira... eastern sanctum... the text she seeks...” she manages before the corruption surges back.

I withdraw from her mind before it can trap me, but not before tendrils of the toxic influence seep into my consciousness.

The world tilts sickeningly as I return to my body.

Green-tinged visions cloud my sight—Rynor’s face, leering; the Heart shattering; Earth’s oceans turning to poison.

“Imoogeen.” Krak’zol’s voice cuts through the hallucinations, the particular way he says my name acting as an anchor.

“Come back to me.”

I blink, reality reasserting itself.

Krak’zol holds both me and the now-unconscious Bethra, his expression taut with concern.

“We have her,” I say, my voice raspy.

“And we have Rynor’s plans. The alignment—three days from now. That’s when he’ll attack the Heart.”

Alarms blare through the fortress.

Our time is up.

“Can you swim?” Krak’zol asks, already shifting Bethra’s limp form onto his back.

I nod, though my limbs feel heavy and my mind foggy.

The corruption I absorbed from Bethra lingers at the edges of my consciousness, whispering temptations and fears that aren’t my own.

“Stay close,” he commands, leading us toward an emergency exit Zorath had identified.

We fight our way out—Krak’zol bearing the brunt of the combat while I guard his flank, the heartstone blade moving almost of its own accord in my hand.

When we’re separated briefly by a surge of guards, panic flares through our bond from his side.

I send back a wave of calm confidence that steadies him, allowing him to clear a path for our escape.

Once outside the fortress, we swim hard for friendly territory, Bethra secured between us.

The corruption I absorbed makes each movement an effort, but determination drives me forward.

We have the intelligence we need.

We know when Rynor will strike.

And when he does, we’ll be ready.