Page 25 of The Forbidden Dragon King (Shadow Kings #1)

CHAPTER TWELVE

Shadow Court

A urelius

Break my own heart?

It’s already broken.

I abruptly throw myself to my feet, hurling the half-eaten flatbread onto the marble table. Anybody else would have flinched back from my sudden, violent move but not friends.

They’re too used to being around dangerous people. They’re too dangerous themselves.

Although my emotions are storming through me, my expression is mask-like, as it has been trained to be.

Feel nothing. Be nothing. Feel nothing…

“I have work to do,” I say, curtly.

“You have food to eat, you royal son of a bitch, or you’ll collapse, and we’ll have to cover it up,” War growls. “Eat and sleep for once. It’s like when you were in the academy all over again.”

Lucius is unusually silent, however, simply watching me.

When our gazes meet, I shrink from the understanding in his eyes.

Why does Lucius always know me…see me…better than anyone? I should pluck out the fucker’s silver eyes. Only, I’ve never allowed anyone to hurt the Omega since I rescued him from his family, even myself.

He was my test.

If I could rescue the pure, beautiful Omega, who appeared like he’d been sent by the Shadow Gods themselves in Mother’s gardens and crowned me in her roses and thorns, then I wouldn’t turn out to be the wicked beast that everybody said I would.

I’m not so fucking na?ve now.

I was born evil… to become evil.

But can I change that fate? To be a Golden Dragon who chooses to hold back my flames?

Do I deserve to be hated and feared for the death people see in my eyes?

“A cover up.” I arch my brow, sardonically. “How on the Shadow Gods will you four manage one of those?”

Wraith, the Spy Chief who excels at cover ups, snorts with amusement .

I raise my chin, before turning away from the table and marching toward the dining room door.

Yet my knees do almost buckle, as I pass a certain Omega wolf, who is pressing against the back wall pretending to be invisible.

Freya, my Spark .

My fiery, red-haired goddess.

I shudder, balling my hands into fists behind my back.

I sense the glimmering golden threads like spider webs that attach me to Freya.

Yet they’re starting to fray.

It’s agonizing.

How much longer, if the bond is neglected, before they not only fray but snap?

What will happen to all of us who are fated by them if they break?

I clench my jaw, avoiding Freya’s eye. I wish that I could avoid her delicious pheromones and scent that are both still stronger after her heat.

It’s suffocating.

I can hardly breathe when I’m in a room with her. Yet I can also hardly breathe when I’m apart from her.

Work…?

That’s a fucking joke.

I’ve barely been able to concentrate on the crushing job of running this corrupt kingdom, balancing the different powerful factions, including Maximinus, the Council, and borderland propraetors like Atticus.

Every time I speak to Freya, it devastates me to hold onto my cold mask. It was even more devastating to turn away from spending her first heat with her.

It broke me to spend yet another rut, suffering and alone in my room, when I could smell and hear my Omega’s wild pleasure.

I knew that she needed me, and by the Shadow Gods, I needed her.

Over the last few years, as I’ve learned to survive in the Shadow Court alone without my brother, I thought that I’d learned to smother my emotions.

Grief has numbed them, but this love for Freya has brought them to life again.

She has brought me to life.

So, why does being close to her feel like she’s killing me?

Beta servants pull themselves to the side of the marble corridor, respectfully bowing to me.

I march blindly down the grand corridor with marble columns toward Maximinus’ study, practicing breathing exercises to make sure that my emotions don’t show.

I have to bond with Freya.

I have to at least tell her the truth about the golden threads: I’m bound by fate as tightly to her as she is to the fae. In fact, I’m bound to both of them.

Why can’t we become a family? Her new pack?

The fae is no longer my true enemy but my Kitten, a pet who amuses me with his clumsy assassination attempts and even clumsier spying.

When Daire challenges me, he reminds me of Freya. Except, I can enjoy putting him on his knees, as much as I admired how he once fought me, savage and courageous on the battlefield.

Despite everything, he never looks beaten, even when he is staring up at me from furious, bruised eyes.

He has passed every one of my tests so far.

He is worthy of Freya, which is why I allowed her to journey back with him, have ensured that their work schedules coincide, and when he’s locked in the dungeons, make sure that it’s her duty to bring him food.

My back stiffens.

I have to tell Freya that even without the threads, I was falling for her in the army camp and every moment after in the long journey back.

I was certain that I would give away how much I cared for her (and how much it hurt to see Daire’s mark on her wrist, when I wanted to see mine next to it), if I spoke to her.

Instead, I rode ahead at the head of the army and slept on the other side of the camp each night in the barracks. I distracted myself by carving a wooden shrine for her parents.

Tarquin’s shrine has brought me comfort. I have been able to take it with me on every campaign.

I may not be able to meet my Omegas’ parents. I can still pay my respects to them by making this shrine, however, which I hope will bring Freya the same comfort.

Now home in the palace, I feel like I’m dying to live only two walls divided from Freya (to have her within my royal dragon nest), but at the same time, to be entirely apart from her .

Unable to touch or be touched.

I have to do something. Fucking change this. I can’t risk the threads snapping.

My breathing picks up, when I reach the high silver door that leads through to Maximinus’ study.

Maximinus loves to surround himself with symbols of his power. With one thought, he can control you.

He’s the only metallicum sorcerer in Draca.

If I’m truly golden to my core, what could he do to me?

I shudder.

I don’t know if it’s true or an empty threat but I’ll never forget Maximinus’ whisper when I’d once talked back to him as a teenager: Don’t you know that I can melt your core to molten gold and then bleed it through your veins to dribble from your mouth, nose, and ears, before hardening it again to turn you into my living statue?

I had nightmares about that happening to me for years, along with the way that my uncle stroked my cheek gently as he said it. He was smiling fondly, looking like he was excited about the idea of adding me to his collection of statues in his study.

The statues that he could look at and touch whenever he wanted.

I don’t let the fear show on my face.

When I can’t control the tremor in my hands, however, I hold them smartly behind my back.

I take a ragged breath, staring up at the ornate solid doors, which are decorated with scenes of fierce dragons roaring flames .

Don’t show fear.

It’s only my body. Maximinus can’t touch my mind.

Become as cold as gold. A warrior. A weapon.

Feel nothing. Be nothing. Feel nothing…

I adjust my cloak, patting my tumble of hair, before smoothing the wrinkles in my tunic.

Then I raise my hand and sharply knock.

A long silence.

My pulse speeds up.

Then the silver doors magically swing open with a creak.

I tilt up my chin and march into the study, containing my flinch as the doors slam shut behind me.

The study is larger than mine is. The floor is a mosaic of red, iron, and silver stones in woven knots, framing a stern looking portrait of Maximinus.

The walls of the study are lined with shelves, which are overflowing with scrolls, letters, and official papers, as if he is the king, rather than me.

Gold and silver statues of dragons and our family ancestors line the room and are painted onto frescoes on the walls, including Mother and Father.

I barely remember my parents. I was too young when they died for them to live as more than ghosts in my mind.

Pale morning light streams through the arched window behind the large writing desk, which crouches like a spider in the center of the room. And behind it, sits Maximinus.

He’s dressed in a metallic tunic with the silver dragon of the royal house embroidered on it, along with matching breeches. His cloak is gray and made of fine wool.

Maximinus’ desk is cluttered with artifacts, relics, talismans, and powerful items of arcane, ancient magic that make the hair rise on the back of my neck and set my teeth on edge.

Fucking sorcery.

Why does Maximinus insist on suppressing my pet fae’s magic but loves playing with all this shit? Or is it that he fears Daire’s magic is more powerful than his own?

Maximinus would never allow anyone to challenge him.

He was the strong twin , Tarquin once told me in one of our clandestine meetings in the hidden Silver Tower, where we knew we could hide alone from Maximinus.

I still knew that my brother’s words were a treasonous secret never to be repeated: Even if Father was the eldest by three minutes, Uncle Max still ruled him from the shadows.

Maximinus doesn’t look up from his letter, continuing to write. He doesn’t even acknowledge that I’m in the study.

I take a deep breath and wait patiently.

Finally, he finishes his paragraph, blows on the paper, then sets it aside with a satisfied smile.

“There, all done. I wouldn’t want to make a mess of my hard work. Now,” Maximinus lifts his hard amber eyes to meet mine, “why have you rushed in here looking like such a wreck? ”

Instinctively, I reach to check my hair again. Did I miss something? Are my eyes becoming molten?

Maximinus stands, stepping around the desk.

He gives me a solicitous smile. “What’s wrong, my boy?”

Wrongfooted, I blink. “I need to talk to you about?—”

Unexpectedly, Maximinus backhands me.

Hard.

Taken by surprise, I cry out, falling across the desk.