Page 55 of The King has Fallen (The Kingdom of the Krow #1)

~ MELEK ~

My first awareness was the freshness of the air.

Before I’d even opened my eyes, my senses perked. A breath of cool, clean air fluttered over my body and I knew I couldn’t be in camp anymore. Where was the scent of shit-tainted mud? The heavy odor of unwashed male bodies, unwashed clothing, unwashed bedclothes—unwashed everything?

But my eyes wouldn’t open. Despite my tension and questions, I sank back into sleep for a time.

When I woke again, my eyes were heavy, but fluttered.

I blinked.

And blinked.

And blinked many more times, trying to clear the crust and blur from my eyes, and also trying to find some frame of reference for what I was seeing.

But every time I opened my eyes, the sight was the same.

A huge, lavish room. Floor of stone slate. Walls built of huge bricks. I could see one shutter-framed window from this angle. The sill was deep enough for me to sit in it.

Still blinking, rubbing my eyes with half-numb hands, I slowly scanned the room, confused.

The furniture was large, but not nearly as big as ours. The fireplace was huge—large enough even for me to step into it if the hearth was cold. But there was a fire crackling merrily away, and a huge stack of wood next to it, as if whoever lived here thought they needed days of warmth.

It certainly wasn’t needed for light. Bright but thin sunlight bathed the room, turning all the dark, carved furniture into gleaming luxury, velvet curtains into rich falls, and…

And none of this was Nephilim in style or size.

I sat bolt upright, hand clawing into the soft mattress on which I lay, head snapping left and right—but then I had to groan and let myself fall back again because my head spun and ached like a motherfucker.

I didn’t know what had been done to me, or where I was, but it took minutes of laying there, eyes closed, to swallow back the wave of nausea that tried to punch out of my throat.

When it finally felt safe to open my eyes, I took it much more slowly.

The bed I lay on was massive—easily large enough for my frame—and had four posts, one on each corner, and a ceiling. Thick red curtains were pulled back to the foot and head, but they were held by a gold cord that could be released, and the curtains pulled closed along the rails between the posts.

Presumably, to block out that bright sunlight.

Where the fuck was I?

It took a great deal of time, and patience, rolling first to my side, then slowly pushing myself upright—and closing my eyes, breathing deeply for many minutes before the nausea passed.

Eventually, I was able to lower my bare feet to the floor. Then I had to spend time shifting my weight until I was steady enough to actually stand. And more minutes before I could walk. But I could feel my head clearing with every breath, and my body growing surer.

At some point, I stood in the center of that stone floor and turned a slow circle.

The room was six-sided. The most important side—the central block—housed a huge, arched doorway with steel bars over it.

Anger and unease twisted my chest, but I kept turning.

The fireplace took one side. Then the window. The bed. Another window—with drawers and a wash table underneath it—filled the fifth. The final side was covered in shelves, the lowest of which was thick and deep and held a row of large baskets. But the shelves above that were full of books, knick-knacks, and curiosities.

If it weren’t for the bars on the door, I would have thought I’d been ensconced in a royal guest suite somewhere.

But why bar the door if the windows were open and accessible?

I shuffled to the nearest window—the one that let that breeze drift through the room—and found the answer.

Aware that I was still a little unsteady, I reached across the deep sill intending to grip the external ledge and lean over to see how the window was placed in the wall. It was big enough that I could crawl into it and launch from—

There was an electric crack and a jolt that started in my fingers. Nerve pain sang through my arms and into my chest. I gasped and pulled back, blinking.

At least I was more awake now.

Swallowing, curious, and a little fearful, I pointed one finger and reached into the open window slowly, uncertain if the—

The crack came again the moment my finger passed the edge of the windowsill, and my arm jangled with that pain.

Magik. Some kind of power shield.

Careful not to tip past the sill itself, I did lean into the space to look for the ground—and discovered it was easily a hundred feet below. I didn’t know if that magik would follow me. If I threw myself through it, would I pass through?

Somehow I doubted it. And there was always the risk that the shock would freeze my wings.

No throwing myself out windows, then.

I made my way to check the other, but already knew what I would find, and sure enough, one more sizzle on my fingertip was enough.

No escape.

I began to sweat.

Then I discovered the tray resting on the top of the drawer set next to my bed.

Fruit. Bread. Cheese. And a small note in perfectly crafted handwriting: Start slowly. Your stomach has rested for days.

Rested?

Been starved, they meant. I huffed, shaking my head and tossed the note aside. But then my stomach gave a great clench and growled audibly.

I picked up the small loaf of bread, biting off a hunk and chewing on it as I walked another circuit of the room to see if there were any clues as to what nation I was in, or how I’d come to be here.

But there was nothing.

Yilan.

My heart raced.

Where was she?

Panic fluttered my heart and I froze, hand clasped to my chest, right at the center where the space that was her resided.

And only then could I breathe.

She was alive. She was nervous and unhappy, but she was alive.

I wanted to roar. But my head was still foggy and my thoughts came slowly .

We’d been taken, clearly. But by whom? Had her comrades betrayed us? Or had they inadvertently led our mutual enemies to us? Was she imprisoned too?

The Nephilim wouldn’t have put us up this way. It had to be another—

Yilan.

I swallowed the mouthful of bread too early and it hurt going down, but I barely felt it as the memory rushed back to me.

“You hold the keys to my soul, Yilan. And the weapon to take down my people… please do not make me a fool for loving you.”

Her eyes sang of sadness, but she shook her head then turned to kiss my neck. “I will never choose anything to hurt you, Melek. You have my word.”

With a low growl, I turned that circle again and even though there were no direct clues, it made sense.

It made so much fucking sense.

Fucking Fetch.

Rage expanded my chest at the same moment something deep inside me screamed with pain. My mate was here. Somewhere near enough for me to sense her.

Lies.

Deception.

Betrayal.

Mate.

I was still reeling, still breathing against the fire of rage when there was a massive clunk and the twin doors that filled that doorway arch beyond the bars began to swing outward.

I whirled, throwing the bread aside, cursing my body for feeling so shaky and weak, but bracing so that it wouldn’t show as the gap between the doors widened to reveal at least a dozen people.

The anteroom outside the door was dim, no windows or lanterns, but the light from the room was enough by which to see who stood there.

At the center, right at the front, a short, slim woman stood, dressed in finery the likes of which I had never seen. She wore a purple velvet cloak with a white fur trim that was clasped with a gold chain which draped across her collarbones.

Her dress under that was plainer—no embroidery or frill, but made from a fabric with such a lustrous sheen I instinctively didn’t want to touch it in case I marred it with my soldier’s hands.

Her chin was high so that she stared down her nose at me, though I was two feet taller than she was. There was a pretty circlet on her head, and a bright purple diadem hanging at the center of her forehead.

Unlike Yilan, her hair was curly and a warm brown, which was the first surprise. I’d thought all the Fetch were pale skinned with black hair and blue eyes, like Yilan and Turo.

But she was definitely Fetch. Of that I had no doubt.

I’d thought Yilan’s mannerisms were her own, but now it was clear that my mate was deeply Fetch.

As the Queen was revealed, so was the entourage behind her. Several women, also in deep cloaks, though with hoods high, a handful of guards with stern faces and spears at the ready. Then another line of men behind them—one of them was Turo—standing with feet apart and hands on the hilts of the swords at their waists.

And every single one of them reminded me of birds—trim, powerful bodies poised on the edge of movement even when they only stood there. They didn’t move, yet there was a feeling about them—as if they were only barely tethered to this world, and with one step, they could walk the wind.

Shadows, I reminded myself, grinding my teeth. They walk the shadows.

A memory rushed back to me, then. Yilan’s words.

“…I walk the shadows, I do not serve them. There is a huge difference.”

Was there?

The doors were drawn back, and the Queen drifted forward until she stood just outside arm’s reach from the bars.

As if I would be able to attack her through them.

Smart woman.

“Bow to the Queen, General,” a deep voice muttered from the back of the crowd. Turo, I thought.

I rolled my jaw, but reluctantly sketched a very shallow bow.

The Guards and other men shifted on their feet, clearly unhappy with my lack of respect, but they could all eat my shit.

The Queen, nose still high, let her eyes drag down my body—and for the first time, I considered my own clothing.

I was wearing a long, white shirt with loose sleeves, laced at the throat, hanging almost to my knees. But nothing else.

Her eyes scanned my shoulders, down my chest—did they hesitate at my crotch? I wasn’t sure, but smiled as if they had because it would piss her off—then down to my half-bared thighs, my calves, and feet.

I opened my arms. “Do you like what you see, your Majesty?” I asked in a sarcastic growl.

Her eyes snapped back up to my face and her lip twitched as if she wanted to sneer, but was stopping herself.

“Are you truly the General of the Nephilim, Melek Handras?”

I huffed. “I would say at your service, but it would be a lie.”

Her brows rose slightly, and I heard a muttered curse from behind her, but she raised one hand and no one spoke up.

“You are welcome here, Sir,” she said calmly.

I pointedly looked at the bars between us, then back to her. “I can tell.”

She arched one perfect brow and her lips pulled up on one side. “I am not certain you can be trusted. But… should you prove yourself honorable… you will be freed. Eventually. Now, ask your questions. I do not have much time.”

“Where am I?” I was certain I knew, but I wanted confirmation.

“The Shadekin welcome you to our Capitol—and to the Palace. You are my guest here.”

“Do you imprison all your guests?”

“When they have conquered a continent and killed a King? Yes,” she said simply.

I huffed and rubbed my mouth to cover the smile that wanted to come at the pointed look in her eyes. But I wouldn’t give in. And the most important question burned.

“Where is Yilan?”

“She is not far. And she will be allowed to visit you when it is safe. I asked to speak with you alone first.”

My blood ran cold. “If you have harmed her—” I snarled, starting towards the bars, and in a blink there was a twist in the shadows just beyond the light cast from my windows, and suddenly four men appeared—including Turo—swords bared and marching to stand between me and the Queen.

Turo locked eyes with me coldly. “You speak one threat and it will be the last word that ever passes your tongue,” he said calmly, but with great conviction.

I raised my hands to remind them that I was unarmed and on the other side of fucking bars, but the action raised the hem of my shirt and the Queen’s eyes dropped… then widened.

I smiled.

Turo’s gaze went flat. “Fucking pig.”

I tensed and so did he, but the Queen broke in. “Thank you, Turo. But let the General speak. Words cannot hurt me. While he is bested, imprisoned, and unarmed, it would be natural that his ego was… pricked,” she said with a hint of amusement dancing in her tone.

The Queen stepped forward and the men parted, but stayed at the front, holding their weapons.

She folded her arms under her breasts and tipped her head.

“I have not brought you here to kill you—unless you try to kill me,” she said.

“Then why?” Like I didn’t already know.

“Because I have been told that you are, at heart, a good man. That perhaps you even possess a soul—remarkable among your kind, you’ll agree.”

I growled, but she ignored me.

“Your personal reign of terror on the Continent ends now, but that doesn’t have to mean—”

“Thank you, Keely. I’ll take it from here.”

One of the women in the line behind her, face hidden in a deep hood, reached out for the Queen’s shoulder, and the Queen immediately stopped, turning to face her.

I frowned, instincts alert—but then she flipped her hood back and my heart sang.

Black hair.

Slanted eyes.

Full lips that wanted to smile.

And eyes that lit up when she lifted them to meet mine.

Yilan.