Page 31 of THE SOULBOND AND HER BELOVED (Beasts Of Wrath And Madness #4)

Chapter thirty-one

WRATH AND ANGER

“Many of you already know why we have gathered here today.”

Grand King Daemonikai stood at the center of the Court of Duty, hands clasped behind his back, face as hard as steel. “A week ago, we uncovered a truth that has shaken the very foundation of our kingdom, of our species. A betrayal, buried beneath centuries of ignorance and complacency, has come to light. One of our own— a grand ruler —committed the ultimate treachery. A sin so grave it has stained the legacy of our kind.”

The court was packed to its edges. Every tier of the vast amphitheater occupied. High Lords, lesser lords, clan chiefs, the eldest of their noble lines. None had dared to be absent. All eyes were on their grand king.

“Zaiper Thoryk Dragaxlov has disgraced this kingdom,” Daemonikai said, his voice unflinching, “He has tainted the Grand Throne and shamed the Dragaxlov name. His betrayal has cast dishonor upon his clan, upon the North, upon his people. And for his crimes, there shall be no refuge.”

His eyes met all corners of the assembly like a hammer striking stone. “The Oracle fell into a critical state before she could name all his accomplices. Even now, she fights for her life. But hear me and hear me well. Those who aided him in his heinous crimes—whether in the past or in the present—shall share his fate. They will be punished, and it will not be swift. It will not be merciful.”

Silence reigned like shadows at midnight.

His eyes burned with wrath, pressing into every soul in the room. “Any who dare keep silent should they see him, look away, feign ignorance, or let him slip through their fingers are no better than him, and they, too, will know a suffering worse than death. Zaiper Thoryk Dragaxlov is now a wanted male. As of this moment, a kingdom-wide manhunt has been declared. Wherever he is seen, he must be reported immediately.”

Many nodded their heads earnestly. Some murmured in agreement with one another.

“This decree will alter the course of our order,” Daemonikai went on. “But as it is written in our constitution, as it is decreed in the laws governing treason and crimes against the throne and our people, the Northern Clans will no longer hold the position of Rae’nille .”

Daemonikai glared at the Northern Clan chiefs and elders, daring opposition. “No clan that has birthed the greatest traitor of our kind shall stand as Second. The Northern Clans, ruled by the Dragaxlov bloodline, are hereby stripped of their former rank. From this day forward, they are no longer Rae’nille , but Foart’hile . The Western Clans, ruled by the Skyvakto bloodline, shall now rise to Second, and the Eastern Clans, under the Nocthrax family, shall ascend to Third.”

The northern delegation bowed their heads in sorrow and shame. Not a word was spoken.

Across the chamber, the Western and Eastern clans made no attempt to hide their satisfaction. They watched the fallen Northerners with open smugness—those who had long regarded all others as superior, prideful, and egoistic. On the dais, Grand Lord Vladya and Grand Lord Ottai watched their people in silence, without expression.

Daemonikai lifted his chin. “Are there any objections?”

“None, Your Majesty,” came the united reply. Voices from every tier answered, resolute.

Then, a throat cleared.

High Chief Yazaro, leader of the Northern Clans, rose. “Your Grace, we understand your decree and we accept your judgment.”

Daemonikai said nothing, waiting.

“But what will become of Zaiper Dragaxlov’s throne? He is the last of his bloodline. It cannot remain empty for long.”

“Perhaps this time, another family should take the throne,” the chief’s second added, rising too. “What Zaiper did was despicable. His name does not deserve to remain upon our throne any longer. I cast my vote that a new family ascend.”

There were nods. Murmured agreement.

“That might have been the case if Zaiper were truly the last of his line. But he is not,” the Grand King stated.

Shock swept through the court, murmurs rising like a growing wind, disbelief plain on every face.

“What do you mean, Your Grace?” High Chief Yazaro asked slowly.

“Many of you will remember Zaiper’s elder brother, Kristoff Kaelros Dragaxlov, the late General Commander of all our armies.”

Heads nodded, faintly at first, then with certainty. Kristoff’s legacy was well known and still honored.

“Over two millennia ago, Kristoff’s bondmate severed their bond, fleeing from the family without word or reason, while he was away at war. It was during one of our long battles against the vamp—the war that lasted ten years. When Kristoff returned, enraged and grief-stricken, he never sought her out. No one did." Daemonikai paused, letting the memory settle. “The Oracle told me, eight hundred years ago, before she entered the last deep sleep, something that has remained hidden until now. Kristoff had a son.”

Voices clashed, surprise and suspicion sparking into outright chaos. The Northern Clans erupted, many of their members clearly pleased by the revelation. But not all. The clan leaders' faces were irritated, eyes wary.

It was no secret many among them coveted the Northern Throne, believing the Dragaxlov line had run its course. Seeing it revived now was an unexpected blow.

While many, including Daemonikai himself, harbored deep animosities toward the Dragaxlov name, there was no denying their legacy. They were a legend—a lineage best suited to rule, far superior to any other clan.

“Neither Kristoff nor anyone in his bloodline knew of the child.” Daemonikai continued. “The Oracle confided in me, making me the second to know, in case she slept for a thousand years, and this knowledge was needed. Otherwise, I was sworn to silence. It was not my story to tell.”

The court finally went quiet again.

“Now, the Northern Throne is vacant, and a new Dragaxlov is needed. I will bring him to this court, and introduce him to all of you after I have paid him a visit to make sure he accepts the Northern Crown.” He looked toward the Northern Clan leaders. Some faces were pale; others glowed with grudging hope. “Until then, there will be no further discussions about the throne.”

***

“You’re not fully recovered enough to be going on a trip, my lady,” Nora said again, concerned.

“I told you, I’ll be fine.” Sinai packed the bag with everything she would need. At least my voice had returned.

“Fine,” her maid relented. “But perhaps I should inform one of the Grand Rulers that you are awake—”

“Don’t you dare,” Sinai hissed, whirling on her. “No one must know I am fully awake. No one must know anything until I’m out of this Citadel.” She pinned the girl in place with a hard look.

“Oh. Al-alright, Mistress.”

“Good. Now stop standing there like a statue and help me pack. After what I’ve been through, don’t you think I deserve some rest? A little time away from the kingdom for peace and relaxation?”

Nora nodded as she hurried to obey. “True, it’s a good idea. I only worry because you’re still undergoing treatment, and I wish for you to recover fully.”

Sinai rolled her eyes. Nora could be dramatic, but she had been a loyal personal maid for centuries. Still, no treatment was worth staying in this kingdom—not when discovery loomed over her like a sword at her throat.

Since opening her eyes three days ago, Sinai’s only thought had been to regain the strength in her legs and flee as far and fast as she could, before the investigation caught her scent.

It was still hard to believe the Oracle had revealed so much. Sinai had the stars to thank that the old crone had fallen into a critical state before she could speak Sinai’s name.

Frankly, considering the magnitude of what had come to light, it was a wonder the Oracle still lived at all.

“Should I pack your coin box?” Nora’s voice cut through her thoughts.

“Yes, pack all of them. Even the one I saved centuries ago. Get a larger box if you must.”

Nora turned, blinking at her in surprise. “But that is a great deal of coin, my mistress. Why would you need such a ridiculous amount for—”

“If you don’t want me to decorate your face with a dozen slaps, you’ll learn not to question me unnecessarily. Since when do you take liberties with me, Nora?”

Nora dipped her head and quickly turned away. “I-I apologize, Mistress. I’ll pack the coins right away.”

Sinai said nothing, watching her work with narrowed eyes. She didn’t know how long she would be gone. Perhaps years, perhaps forever. She needed enough wealth to live comfortably, and she would need every resource she could muster to search for Lord Zaiper.

She needed to find him. Just didn’t know if he would be in any of his hideouts or the secret caves.

Zaiper.

It was still difficult to believe that Razarr was dead. How was the lord coping with it?

For all his ruthlessness and wickedness, Sinai knew Zapier had cared for his head guard. Hell, they went back millennia.

Razarr had been the only one Zaiper kept by his side through every rise and fall, through every turn of the centuries. The only constant.

Sinai felt a bit of satisfaction at Razarr’s death. It was fitting that Zaiper should finally experience pain. After manipulating her into carrying out his schemes and leaving her to rot in a dungeon for months, it was only fair he should suffer.

Limping to the window, she suppressed a painful wince with each step. Below, soldiers swarmed the courtyard. The entire garrison of Greyrock had been arrested and subjected to investigation. The fortress was in chaos. I need to be gone before it all comes crashing down.

Now, as for what she was leaving behind... Her Daemon.

No. King Daemonikai.

For the first time in centuries, Sinai found no satisfaction in calling him hers . That male had nearly killed her.

She had only been awake for three days in the last two weeks, but the nightmares still came, dragging her back to that night... the longest night of her life.

The only reason Sinai had survived was because she’d forced herself to shift—using the last of her strength to take her beast form and hold it through most of the night. Her beast had taken the brunt of it, and even then, she had felt every harm, every tearing wound, every horror. When she finally woke again as a female, her body had borne the ruin of it.

A shudder wracked her. Her right arm was still broken, she was missing a toe, and the swelling along her jaw wasn't fully gone. The one time she found the courage to look in the mirror, three days past, a stranger had stared back at her—a female who looked as if she had fought four wild lions and lost. She hadn't done so again till today.

Is this what Emeriel went through?

Sinai refused to believe it. How had Emeriel survived? How had she remained so strong?

She could no longer deny the truth. Daemonikai would never be hers. And now, Sinai was certain she no longer wanted him to be.

At least Zaiper—dark and depraved as he was—still had his mind intact. Sinai had never thought to value something as simple as sanity in a male, but hey, better late than never.

Time to join hands with Zaiper fully.

“Make sure to pack my pickspin,” she said over her shoulder.

“Yes, Mistress.”

When the maid finished, Sinai turned to her. There was still one last thing to handle.

“Nora.”

“Mistress.”

“Listen closely. If anyone comes asking about me or demands to know where I am, you will tell them I went on a trip to relieve stress. Never , under any circumstances, reveal how much I packed for this journey or how desperate I was to leave. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress! I understand."

***

“We’ve been here three days, Your Highness. The Grand King’s elites are out looking for us—we’re being hunted like dogs. We cannot afford to stay in one place this long.” Kady’s voice came from the door.

“Close the door from the other side, Kady,” Zaiper growled.

Silence.

He heard no footsteps. No shift of weight upon the stones.

“Get out.”

Finally, movement. The faint scrape of boots. Then the low groan of the hinges as the door swung shut.

Zaiper opened his eyes, the familiar darkness greeting him. The small chamber was lightless again, just as he preferred it.

He closed his eyes once more.

Light brought reality, and reality was the last thing he wanted to face.

Perhaps if he stayed here, in this place where shadow masked all things, he could pretend. Just a little longer, he could pretend none of it had happened.

His secrets hadn't been dragged into the open, he hadn't lost his throne, and he wasn't the most wanted fugitive in all of Urai. He could pretend he wasn't skulking through caves and abandoned hovels like a lowlife thug, waiting for the cover of night to keep moving to his most fortified hideout.

Perhaps, in this dark, he could still believe Razarr was just beyond the door, waiting for his command.

He had not watched Razarr die. It was merely a trick of his mind—a cruel hallucination. A delusion conjured by exhaustion to toy with his cold heart, degrading him to be like all those weakling males who felt emotions for others.

Zaiper laughed when villages burned, smiled as younglings died, found humor in the shrieks of pregnant females as they bled out in childbirth. He was not one to feel these things.

So yes, the darkness could stay.

And when light finally came, Razarr would be there, silent and stoic in a corner, waiting on him.

Razarr was not dead.

He could not be.

So why, in all the blasted hells, is this filthy, makeshift pillow beneath my head damp with my tears once again?

***

High Lord Herodis’s mood significantly improved when he received word that Princess Emeriel awaited him in his study.

But as he pushed the door open with a smile on his face, a large, commanding figure leaned against his desk, shrinking the room around him.

Now that Herod thought on it, the message had only said he had a visitor from the Citadel.

“To what do I owe the honor of your presence, Your Grace?” Herod greeted, inclining his head in a deep, formal bow.

“Herodis,” Grand King Daemonikai straightened casually. “I came to speak with you. But I'm not here to address Herodis Duonavaar. I'm here to speak with Gustazlion Herodis Dragaxlov .”