Page 45 of Wrath of the Dragons (Fear the Flames #2)

Chapter Thirty-two

Cayden

By the time we make it to the wealthiest part of Vareveth a mob of townspeople and soldiers follow in the shadows of Elowen’s dragons.

All the lords live on large estates outside the city limits, but I sent a battalion of soldiers ahead to escort the remaining lords and their heirs to an open field along the main road that winds for miles through the countryside.

Elowen’s plan worked. It seems the citizens are more bloodthirsty than either of us, shouting insults and calling for heads as I slide down from my horse and unlock Xantheus’s cage.

I grip his heavy chains in my fist, dodging his spit, and yank him forward for all the other lords to see.

“No, wait!” he cries out, losing all trace of the brief spark of rebellion. “I didn’t think anything of the letter. I would have brought it to you had I known.”

I continue dragging him behind me as he collapses, muddying his fine clothes as he descends into hysterics.

The sharp tang of urine infiltrates my senses, and I don’t hide my revulsion as I look down at him.

Sorin lands and leans close to the ground so Elowen is able to slide off, but he doesn’t return to the skies where the others circle.

He keeps his head low as he bares his fangs, placing his front claws on either side of Elowen.

I hold up my hand to silence the crowd before speaking.

“Lords of Vareveth, I bring forth a traitor in your midst. He had written information from an enemy that he did not reveal. Had I not been forewarned, countless Vareveth lives could’ve been lost.” The crowd is in an uproar again, calling for his death as Xantheus begs his friends for aid. “Who is his heir?”

“I am, sire.” A man who looks to be around my age steps forward and drops to his knee. His clothes are simpler than his father’s but extravagant nonetheless. “I renew my oath to the crown and denounce my father for his crimes. You are the one true king of Vareveth by right of conquest.”

“You are no son of mine,” Xantheus sneers.

His son slowly looks up, disgust written on his features. “Thank the gods for that.”

I nod, accepting his renewed oath. He stands, offering a bow to Elowen before taking his place beside a heavily pregnant woman I assume is his wife, resting a hand on her stomach to soothe her.

She looks close to tears as she grasps the lapels of his coat.

I don’t care if he renewed his oath out of true loyalty to Vareveth or hatred for his father.

His emotions matter little as long as his promise is kept, but I’d respect him more if he renewed the oath in order to see his child growup.

“Take her home, Lord…”

“Sillas, my king.” He gives me a grateful nod, and his wife smiles timidly.

I watch as he presses a hand into her back and escorts her into a carriage.

A small part of me envies the fact that they’ll go home to their normal life.

That Sillas won’t have to take his wife to war.

My path was determined years before I met Elowen, when I had nothing to lose, and now I must fight for a life I’m not willing to sacrifice.

“I sentence Lord Xantheus to die for his crimes, along with Lord Caspian for his complicity. Lord Drystan met his end within my castle for threats levied against your queen.” Ryder ushers Caspian forward while Finnian drags Drystan’s corpse, discarding him in the grass without a care.

The lords in front of me wisely remain silent as I unsheathe the knife from my thigh and turn to Xantheus, forcing his mouth open by pressing my fingers into his cheeks.

“I told you to keep my woman’s name out of your fucking mouth.

” I slice his tongue out, letting the piece of flesh thump on the grass and use his hair to keep him in place as he flails and cries out.

I tighten my hold, imagining the things he said about Elowen that Ryder wouldn’t repeat.

She told me enough but couldn’t get through it all without disgust overtaking her.

I don’t have to know everything; I just have to remove him from this world as punishment.

“The gods have let you live long enough, and I’m here to remedy their mistake. ”

I slice his neck, spraying my boots with blood and stepping out of the way to toss him down as he chokes. The cut wasn’t deep enough to kill him instantly. That would be too easy. I want him to suffer. Keeping my bloody knife in my hand, I execute Caspian as I walk past.

Elowen steps over Lord Xantheus’s body as if he’s no more than a fallen branch and addresses the onlooking nobility. “Renew your oaths to the crown or refuse and die.”

Six of the remaining nine lords and heirs fall to their knees, some looking happier than others.

I’ll continue to monitor the situation, but there’s no sense in killing all of them.

Lord Caspian’s son bends the knee, declaring his loyalty, but Drystan’s son remains standing despite shaking worse than his father did.

“Round them up,” Elowen orders some of our soldiers.

They react instantly, separating the traitors from their families.

Most of whom are stone-faced as they bend their knees, watching their patriarchs be escorted to an empty section of the field.

Elowen’s eyes glow gold as Sorin’s flames engulf them.

Piercing screams echo throughout the surrounding area until they fall silent, leaving behind scorched grass and the smell of burning flesh.

Sorin cranes his head in the direction of those kneeling before us, letting out an earth rumbling roar that causes them to cower and pull their loved ones closer. Once he’s satisfied by their terror, he looks to Elowen once and rejoins the others in the sky.

“It’s a better result than I’d hoped,” Elowen remarks.

“A large dragon certainly helps.”

Elowen’s eyes shine whenever she looks at them, like they’re the most precious things in the world. “That they do.”

The image of Lord Sillas and his wife being able to flee and live a normal life is still stuck in my mind, and a burning sensation floods my chest. I could never let the crimes committed against Elowen go unpunished.

I will have my vengeance for the scars carved into her mind and wrists.

The inevitable has surrounded us from the moment we met, but I need to take control of this narrative before other kingdoms try to make it a weakness.

I turn toward the crowd of citizens and soldiers who followed us from Verendus, ready to address them despite not being one for speeches. My victories have always spoken for themselves, but as king, I need to do more.

Anything I’ve needed to say has been communicated through blood and blades, but that was when all I worried about was myself.

Not because I had some grand life planned or the vision of a future, but because I fueled myself with hatred and used it as a life source.

Things are different now…for the first time in my life, I want a future.

I don’t really know what it looks like, but Elowen is there and I’m uninterested in any version of reality without her in it.

I turn toward the crowd, raising my voice above the demand for more blood.

“You want blood? Turn your swords on Imirath, not those within our kingdom. Weakening Vareveth will do nothing but give Garrick Atarah what he wants.” Swords are unsheathed and raised above the crowd.

“You do not yield! You do not falter! You show no mercy and place your queen on Imirath’s throne!

” I unsheathe my blade to mirror their actions. “To war!”

“To war!” the crowd echoes at a deafening volume.