Series: Lords of Rathe Series by Meagan Brandy
Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 98580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
I saw him in the hall. His shirt was wrinkled and untucked, like he spent the night fucking me from his system with some meaningless bitch and couldn’t be bothered to change. His eyes were black beneath too, likely from lack of sleep and some serious party favors of the royal, magical fucking kind. And again … a sex marathon.
Pressure falls on my chest at the thought, but I bite into my cheek to block it out. Glaring at his mark on my skin. His stamp.
His claiming of his mate before his rejection.
“Fuck you, Knight Deveraux,” I slur. “I’ll cut you from my skin my damn self.”
With that thought, I take the bottle in one hand and a wine corkscrew in the other.
Knight
Mother prepares to address the masses, the sky lighting as she appears within it as one giant live projection for her protection.
Her announcement is being aired across the realm; an emergency beacon having bloomed through the skies alerting everyone something was to come. The beacon hasn’t been used in centuries, so there’s no doubt our people wait on bated breath to hear what the Dark Queen has to say. Guaran-fucking-tee it’s about to be last thing they expected to hear tonight.
They probably think they’re here because of the continued attacks on the royal properties. The last having killed four Fae who weren’t even supposed to be at work that day but were called in last minute.
My brothers and I sit around the table together, watching through a mirrored monitor Creed conjured. It floats between us, the edges glowing a deep blue that will shift to red when she opens her mouth to speak.
Our people couldn’t be more wrong as to why they were called tonight, and Mother wastes no time. As always, she digs the knife in without hesitation.
“The King is dead.” She speaks with the strength of a Queen, holding it together for her people.
We stare in silence and tension crawls up my spine, knowing every home, layer, and fortress in these lands is just as quiet in this moment, her words no doubt sending a shockwave through the Gifted community.
“In the name of the demons who guard these walls, I promise you this person will be found and their execution a public one for all of us to enjoy.” Mother pauses as if there is a crowd below, and she can hear their cheers.
Sinner scoffs beside me, pouring each of us another round of laced scotch. “She loves this game, don’t she?”
I nod absentmindedly, watching the dark streets of Rathe, hoping the person responsible for our father's death will show himself.
“Let us not forget that our loss is also our gain.” Mother's hand lifts, outstretched to the galaxy above and I feel the frown building over my face.
Throwing his hand out, Creed flicks the screens away, and we watch as they turn into nothing but smoke that fades above us.
“What do you think she’ll say?” Sin wonders.
“What else can she say but the truth at this point?” Creed glares at nothing, fully fucking aware that’s the least likely option.
“She plans to kill her, doesn’t she?” Legend crosses his arms.
My heart clenches, but I stretch beyond it, forcing the feeling away.
“Pretty sure the Little Slasher was already supposed to be dead considering how she acted when Creed outed her in front of everyone,” Sin quips angrily. “Someone was sloppy when they should have just chopped her fucking head off like d—”
“Don’t,” I growl before I mean to, my nostrils flaring as I try to get a fucking grip.
I press the heels of my palms into my eyes and growl.
I don’t want to be the fucking King, and I sure as fuck don’t want some random at my side.
The problem? This is not a choice.
It’s the way.
It's what is and there is no changing that. And with our father dead, the little bit of time I would have had to come to terms with all this is no more.
I’m the next King of Darkness and in Rathe, a King cannot rule without his Queen.
As if that word alone conjured her, the tattered bond between us tugs.
I know the second she’s near, the stupid fucking bond I’m cursed with stirring with life, forcing me to tighten the chokehold I’m continuously forced to keep, but I’ve been doing it for days now, longer if you count all the times I fought her before I learned the truth.
It's weakening me. My gift unable to fully recharge because it’s in a constant state of use. My skin prickles and my insides burn, begging me to go to her, to touch and hold and fuck her, but fuck her and fuck this bond that thinks it’s in control. It’s not.
It will never be.
It can’t fucking be.
Forcing my eyes to stay focused forward, I ignore the bone crushing sensation to go to her and pretend I don’t notice the probing looks from my brothers.