Born To Rule

Chapter Twenty-Five

Itore through the heart of the crowd, determined to put distance between me and Sidelle. I couldn’t stand to listen to her any longer. Warning me off the journal as if I were an inexperienced novice. Then, to top it off, she practically purred at that little blue-eyed high-bitch and acted as if I were clueless about her and Eurok’s relationship.

Something told me she played it off as an effort not to seem hypocritical. But for fuck’s sake, Eurok was in love with her. He spent the last two centuries pining for her, selflessly serving her every whim, and she couldn’t even admit that she cared for him beyond their friendship. I meant what I said. She really didn’t deserve him. So why did I feel bad for saying it?

I found the edge of the crowd closest to the dais, where it would be easy for the king to spot me. Two women stood ahead of me. One with long straight blonde hair, the other with dark chocolate waves. Something struck me as oddly familiar about the brown-haired girl—then it hit me. My dream.

I reached forward, unsure what I was doing even as I did it. “Excuse me,” I said, tapping her shoulder.

She spun around in a startled whirl, her eyes narrowing in question—her very unfamiliar eyes.

“Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

They leaned in, whispering to one another like hens, then shuffled a few steps away.

I brushed off the odd encounter, and a pair of thin men clad in royal suits of crimson and gold stepped onto the dais. They raised brass trumpets to their lips, announcing the king’s arrival, and I winced at the horrendous, seagull-like squelching. The two women preened and hoisted their elevated breasts even higher, each of them flitting a glance at me as if in comparison. They likely hoped to garner a glimpse from the king.

Sorry ladies, unfortunately, he’s spoken for tonight.

That familiar scent of cinnamon and cedar filled my senses, and Balis’ warm mouth pressed close to my ear. Goosebumps peppered my skin, and I forgot where I was. Steeling myself against my quickening pulse, I squared my shoulders, fixated on the dais.

“If anyone can bring a king to his knees,” he purred, “it’s you in that dress.”

My heart skipped a beat, and the king sauntered onto the stage, his arms raised in an enthusiastic, charismatic welcome.

“I promise I’ll stay out of your way,” Balis whispered, “but you’re not leaving my sight.”

Gods, the tenor of his voice, the warmth of his breath on my neck, knotted and coiled low in my belly.

King Atreus stopped at the center, appraising the crowd of partygoers as an impossibly warm hand wrapped around the small of my waist. My lips formed a hard line, trying not to let his scent and proximity unhinge me.

“And if he harms you, princess,” a razor-sharp edge darkened his tone, “I’ll make him beg his light god for death.”

Then he was gone.

That distracting heat grew within my core. The urge to abandon my task consumed me with a vast desire to find those emerald eyes and admit I didn’t mean what I said earlier. Fuck, maybe even tell him to take me right here in this crowd. But I didn’t. I stood there, feigning disinterest. If the king looked this way, hopefully, my face conveyed that indifference and not the conflicting geyser of emotions blaring through my chest. In an effort to maintain composure, I forced my breath into a steady, calm pace.

King Atreus scanned the faces nearby. When his dark gaze landed on mine—it locked. My heart lurched into my throat, but I clenched my teeth and smiled at him, determined to stay in character.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I extend my sincerest gratitude for your esteemed company.” A dizzying amount of awe and adoration buzzed across the crowd. “As many of you are aware, I have exciting news I wish to share tonight.”

The two women shared a glance with small, excited squeals.

“It is my honor to announce we have discovered the cause of our declining populations.”

Cheers erupted in a deafening wave, threatening to shatter the glass ceiling.

“Due to the unfortunate decline in the health of our beloved river, it has been determined that the Ebbonharrow will not tolerate our human presence on these shores much longer.”

A few heads nodded while others whispered and murmured, as if hearing this for the first time. I thought back, certain I’d never heard of such a thing, even during my travels around Calrund. No one ever spoke of issues with their water. Declining populations and an increase of infertility, now that was a constant topic among humans.

“After much deliberation with my council,” he went on, “I have decided to initiate a commission for the construction of a new castle.”

The way he commanded the room was like watching the moon command the sea—effortless, confident. Despite my distaste, I could see what so many humans found attractive about him.

“In solidarity with our druid companions,” he said, “construction will begin within the Black Sand Calms territory of Vylandria, where land and river meet the Dead Calms Sea. A stronger port, a better city, will be born, ushering in a new era of prosperity, unity, and peace between our people.” Another uproar of cheers. “And what else should such a monumental leap be called but Port Carlisle?”

A great number seemed eager, but there was the occasional taken-aback, stilted smile. I searched for my companions, but none were within my line of sight.

The king clapped along with them, growing more excited by the moment, as if he were a bard entrancing them with his charm alone. “All of this was made possible by the newest High Witch of Vylandria,” he said. “Vitany Vitalis.”

He extended his hand toward her. She stood near center stage, and partygoers nearby stepped aside, clapping politely. She dipped into a small bow, her long, curly, teal hair tumbled over her sharp shoulders as she did. When she straightened, she wiggled her fingers in a bashful wave. I couldn’t help but want to gouge out those pretty little sapphire eyes. Snake.

My heart pounded against my ribs like a caged animal. Poachers, ash weapons, a new castle, and now he works with another high witch other than Sidelle? Something was definitely going on, and that journal could be the answer.

For a moment, I thought about how easy it would be if I had my dagger. I could burst onto that stage and slit the king’s throat in front of everyone. The metallic tang of blood teased my senses, as I imagined the spatter that would coat my face, the opulent room, and the elegant attire of everyone present, including Vitany. I could almost hear the screams, the rustle of silks and acrid panic–

As pleasing as the thought was, this wasn’t a problem a dagger could solve. I was the weapon tonight.

I learned over the years that a woman could serve as both a man’s salvation and his undoing. And tonight, I intended to embody the latter. I’d find that surreptitious thread and tug until every one of his malicious dealings unraveled. I may not be Annorah, but I could still be someone of importance.

This sudden onslaught of purpose still felt strange to me, foreign. But I was done denying I wanted to be here, determined to make a difference. I wanted to end the pain and violence the Dogu suffered—that Eurok suffered at my hands when I killed his best friend.

And then there was Balis.

A tightness grew in my throat. He relinquished his greatest chance at becoming a commander, just to be here to train me.

We survived nearly a thousand years without Annorah, but I’m not so sure we’ll survive another thousand without you.

The King clapped his vizor on the shoulder, another man whose throat I’d like to slit, then directed him toward me. I said a silent prayer to any god willing to listen. Erezos, Empress, whoever, bless me.

Sidelle materialized beside me, a rigid force as she positioned herself between me and King Atreus. Her face was a stone carving of contempt.

“Are you okay?” I asked in a clipped, wary tone.

“The outrageous nerve it takes to name a new city after the man whose life you watched slip away as you ordered his daughter’s head at your feet—whose kingdom you ravage under an undeserved title.”

Her words weren’t meant for me, but they stirred something in me, nonetheless. While she ranted, I maintained a deadpan expression, my gaze fixed beyond her, fully aware of the king’s watchful leer.

“That’s the vizor?” I asked.

Despite the man’s limping gait, he followed the king with an air of confidence. I scanned the vizor’s pointed, unkind features for any sense of recognition, but found none.

Sidelle peered over her shoulder, then back at me. “Yes. We’ll deal with him later. This changes nothing,” she said, as if she could read my mind. “Find the journal if you can, but please, Mira, be safe.”

The trepidation in her voice rippled like waves beneath a rowboat. Her concern was another blow to that sturdy wall I hid behind. My jaw set as I drew in a long, deep breath. I tucked my hatred for the men walking toward us away in a neat little compartment, forcing it back into the catacombs of my mind. I locked eyes with the king.

“Sidelle, I’m so glad you made it.” The king took her hand and kissed it in a surprisingly warm greeting. A few haphazard dark curls fell forward to rest on his forehead when he stood straight again, and he flicked his head to cast them back in place.

Something about him felt younger, less encumbered, than when we first met, and I wondered how much of this was the real Atreus. Or was he still riding the high of his adoring crowd?

“You remember my vizor, Marcus? He will be overseeing the project in Vylandria.”

“Yes, Marcus,” her polite grin was potent, “I am pleased to meet the man willing to take on such a daunting task.”

Marcus looked down his nose at her, and bile rose in my throat like venom. I wanted to spew it into his eyes. He gave her a tight nod, then turned to the king and excused himself from the conversation.

“Always the talker, Marcus,” the king jested. His attention pulled over Sidelle’s head, sampling the crowd. He waved at someone and mouthed a greeting.

“Indeed.”

She cleared her throat and straightened herself, shaking off the disrespect with an air of poise and grace I would be hard-pressed to mimic.

“Speaking of,” he said, “I hear you’re having difficulties of your own with this one.” A placating smile lifted the corners of his full lips as his wandering gaze settled on me. “It’s nice to see you again, Mira. You’ve been giving Sidelle a bit of trouble?”

I steadied my breath and plastered a confident grin on my face. “What can I say, Your Majesty? I don’t suffer fools lightly.”

I put on a show of contempt, pasting on a mocking sneer. The witch played along, releasing an exasperated sigh with arms crossed tight.

The king laughed. “My, my, aren’t we feisty?”

She stepped closer to converse privately with him. His eyes flickered to her chest for a fraction of a second before checking those nearby, as if making sure no one witnessed his proximity to her.

“If you don’t mind, Atreus,” she whispered, “I think hearing from you as to why it is so important she receives our training–”

“I’m right here, witch,” I snarled.

“I understand perfectly.” King Atreus took his time running his sleazy stare down my body, unapologetically pausing at my cleavage. He rolled his lips, straightened from Sidelle at his ear, and moved closer, placing a hand on the small of my back, leading me away.

Our slow pace led us along the outline of the ball beneath the balcony. The time passed with idle chatter about things like our travels from Raven Ridge and what I missed about Calrund while living in Vylandria. It was a short list.

When we approached the door to his council chamber, my heart pounded against my ribs despite my better mind asserting it wouldn’t be that easy. Sure enough, we walked by. I fought the temptation to look at it and kept my eyes drifting between his face, the floor, and the patrons waltzing on the dancefloor.

“I’m surprised you accepted my invitation,” he said in a conversational tone.

“Forgive me, but I didn’t want to at first.”

“Oh?”

His brows rose, but he seemed neither offended nor angered by this. Instead, he appeared to be intrigued by my honesty. Ironic, because it was about the only honest thing he would hear from me tonight.

“I was worried you still suspected me to be connected to your sister.” I took my first steps out onto that thin ice, waiting to hear if I should tread lightly forward or retreat to safer ground.

“Sidelle told you.” It wasn’t a question.

I nodded. “The witch also divulged the true crimes of the man I hunted down for you.”

A tedious question sat unsaid behind his eyes. I paused, hoping he would ask something that I could use, something from which I could give a like-minded answer while allowing him to steer the conversation. That was one way I convinced many enemies I was on their side. People were more willing to trust if they believed they were in control, that they pulled the answers from you. But he said nothing.

In fact, he’d been choosing his words carefully so far. I assumed it was his attempt to feel me out to see where my allegiances lie. Which meant he may be pulling the same shit on me as I was him, using my own trick against me. Rather than fight against it, I’d do better to use it to my advantage.

“After hearing that, I was eager to meet you again, under… better circumstances.” I braved a wry smile.

To my relief, he returned it. I dropped my eyes, feigning self-consciousness, giving him another false sense of control. He was smart, so I would have to be smarter.

The skepticism didn’t entirely leave his face, but he warmed. “Am I to believe you are not a fan of your druid companions?”

Good, a question I can work with.I scoffed, shaking my head as I feigned a sip of champagne. “Companions. I’ve never been more proud to be human.”

His laughter was genuine, and his shoulders relaxed a fraction.

“These druids, the way they live, are so… primitive.” My nose wrinkled. “They rely so heavily on their magic that they lack vision.”

His dark brow quirked. “Vision?”

“Yes, vision. Those people are afraid of change. They’ve been doing the same thing for centuries, blind to any other possibilities.”

My intent to appeal to one of the most human of all instincts, progress, piqued his interest. His appreciation for my indignance toward the druids was evident. His gaze canvassed my curves with a hunger akin to a vulture scouting its next meal, and I knew we were getting somewhere.

I dropped my eyes and dredged up a coy flush to my cheeks. “You, though—you realize the potential for improvement. Hence this castle you’ve commissioned. I can’t wait to see it.” My gods, I was going to make myself puke.

As I spoke, the distance between us shrank. He stood so close that bystanders were beginning to stare.

“Come,” he lifted his head, “I’d like for you to accompany me this evening.”

“Your Majesty, as flattering as that is, my feet are killing me. Perhaps there is someplace private we can continue our conversation.”

That might’ve been too bold. He stopped and eyed me, looking first at my heels, hidden beneath a pool of black silk and lace, then to my cleavage, covered in the same sheer fabric that ran down my sides. I made my seamstress cry this afternoon, insisting on absolute perfection during alterations, but it was worth it. I looked incredible.

A silent war waged in his head, stuck between getting me alone and showing me off—the latter unfortunately winning. “I can’t disappear this early into my arrival, but,” he scanned the party, “Sidelle!” he called.

Moments later, she wove her way through the dense crowd. He made no move to meet her halfway, so neither did I.

She inclined her head in the smallest show of respect. “My Lord?”

“Be a dear and heal poor Mira’s feet. I’d like her to join me for the rest of the evening.”

“Your Majesty, please. I don’t want help from magic,” I said. A complete lie. My feet ached as if I’d been navigating a rocky shoreline barefoot. I’d sooner cut them off than spend the rest of the night walking around on them.

The king leaned close. “Dislike them all you want—you might as well reap the benefits while you can.”

A chill spider-walked across my skin as his words breezed against my neck. While you can?

I smiled in surrender, despite my stomach turning to stone. Sidelle, to her credit, masked her contempt with expert precision. None of the razor-sharp fury I knew sliced at her from within was detectable. She did as she was asked and lifted her hands in a silent, beckoning motion. The discomfort in the balls of my feet vanished, making it seem as though I were walking on air. I gave her a tepid nod, and the king grasped my hand.

“Come, let’s mingle.” A suggestive smile curved his mouth. “Then we can get to know one another a bit better.”

The party’s constant chatter grated against my ears. And as the night went on, the more nauseating the reek of alcohol became on everyone’s breath.

King Atreus, though, hardly drank a sip. It was a minor disappointment considering how much easier it was to wear a drunk man down than a sober one, but I was pleased with how quickly he took to my company, regardless. He did, however, continue feeding me drink after drink, which meant pretending to be as drunk as a cock-hungry lush, hugging up on his arm, and feigning a stumble here and there in my tall heels. In reality, I enjoyed the first two flutes he placed in my hand. By the third, I requested he show me through the gardens, then dumped them into the bushes.

A young servant wandered into the plaza with a tray of neatly prepared finger foods. I chose one that resembled raw fish topped with a creamy dollop and a dill garnish, all on a dark-grained cracker. After my first bite, I had to refrain from asking the boy to leave the tray.

“So why try to kill Sidelle?” the king asked.

“Killing her wasn’t my intent,” I stated matter-of-factly, dusting my hands off after finishing the finger food. “I was simply proving a point that blades, when wielded skillfully, are just as lethal as any druid’s ax. The last thing I wanted was those brutish cock-stains teaching me anything.”

He let out an amused chuckle.

“I, uh, I apologize for my colorful language, Your Majesty.” I feigned a blush.

“Nonsense,” he said. “You’re an impressive woman—and call me Atreus.”

I averted my gaze, not finding pleasure in the captivating effect of his attractive smile. “No, I couldn’t do that.”

“Yes, you can.”

He placed a hand on my knee. A slight shock of discomfort spread through my body, and I had to remind myself that this was good. At least he’s buying it. I cleared my throat, sensing his intention to move closer, but for a flicker of a moment, I thought I heard a low guttural growl from the bushes.

After I sighed a deep breath, I pushed the worry away, unwilling to let a possessive, hypocritical druid impede on my work. I settled my palm on top of his touch. Okay, that was definitely a growl.

“So you were saying?” Atreus asked. His thumb traced slow circles against my skin.

I took a real sip of champagne this time.

“Right—having worked with these feral beasts,” pun intended, “I see now why you wanted me trained in their combat. While their ways are… primitive, their fighting skills are of an elite caliber.”

The words tasted like literal acid as they left my mouth. Speaking this way about my friends to this man felt as if I rotted from the inside out. I feared the disparity between my voice and my genuine emotions would be as glaring as an oil slick on a watery surface.

A group wandered into the plaza and politely, if not a little sloppily, greeted the king with raised glasses—a jovial thanks for their pleasant evening. Atreus pushed to stand, bidding his farewells to the guests. I stood beside him, swiping the wrinkles out of the flawless fabric of my gown. He pressed his hand to the lowest part of my waist and waved a final goodbye. Then he turned to me, the last remnants of a grin on his cheeks.

What if this was the real Atreus? Here, at this very moment? A man capable of reason if he had someone to help him discover it. He seemed almost boyish, the outline of his face illuminated by the light reaching out from the castle windows. He looked young, like me. Nowhere near the nine hundred years I knew him to be. I searched for a glimpse of age in his oaken eyes, but found nothing. Not the way I could when appraising Sidelle. He felt so… human.

The faint chatter of people filing out of the great hall drifted across the plaza. Our lingering gaze broke, snapping me back to my senses. His only interest lay within the hatred he believed we shared for the Vylandrians. Males, females, children—their bodies piled on top of one another flashed to mind, left to rot because of this man’s hatred. There was no good there. Only a deceptive monster in need of slaying.

I slipped my hand into his, a bold move, but the ball was ending sooner than I thought. My window was closing. Balis’ quiet warning, an irritated chuff from the bushes, had me straining against tight cheeks to keep the smile from my face. Easy boy. I’ve got this.

“Is the party over?” I asked, sure to dust the words with the perfect amount of disappointment.

His eyes dropped to our hands, and doubt chilled my gut, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers laced with mine.

“Not if you don’t want it to be,” he said. Another deceptive, albeit attractive, smirk graced his lips.

I flashed him a dazzling smile of my own. “I’m not ready for this night to end just yet.”

He squared himself on me, lifting a hand to trail the back of his finger along my jaw. “I’d like to kiss you,” a conflicted crease settled between his brows, “but I worry you might find it too forward of me.”

“Would it be too forward of me if I said I want you to?”

His smile reached his eyes, and in a blink, his lips were on mine—soft and surprisingly gentle. As his tongue traced that delicate spot beneath my ear, he took my ass in his hands. Balis’ glare bore into the back of my head. His rage was palpable, hidden behind that thin shield of brown and green hedging.

More partygoers filtered into the gardens, and I thought Atreus might pull away, but he didn’t. He settled one hand firmly at the nape of my neck, while the other roved between the curve of my hips, down to my ass again, gripping a handful tight. I moved with him, matching his intensity, and kept a solid foot in reality, firmly expecting Balis to snap at any moment. But our kiss wasn’t severed by the maw of a black, predatory beast. It was the bright streaks of familiar blue-white lightning that filled the sky overhead. Sidelle.

Atreus started at the loud crack and tipped his face toward the darkness above. “Seems like there’s a storm blowing in,” he said.

“Maybe we should move inside?” My breathy words had the perfect amount of desperation. “Take me someplace we can be alone.”

His eyes heated, and he didn’t hesitate. How easily his judgment was clouded. He led me toward the castle’s entrance. A burst of success flooded my veins, but was short-lived. Instead of taking me inside, he tucked us into a covered alcove just off the main path, out of sight. Damn it.

He pressed my back against the stone wall. His hands moved over the tight fabric of my dress in great sweeping strokes, down my waist, over my breasts, and up to cup the sides of my neck.

My mind wandered to Balis. Could he still see us? Truthfully, I hoped he couldn’t. Nausea curdled my gut at the thought of him watching from the shadows. Seeing my body molded to the king’s like plaster casting to a sculpture, my dress inching up my legs with every broad stroke of his hands. The force of his cock pressed against my middle through his trousers.

As if an answer to my prayers, a gust of wind hurled itself around us like a monsoon, drowning out all sound with its wailing howl. It echoed off the alcove walls, kicking up dust and whipping my hair over our faces in stinging angry bites. Atreus pulled me away from the wall to shield me from the gales. Something told me this wasn’t some rogue gust of wind. It felt intentional, familiar, not unlike the winds that dried me on the first night I left Raven Ridge.

Balis.

“What the fuck?” Atreus ground out. His fingers enclosed around my wrist, leading us inside, his eyes wild, like he couldn’t get me alone fast enough.

I eagerly waited for him to make a decision and prayed to whatever god was on my side tonight that he’d choose his council chamber.

He didn’t.