Chapter 21 #3
Not quite an hour later, I’m scrubbed clean, smelling of honey and some kind of flower that I’ve never seen before, but its fiery orange petals were inlaid within the soap and smell divine, and dressed in a fresh tunic and trousers.
Someone had delivered my trunk while I’d bathed and though I debated on one of the finer dresses within it to meet the king, in the end I decided on what I felt most comfortable in.
If Dorian doesn’t like it, he can get fucked.
A knock on the door sounds and I open it to find Killian waiting, freshly bathed, hair still wet. He looks devastatingly handsome in a deep gray tunic and black leathers, his beard neat and trimmed. Soren joins me at the door, ready to depart.
“Are you ready? We can wait…”
“I want it done,” I tell him firmly. It’s time.
His jaw clenches at that, his body tense as if he’d rather eat glass and wash it down with lava than meet with the king.
Is he not as sure of the king’s amenability as he let on?
Is he worried what Dorian will do with me?
Or perhaps he’s worried that he’ll be punished for the two of us being together?
That cold dread in my stomach spreads through my body.
-Breathe, daska.- The cat pushes his head beneath my hand and the feel of his soft fur, his warmth, helps chase the cold away. -All will be well.-
-And if it isn’t?-
-Then my claws and fangs will taste blood this night.-
I look to Killian, lifting my chin defiantly and pressing my shoulders back, and despite the tension roiling off of him like waves in a thrashing sea, his lips curl into a smile.
“I’m ready.”
“You truly are a daska, Red,” he whispers, shaking his head.
“As you wish it.” I step out of the room and to my surprise, he reaches down and clasps my hand in his.
He raises our joined hands to his lips and kisses my knuckles, soft enough to make a slow shiver run down my spine.
I can feel Soren roll his eyes through our connection and I laugh.
Dessa is waiting at the bottom of one of the many staircases for us.
“How’s Mia?” I ask.
“Happy to be home,” she sighs with a smile. “She’s already been running through half the city with her friends.” My heart warms at that despite the cold slithering through the rest of my body. “Are you alright?” she whispers.
“No,” I tell her honestly and she huffs out a laugh. “But I need to do this.”
I see her bite her lip from the corner of my eye and everyone’s nerves aren’t helping with my own.
Dorian may not be as bad as the rumors would have me believe, but they are clearly afraid of him, or of how he’s going to react to this entire situation.
The trip to the throne room goes by in the blink of an eye and suddenly we’re standing before oversized black doors, the sigil of the kingdom inlaid in the center once more.
Frederick waits for us, and two more guards stand on either side of the doorway.
“I trust your room was to your liking?”
“Oh, yes, thank you.”
“Shall we?” He nods and the guards open the doors.
Federick steps inside and the rest of us follow in his wake.
I inhale sharply when I behold the throne at the other end of the long room.
It’s big enough to seat a man twice Killian’s size, carved from obsidian, the back made to look like the jagged, hulking mountains outside.
Two walls are made up entirely of glass, the expanse of the city sprawling out to the right of the massive throne, the dark mountains seeming to go on endlessly behind it.
We’re so high up that I feel as if we must be in the heavens themselves, the city below looking like a child’s toy.
A tendril of fear goes through me at the sight, but it’s also a bit exhilarating.
But none of that is what set my heart to racing, what makes my jaw drop in utter awe.
Curved protectively around the throne is a dragon.
Or the skeleton of one anyway. It’s fully intact though, so it’s as if the great beast truly stands just a few yards away.
It’s massive skull and front legs are on the left of the throne, staring out at whatever fool dares to enter this room and seek meeting with Dorian, the rest of the beast curving around behind the throne, it’s back legs and massive tail standing to the right.
I spy glinting silver within the bones and realize that iron has been welded to the skeleton in places to help it stand.
“Holy shit,” I breathe.
“We call him Dusty,” Killian whispers and a bark of nervous laughter bursts from my lips. Frederick glances over his shoulder, arching a bushy gray brow, but doesn’t comment.
My heart is beating so wildly that I think it might burst right through my bones, shattering them to dust by the time we stand just before the throne.
The still empty throne. There are several doors lining the walls, so I assume the king will emerge from one of them, preferring to make a grand entrance.
Frederick steps forward, walking the few remaining steps to the throne and stands beside it, turning back to face us, waiting.
Soren settles at my side and I dig my fingers into his fur again, letting him ground me.
Killian stands on my other side, Odessa to his left.
The Commander is taut as a bow string ready to snap, and my Gift coils within my chest, ready. Waiting.
And waiting.
And waiting some more.
Just as I’m about to ask Killian if someone should perhaps go and fetch the king, Frederick sighs and gives Killian a pointed look, quirking one gray brow and clearing his throat.
Killian lets out a long, long exhale, and then strides forward, shoulders back, spine ramrod straight. I watch, body cold, mind somehow racing and completely blank all at once, as he turns to face me….
And sits upon the throne.