Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Kong
I stand with my back to her door; my arms crossed over my chest. The soft glow of the mounted lamps cast golden dots on the purple walls. This could be her life. Here.
With me.
She has come so far in less than a week. That place, The Estate, is poison to her heart, every wall, every door, has memories and fear embedded into its inanimate essence. Bled is right; she should stay here.
But to convince Rome…
Blunt approaches, his footsteps a steady rhythm. His face is etched with duty as he stops before me.
"A tank has just pulled into the first gate of the Lower-tower," he announces, his voice a low murmur, barely concealing his sense of urgency.
I stare at him, my mind racing.
Has Rome changed his mind? Is he coming to celebrate his sister's birthday? What about Aster? Did he bring her?
A flicker of discomfort ignites within me, tension mounting through my chest. If he is here, I'll have to withdraw from my little queen.
We haven't had an opportunity to fully discuss this new intimacy between us.
Can we hide it? As strong-willed as I am, it will take every inch of my resolve not to bark and roar my claim to her.
I'd like to think she would understand my need to appear stoic, but I know her.
She's so fragile, so susceptible to rejection and abandonment.
I'll need to say the words: 'no matter how I behave in front of Rome, I'm yours, I'm here. I choose you.’
"Does Lord Bled know?" I maintain a veneer of duty and order.
"Yes," Blunt confirms, his voice and gaze steady. He looks straight ahead at my chin, not up into my eyes.
I search his expression, noting the bruising around his lower left eye from my fist. “I apologise for the eye,” I say.
“No need, Kong.”
I like a man without an ego. "Stand by her door," I instruct, my words firm. He nods, our understanding silent but clear.
Discomfort coils within me as I stride down the corridor, my gait steady and serious.
My little queen has a fragile heart, as delicate as the glass and synthesised florals lining the corridor.
As I reach the open double doors at the front of the Hall, the tank is already grinding into the heart of the tower.
Bled's men stand in crisp formation, ready to greet the king with the deference his presence commands.
My gaze cuts across the sparse number of men awaiting his arrival.
Something is… off. There is no CR Guard, no crowds of adoring Lower-tower citizens—this is not how the king usually enters a tower.
I wait to hear his giant pet eagle, Odio—a screech or sign—but nothing comes from the red skies above.
Looking across the outdoor canopies and terrace, I search the entrance and alleyways. They are blocked off and barricaded, keeping residents of the tower back beyond view.
I straighten on the top step, ready to greet the king. But as the tank's hatch hisses open, dread hammers me.
The Trade Master steps out in his signature purple robe, his presence formidable and smooth, like a snake.
Following him are Trade Officials bearing his sigil—a clenched fist. These men in robes do not speak to anyone outside their Collective, not the king, not the Guard, only Cairo.
A chill sweeps through me, visceral and undeniable.
My blood runs cold, as if every drop has turned to ice within my veins.
Fuck him.
I despised him before with every inch of my being, but after breaking that boundary with her, being with her, holding her, I am consumed by my hatred.
Her enemies are mine.
Her peace is mine to ensure.
His arrival here signifies more than a political standing—it’s a threat to her precious mind, to the delicate stability she clings to with every ounce of her being.
Without moving, I watch as The Trade Master takes the steps just as Lord Bled strides from inside to greet him. They shake hands, conversing in a friendly and attuned way that causes me to growl.
I try not to stare but listen—distance makes their words near-impossible to hear. What does he want? How close is his chamber to the royal wing? I need answers so I can keep her safe, but not to rouse suspicion…
Fuck.
I’m going to have to be far more guarded with this serpent twisting down the corridors at his leisure.
I can’t approach him. I’m not a lord, nor do I have any business with the Trade Master.
Despite my building unease, I can’t react.
It’s one thing to go into his chamber in private, in a Hall that we both reside in, but it is another thing to approach him in public, surrounded by Lord Bled’s personnel.
I once said that I’m not hot-headed enough to threaten him in public. That stands. Even as my pulse thunders between my ears with the need to choke the life from him. I fist my hands and straighten in what a casual observer might consider a respectful stance.
Respect for the Trade Master.
Prick.