Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Kong
Steadily, I stride down the purple-painted corridor, away from the press of eager eyes, with her cradled against me. Legs flopped over my forearms. Head swaying on my chest. I don’t wait for her Army, barely recognise anything outside of her quivering in my possessive hold.
She’s lost.
I will find her.
As I stride to her suite, the events leading up to her breakdown carve through my mind. She was fine—strong.
And just like that, a haze seemed to blanket her. Her eyes were darting from left to right; her head tilted as if listening. I couldn’t hear anything, but she could.
Then, she disappeared inside her own gaze, expression falling, detached.
Fuck. What happened? A growl of helplessness rumbles through me, but she doesn’t respond. Too vacant, so lost. I failed her. What did I miss?
What fucking happened?
I need to be closer to her, be crueller to citizens, invoke fear, be so fucking terrifying people don’t approach her. I need to take her away from all this, risk it all, do whatever is needed to keep her safe—sane. Strong.
I owe it to her.
You failed her.
Volatility churns inside me as I enter her room, and kick it shut just as her ladies rush to the door, expressions frantic.
“My queen!” Essen shouts through the door. “Kong, open this door!” Her fists thunder on the wood, a beat that matches the tempo of rage and possessiveness inside me. Mine. Fuck me. I have said it before, felt it like fire and ice, but now I take no rational argument, no rebuttal. She. Is. Mine.
The rapping at the door suddenly stops, and a soothing male voice sails through the wood. Bled is speaking to them.
As I lay my little queen on the bed like a doll—eyes open but blank—her body unfurls onto the mattress, lifeless and lost. My heart fucking twists, so visceral I feel my soul bleeding.
“I will take it from here. Go back to your rooms. She will be fine.”
I hear Bled’s level voice as he steps into her suite, closes the door behind him and stills.
As my little queen breathes heavily, unmoving, the scent of oranges and her lifting to my nostrils, I don’t respond to Bled.
The world narrows. I drop to my knees at her side, keel over and cup my forehead on the mattress beside her body. I heave into my hands.
What do I do?
Think. Think.
I growl. “Fucking think!”
She froze on the throne, her essence parting from her eyes, her strength peeling away, not replaced by fear—by nothing.
After decades of fighting her own mind, growing in assurance, within the blink of an eye, she gave up. Why?
"We need to speak,” Bled says after several long moments of heavy silence.
Exhaling roughly, I clasp my hands at my chin and stare at her beautiful face—eyes soft, long lashes fanning over her vacant gaze. She suddenly shifts, turning to her side and closing her eyes. Fuck. That’s a good sign.
I rise to my feet, and walk to the door, adding distance that sends ripples of discomfort through me.
“Rome will receive word of what has happened.” I hear the regret in Bled’s tone. “The CR Guard will be on his way to the Connect Tower to inform him. The king will order you to bring her home immediately. You know this?”
"Dammit, Rome,” I mutter. There is a Trade Connect Building in every tower. Typically, that is the only way to send messages across The Cradle immediately, through a singular copper line. We keep this to a minimum. It is highly centralised by The Trade.
He adds, "You can’t fault Rome for wanting her close. He loves her.”
"I know he thinks he can care for her, but he's wrong.” There is a violent rumble in my voice that threatens to dismember anyone who argues. “Look how far she has come in five days away from there."
"I've never seen her like this.” Bled sounds fucking heartbroken. “Essen has been my eyes and ears, feeding me details about her life for years. Is this normal?”
“No.” I look over at her, golden strands winged out around her lovely body. I should undress her, but don’t know where she is or how she’ll respond if she suddenly comes-to. “She usually regresses—” I stop myself. “It is nothing like this.”
"I heard something just before it happened,” Bled says, and icy fury drips down my spine. “A ringing of sorts, and lights were flashing. I didn’t organise any of this. I thought it was a fault with the wiring.”
Cairo.
What did he do?
And why?
“What was he doing here, boy?” I ask, the threat in my tone stirs through the room.
“Meeting with Trade personnel from the Compound,” Bled says. “I was not informed of his visit until he was literally at my gates, Kong. I swear it to you.”
I frown. “The compound?”
“Where they raise the Shadows.”
Fuck. No one goes into those meetings, not even the king.
The king rules The Cradle as a protector, warlord, monarch—figurehead.
But the Trade Master manages The Trade. Modes of production, resources, intellectuals in the desert throwing signals out to the skies in search of satellites—all technology is centralised.
Not only does The Trade control all of this, but it also embodies a spiritual concept that shackles people’s souls.
“He did something,” I say, more to myself. What could he possibly achieve by tormenting her in the eyes of the citizens when the idea of her, of her perfection, is a Trade design? It makes little sense.
Is he trying to embarrass her?
All these thoughts and questions hammer into my skull, but only one truth remains. “She will never be safe as long as he is alive,” I state, my tone holding a conviction that feeds my inner creature.
Bled shifts with nervous energy. "What you speak of can't be done."
I feel completely irrational, and somehow, entirely steadfast. "Trade Masters die every generation, and nothing happens."
"Of natural causes," he points out.
"Yes, natural causes."
"Kong,” he warns, dragging my name with concern. “We all die if the Shadows are activated. All of us. Let’s stick to the original plan and have her live here. He will not visit oft—”
“Look what one visit did to her. That prick did something to my queen. I saw it. I saw her eyes flicking from side to side.” I stare at her, not really concerned about anyone else in this moment.
"How are the Shadows activated? Do you know?” I bite out, angry.
“Is it after a coroner's analysis? A trigger in his brain? How are they activated?”
Does anyone know?
A member of his personnel?
Someone fucking knows!
He exhales hard. "I don’t know."
"Hm,” I huff, derisive.
"Kong,” he cautions again, an entire conversation laced around that one word.
I frown. "I couldn't help her before because she wasn't ready.” My eyes drag down to watch her chest softly rise and fall, almost peaceful.
Catatonic. “She was ready yesterday. I saw it.
And I'm ready. Rome is a good man; I’ve done my part.
He has heirs. They will protect her. Now, I need to die for her. "
The silence my dark, unwavering declaration creates is fierce; even the room seems to sweat. Lord Bled says nothing for a while; words will not change my mind nor lift her from her haze.
“Then we will all die," Bled finally acknowledges.
"You owe her, boy. You grew up with that sweet girl.
You said so yourself. You owe her!" I rumble, unable to tear my gaze from the beautiful woman on the mattress.
“Do you know what they did to her?” I ask darkly.
“How they cut her womb out and placed it in a vase? How they peeled her skin over and over to stop her from aging?”
“Why didn’t she tell Rome?”
“I don’t know. I do know they used electroconvulsive therapy to rattle her reality of these events. She told me one night following Turin’s death that after each surgery, she would undergo this intense therapy.”
He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to; I can sense his pain flare beneath old scars. "At least…” He sighs roughly, acceptance rushing from him. “Prepare me. If I need to plan to protect my dears, prepare me."
"I'll prepare you. If I die for my little queen, nothing is more meaningful than that. If you live, can I count on you to make the right decisions for her?" Opening the door, I hold it for him, the action roaring leave.
His hard gaze grips me, then he nods. “You have my word, Kong The Unbreakable.”
With that, he strides from the room, heading down the corridor toward the Army ladies’ rooms.