Chapter 42
Zarathos
Zarathos awoke to an empty bed.
He reached out to where Aryana’s body had been nestled next to him, now cold.
“Aryana?” he called. He rose and padded into the washroom, only to find it unoccupied, the chilled water from the night before sitting in the washtub.
He turned and grabbed his robe, throwing it on as he hurried up the steps to the tower.
Shoving open the door, he burst inside, hoping to find her sitting at her loom.
But her tapestry sat, a dark night unfinished.
He shut his eyes, trying to sense through the bond where his Bloodbound could be. The call was faint, distant, as if she was far away.
Tying off his robe, he didn’t even take time to dress as he stormed down the steps and toward his bedchamber door. He stalled as his gaze landed on the vanity. The potion he had tried to give Aryana last night was gone.
His jaw clenched, and he gripped the latch and threw the door open.
Marbas stood on the other side of the entrance, hand raised like he was about to knock.
“What are you doing here?” Zarathos growled.
“I have news. About Aryana.” He looked up and down the hall. “May I come in?”
“Quickly. Enter.” Zarathos stepped aside, and Marbas hurried into the room before Zarathos shut the door behind him.
Marbas turned toward Zarathos, dread on his face. “My spies saw Aryana flying off of the castle grounds. She held an empty potion bottle.”
Zarathos released a breath. So she’d left after all. He touched his chest at the ache that struck much harsher than he’d expected. She had seemed so determined to stay. “Wait, flying?”
Marbas nodded. “She left with Xaphoron.”
He blinked in shock. “Why with Xaphoron?”
“I’m unsure, sir, but I felt you needed to be informed. Also, I have word that the trial council delegates from kingdoms Aeria and Spiritu are planning something in private. I fear it may be related to you.”
She was gone. The female he loved. The female who stole his heart with her fiery, unyielding beauty had ultimately left him.
“Is there anything else?” Zarathos asked.
“Anything else?” Marbas echoed in disbelief. “Sir, the council may be plotting against you and now you’ve given the vampire princess the potion, and she’s taken it.”
Yes, she had. She’d taken it as he’d wanted. He ran a hand over his face. “Then it is all as it should be. You are free, Marbas.”
“Free?” Marbas laughed. “You think I want to be free of you? Deals or no deals, you are the best chance we have at a ruler who will keep balance among the kingdoms. To keep creatures from being slaughtered.”
Zarathos turned away. “You may go.”
“You’re still going to try to win the trials, aren’t you?
The date for the next one has been changed to tomorrow.
They will magically transport a forest straight into the arena.
They’re releasing beasts. You can survive this.
Hide in the shadows. Please, Zarathos, I’ve been trying to tell you that there is more than only one female’s life on the line. ”
“Leave,” Zarathos snarled.
Marbas held up his hands. “Please fight for us, for your kingdom that needs you.” And with that, he turned and stepped out the door, shutting it behind him.
Zarathos dragged his palms over his horns, a low growl rumbling from his chest. He didn’t need a reminder of the wreckage he’d caused. He’d known how it would end. He would give up his kingdom and let the world burn for the vampire princess he loved.
His heart twisted at the thought of her, those fierce eyes, that unyielding mouth etched with determination.
At least she would live. And if she’d taken her potion, that meant his power to hold life and death bargains was gone. Every deal he had ever made was null and void.
He wanted her to live, needed her to survive. He’d been determined to make her take the potion. And yet, he hadn’t expected her leaving to hurt this much.
Aryana had left, and she wasn’t coming back.
And Zarathos was as good as dead.
Zarathos walked into the box high above the arena.
Members of the trial council were seated in their robes in the box next to them.
The council provided the remaining champions with a spot to watch the special trial today.
There were two champions left alive—Noctyssa and Valkotha from Espiritu Malignos who hadn’t secured a crown.
So they’d arranged a gauntlet across the floor of the arena.
A crown sat at the end of the course. Whoever made it through first would enter the final round of the trials.
He had considered not attending, but the least he could do was give himself a fighting chance by keeping up appearances.
The stands were full of awaiting spectators though the syndicates weren’t active today.
They weren’t allowed to take bets on champions.
The kingdoms wouldn’t stand for it. They could only take bets on kalators and none would be present today.
A small sense of relief moved through him that Aryana would no longer be a part of their schemes at all.
Neutrolisis broke all magical connections.
Even though she’d have the mark on her wrist for life, they could no longer make money off of her pain and fear.
Tigon slurped on the meat of some dead creature near the back of the box, taking up several rows with his bulk.
Xaphoron sat, lounging on a cushion with three female demons in sheer dresses surrounding him, running their palms over his body. A sneer crossed his face. “Missing something, Your Majesty?”
Zarathos’s stomach soured. “I’m preparing for the final match. Something you should spend more time and effort on if you hope to win.”
But Xaphoron didn’t seem fazed. He twirled a finger casually in the hair of one demon while stroking the cheek of the other. “Where is your little helper?”
Zarathos’s hackles rose, though he expected the question. Aryana may have left, although he had no idea why she went to Xaphoron to do it. But he trusted her not to reveal his vulnerability. “She has run off, not that I need her.”
“Run off? Does she have a death wish?” Xaphoron’s gaze sparked with deadly triumph. “No, I have it on quite good authority that you told her to go.”
Dread pulled through his gut and he felt nauseous. “I don’t know what you’re—”
“You told her to go and supplied her with… what was it? Oh yes. Neutrolisis. A potion that would allow her to break her bargain with you without dying.” He tsked.
“Poor, pathetic Zarathos. She tricked you into falling for her, then didn’t just leave you.
She could have kept that information to herself, but she needed to make sure that you went down after she left. ”
Zarathos stalked forward, rage sparking through his chest. “Shut the hell up.”
Xaphoron extricated himself from his consorts and rose to his feet, fingering the knife at his belt, a pleased grin on his ugly face. “She betrayed you.”
Zarathos snarled and lunged at Xaphoron. He didn’t care. He possessed nothing left to lose, and his sole desire was removing Xaphoron’s self-satisfied smirk by any means necessary.
Xaphoron was ready for the fight. The two lashed out at each other.
Zarathos no longer cared if his blood was drawn.
He struck out, but his opponent slammed Zarathos against the back wall, a knife held to his throat.
“Shall I kill you?” Something was different about the rage in Xaphoron’s gaze.
It was heightened, uncontrolled—personal.
His hand shook with barely controlled restraint.
“Considering what you are, the council would surely forgive me for the tiny indiscretion of ridding you of this world, before the next trial. In fact, they’d probably see it as a favor.
Besides, we both know it’s your deals you hide behind that grant you power, not your fighting prowess. ”
He was right. His deals had kept him alive and now that Aryana was gone, he had nothing. Not her, not his deals.
He was nothing.
A blade was laid at Xaphoron’s throat. “Release him and stand aside,” Marbas growled.
“Ah, and so the last piece falls into place.” Xaphoron sneered. “Did you not hear? You are no longer bound to him. He is nothing but a pathetic incubus bastard.”
“You will leave the fighting for the arena,” Marbas said through clenched teeth, “or I will end you.”
Zarathos almost wanted to tell Marbas to forget it. The word was out, and everything was lost. Then he caught the fear and pleading in Marbas’s eyes, and something raw and protective surged within him.
Marbas was still fighting for him.
“You know the council wants him dead. We all want him dead,” Xaphoron said, his eyes flashing threateningly. “Beware, Marbas, you are holding a sword at your future king’s throat, and I shall not forget it.”
“The trials aren’t over,” Zarathos growled.
Xaphoron backed off, sheathing the dagger. “No, they are not. I look forward to ending you tomorrow.”
Marbas lowered his sword but held it at the ready until Zarathos exited the room.
The crowd cheered in delightful hunger as Noctyssa and the champion from Espiritu Malignos started their obstacle course.
Noctyssa wielded the sword that Lentira had died holding and already used it on Valkotha, who gripped his side as blood poured out of him.
Zarathos’s stomach churned, sick of the death, the violence, the killing. Why were they like this?
He staggered into the hallway, dazed. Aryana… She had betrayed him. He thought they’d at least shared a genuine connection, but she’d been waiting—waiting to use him all along.
It served him right. How many had he used in his lifetime?
Turnabout was fair play. Ever since they’d met, she’d wanted to kill him in the end, and she’d made sure of it before she walked away.
“Well played, Vampress,” he murmured.
Marbas followed him into the hall. “Your Majesty, please, I beg you to at least attempt to win. You can keep your bargains even if the power behind them is broken. You’re our king. We’re relying on you.”
That spark of protection had died, but he nodded. “I will try. But you must be prepared. Zarathos is finally getting what is coming for him.”
It was pointless. Aryana hated him. She’d done everything she could to take him down because she knew he couldn’t defeat the monster inside. He’d hurt others, done horrible things, and now it was his turn to pay the consequences.