Chapter 39
THIRTY-NINE
Crymson
The path to the Blood Kingdom is littered with ash and smoke, the fluttering pieces almost suffocatingly thick in the air.
Behind us, the fae warriors march, each nervously watching the Dead crawling through the brush, following their Queen.
Skeletal dragons prowl the darkness with their army.
No one questioned Thorn’s orders, but I see those questions in their eyes.
What’s happened? Why are we marching with the Dead?
Why have we suddenly been emboldened enough to attack?
Some of them look at me with fear, only those aware enough to understand the difference.
Delilah walks with us, her eyes harder now, the confusion gone in the face of getting revenge.
I’d seen her truly shine in the Thorn Kingdom, and she wants blood for what she’s missed out on.
She looks at the Dead the same way though.
She looks at her mother like she’s an abomination, and I don’t blame her.
Boris’ curse is a terrible one, but it can be beaten.
And I march to make sure it will be.
“I thought I lost you,” Carver whispers, his fingers laced tightly with mine. Since the moment he touched me, he hasn’t let go, as if afraid I’ll float away otherwise.
“I’m sorry if I worried you,” I murmur, reassuring him. “I’m sorry my rising hurt.”
He looks at me curiously. “You know it hurt?”
I nod sadly. “I understand it had to be done. But it still hurts to feel your pain.” I stroke my thumb along his skin. “You did so good.”
He preens under my praise, ever my good boy. “I’ll do anything for you,” he rasps. “Murder, love, betrayal. Just ask it and I’ll comply.”
I stop in my tracks, and his footfalls instantly still as he looks intently down at me.
“Just love me,” I reassure him. “That’s all I ask from you.”
“Always,” he vows on a whisper.
My power trickles out and shoots electricity along his skin, dragging a purr from his lips. “Oh, will you use it on me later?” he croaks. “Pretty please?”
I laugh despite what we’re marching toward, what I’m about to do. “Yes,” I breathe. “Later.”
The trek to the Blood Lands seems faster than ever as we move with silent intent.
The fae warriors don’t speak, the only sounds from them the clangs of their armor and weapons.
The Dead hiss and claw at the dirt, eager to attack those who wronged them.
At my side, the Dead Queen bares her teeth at the large castle that rises from the ash like a beacon of death.
It’s as horrifying as I remember, the red tint to the sky making it look more monstrous than it already is.
Before the castle, vampire warriors wait for us, their eyes wide, afraid to fight but afraid not to. This is what fear rules with. This is what you get when your reign is coated in blood.
“Hello, Boris,” I breathe into the air. “This ends now.”
He’s not here to hear my words, but I know he feels them. I know he cowers inside, prepared to sacrifice every soldier for his life if he has to. Even the Promised still alive shield him. A coward through and through.
His people sleep in the village down below. They didn’t ask for this. But they knew it would come eventually.
I take a step forward, and it’s the only permission the Dead need.
They rush forward, eagerly targeting the vampires brave enough to hold their ground.
There aren’t many. A large number of them turn and flee back into the castle, desperate to get away from the brutal reminder of the King they follow. They’re expendable, and they know it.
There’s no need for me to rush. My approach is inevitable. I move toward the castle gate, my steps strangely cathartic as my bare feet crunch across burned grass. Every movement feels like fate. Every breath I take feels like an announcement.
I am here. I am coming. I will finish this.
There’s little to no struggle to get inside the castle.
The few vampires the Dead don’t take out are quickly dispatched by my men.
Many of them don’t even raise their weapons to Christian, their fear dictating they can’t attack the Prince.
It’s almost too easy to walk inside now.
Like we could have done it before, but Christian will never be able to raise his sword to his own father.
His bloodline dictates it. But me? I don’t have any lineage fighting against me.
I don’t falter as I track his scent to the throne room. He’s there.
He holes up inside of it, the doors barricaded, Promised lined up on the inside like cannon fodder. Sacrifices, nothing more.
“Be careful of the Promised,” I say, my voice echoing again. “They’re just inside the door.”
“Is there enough room to kick it open?” Rorrick asks, trusting my instincts over his own.
I nod, and that’s all the affirmation he needs.
He rears back, and with a powerful kick at the wood, slams his boot as hard as possible into it.
Splinters fly through the night. The doors burst open with a bang that would scare even the bravest of men.
The Promised barely whimper, and I realize Boris has drugged many of them to keep them quiet.
The moment the doors open, I step inside, my eyes searching for the vampire I seek.
I find him standing on the raised dais before his throne, his stance powerful even as I can see the slight shaking of his shoulders.
His ego dictates he stand there and face me, and when he sees it’s me leading the charge, he actually laughs.
The fool.
The old men of his council flee the room, running and screaming. And the Dead warriors we brought with us . . . they follow after them.
Thorn growls and goes to take a step forward, but my hand on his arm stops him.
“He’s mine to kill,” I tell him. “It has to be me.”
They’ve all earned the right to kill this man, but I won’t place that burden at their feet. I’m different now because of them, for them, and it’s my duty to perform. I’ll save them the blood on their hands.
There are a few vampire warriors before him, their weapons out. They shake with fear, swallowing thickly when they see the Dead start to pour in.
“Not the Promised,” I say, nodding to Rorrick to help them out of the way. “They remain intact.”
The Dead surround us. “And the rest?”
I raise my brow at Boris. “The rest are fair game.”
The massacre that happens will stick with me forever. The screams echo off the gilded walls like a grotesque symphony that somehow makes me vibrate with pride. This is what they wanted. This is their legacy. Blood, carnage, fear. I’m only giving them what they asked for.
When only Boris remains on the dais, I step forward, and the Dead bow down, readying themselves. This is it. This is everything I’m made for. This is my role here in this realm.
Boris seems to realize he has nowhere to go and that we overpower him. But when he sees the Queen of the Dead, his eyes widen further, and there’s this strange craze that appears in his eyes. He may be outgunned, but true to his fashion, his ego won’t allow him to remain silent.
He bares his fangs at the Dead Queen. “I should have burned you at the stake,” he snarls at her.
She grins maniacally. “Yes,” she replies. “You should have.”
So many months ago, this vampire scared me. I was human and weak and afraid. Now, I don’t even twitch as he looks at me, as he readies himself for a fight he thinks he can win. He thinks I’m still weak. I can see it in his eyes. Unlike his son, he’s not very perceptive.
Once a pretty pet, always a pretty pet.
Except I’m no one’s pet. Not anymore. Not ever again.
I smile. And the Blood King rushes me.