Chapter 10 The Draker
The Draker
“Ah, midwinter. Trust them to make even a celebration smell of death.”
— Jon Harvington, Golden Scholar of Lyonscliff
I wasn’t sure what was worse—the deep pain in my shoulder or the massive hangover. Even more dismally, there was an abhorrent pounding on the door to the posh apartment.
I sat up. The Nightcastor had been heavily in his cups just hours before, and snored away next to me.
It couldn’t be morning. The partying outside was still louder than a brothel on payday. The midwinter celebration would go on all night: the music, the drinking, and the socializing.
The knocking continued. If I woke the Nightcastor, he might’ve dealt with whoever was at the door, but he also might’ve tried to bed me again, and I was in no mood.
I stood up and threw on a loose grey shirt that had been strewn about the floor. Passing the crackling fireplace and ridiculously large living room, I opened the heavy front door.
“Riven?”
His warm skin was unusually pale, and eyes nearly glowed in the moonlight. He was not in his usual Draker armor and mask, either. Instead, he wore black mercenary leathers with a blade strapped to his side.
“Come with me,” he said, deathly soft.
“What?” My stomach churned. Had Luna been found? Was she in the burn pile?
“You are to appear before the king.”
I tilted my head.
“Are you drunk? Is this a cruel joke? Because I don’t think this is funny, and I’d like to go back to sleep.”
“I don’t drink.” His jaw tensed as his eyes roved over my lack of clothing, as if analyzing the conditions under which I was allowed to stay in this apartment.
Maybe he’d watched me come here and assumed I’d taken up the same line of work as Luna. Whatever his reasons, they had nothing to do with the king. I would believe Riven was here to bed another Blackheart before I’d think the king knew my name.
“I’m not Luna. While tempting, I have no interest in going anywhere with you. Goodnight, Riven.”
I went to close the door, only for it to be caught swiftly by his hand. He easily pushed it back open and let himself in.
“I don’t need your compliments,” he hissed, firmly shutting the door behind him.
“Oh, fuck off. You can't be here. The homeowner is in the bedroom!”
He gestured with his head at my lack of pants.
“I’m sure he is. Now gather your things. The king is waiting.”
My mouth opened, ready to start another argument, but his features were cold.
It was no jest. The king had requested me.
Was it because I’d won Orb Hazy? Had Ansel reported me for using my Nature?
“Why does the king want to see me?” I asked softly.
“You’ll have to ask him yourself.”