Chapter 52
Rune
Rune sat like a statue, one hand gripping the armrest of his throne. Darkness draped his shoulders like a mantle, flickering with slow-burning embers. Wargs prowled the dark corners of the chamber with low snarls, mirroring his unrest.
His jaw tightened, claws digging into the stone. Why couldn’t he stop smelling her?
Alora wasn’t in the mountain, yet he could feel her, like the tide tugging at the shore of his skin. Her scent lingered in his lungs, threaded into the shape of his bones. Sweet. Warm. Terrifyingly addictive.
And it infuriated him.
She needed to be far from here. Far from him.
All he could think about was how close she was. How easily he could appear before her. He hadn’t spoken to her for one cursed month.
And his own blood was revolting against him for it.
Their mate bond was burning in his veins. It had changed the moment she shoved the spindle through his heart.
No.
The moment he tasted her.
Forcing himself to stay away had turned him into a possessive beast. It was so tempting to watch her from the shadows, but she always sensed him.
Rune thought the distance would starve the urge.
But it sharpened it.
The hunger was insatiable.
He was feral, starving to hunt her down. Trapped between the urge to take her apart with pleasure or consuming her whole.
Rune gripped the armrests, his fangs aching for the purity in her veins. Most of the day he burned with want, as hard as steel, like a pubescent fool without any self-control.
How could he so desperately desire the one who could consume him, yet feel the same primal pull to devour her in turn?
Even with the dragon bracelet masking Alora’s scent, Rune could somehow still taste it on his tongue. He pictured her in the cottage, smiling beneath the sun. He loathed leaving her and this vast separation, but in the light she was safer.
From him.
The coming of Vorak did little to occupy his mind. The news had spread across the courts, and all were preparing for battle, though loyalties were strained. In truth, it would be a battle for survival.
For his and Alora’s.
But what hope did he have to defeat Vorak… if he did not consume her himself? It wasn’t solely her body that he craved. He wanted her soul, her power, her light and her darkness. He wanted to devour it all.
That terrified him.
Because there was nothing stopping him from taking it.
The heavy doors creaked open. Rune didn’t look up.
Deimos and Hadeon strode in the throne room, silent and stoic. They bowed in unison.
“My lord,” Deimos greeted, his tone already carrying the stoic edge of bad news.
Rune sighed. “What sedition do you have to report today?”
“More of the same, sire. Though I have not yet discovered who stole the siphoning array, a new development has surfaced. Inevitable, perhaps, if not predictable.”
He looked up.
“I am watching the prince as you commanded,” Deimos said.
“The knight and the Vareth do well to guard him in the castle, but his mother’s confinement lasted hardly a day.
She has persuaded a few disgruntled lords to withdraw their fealty for Alora as the Regent of Argyle.
It didn’t take much convincing. Alora has yet to present herself at court. ”
“An insurrection is imminent,” Hadeon stated. “It is clear the Queen Dowager intends to use her son in a coup.”
A boy-king they could puppet. Typical.
Rune clenched his jaw, pondering whether to settle the matter himself, swiftly and permanently.
Shadows curled along the floor like serpents coiling around his boots.
He cared not for ungrateful lords. He had returned their homes and their land, yet they cannot see past their greed to even be grateful.
But the thought of Alora stayed his hand. She would not take too kindly to have her people fed to his demons.
“And how did the Queen Dowager convince the lords to disregard my command?” Rune asked, because he had been explicitly clear with those old mortal sods the morning after he dismantled Calveron’s control.
Deimos and Hadeon hesitated.
Rune narrowed his eyes.
“She declared Alora is not fit to rule them…” Deimos said hesitantly, his tail lashing. “For she cavorts with demons and has been tainted by the dark.”
The shadows stilled—the only sign of Rune’s fury held tightly before the quake.
“They have made no effort to prepare for the battle,” Hadeon continued. “The Queen Dowager instead has ordered them into preparing their ships to flee for the United Crown in a fortnight.”
Rune kneaded his temples. It would be to their own detriment. The curse had already sealed everyone within the enchanted dome placed over the kingdom.
No one was leaving.
“The humans would make no difference in this war,” a voice said.
The doors to the throne room creaked open as Sal’vathar swept in.
His carapace armor caught the candlelight, spider legs lightly scratching against the floor.
His long white hair and gray complexion was stark against the black, stone walls.
Beside him strode Ira, towering and broad, clad in armor worn by war and wrath, helm beneath his arm.
His massive horns cast shadows on the wall. The others slipped in behind them.
The Dominion gathered like carved statues, ancient, immortal, red eyes glinting.
Rune lounged back in his throne as his gaze swept over them. Not one dared to hold his stare for long.
Deimos and Hadeon stepped back, bowing their heads enough to show respect as Ira and Sal’vathar approached.
“All seven factions of the Court of Sin and Ruin have rallied beneath your banner, sire,” Sal’vathar announced before the dais. “Yet we see little of you.”
“So, you have chosen to approach unbidden,” Rune stated dryly.
Sal’vathar responded with a slight smile. “Forgive us, sire. Our concern has prompted us to overlook decorum. The Dominions have a petition.”
“The Dominions?” Rune’s mouth thinned. “Or you?”
The Lord of Envy smiled. “Sire, you cannot deny that this war is already lost. Even with our Legion, who are we to stand against the great Vorak?”
The sound of that name eerily echoed in the vast throne room. Deimos hissed under his breath. The shadows faintly whispered from the dark. The indecipherable Hellspeech coiled down Rune’s spine like claws.
“He comes to reclaim his throne,” Sal’vathar continued. “Let us submit to our rightful king, lest it be the end of us all.”
Rune worked his jaw and his shadows swarmed the room with his brewing rage. Karag D?r shook beneath their feet.
He cast an idle glance to Ira. “And what say you, Commander of my Armies?”
“The Wrath Court is primed for war, sire,” Ira said, smirking as he struck his chest with a fist. “We revel in blood and battle. Cowardice is the creed of those too weak to claim their victories on the field.”
Sal’vathar shot him a sidelong cold stare.
“That said, I am inclined to agree, victory is improbable,” Ira continued. “Yet we would march to our deaths by your side, sire, even in the face of hopeless odds... were it not for the truth you withheld from your court.”
Everything stopped.
Rune went still. Even the wargs froze, ears pricked, growling hushed.
Sal’vathar canted his head. “I suspected it the moment the Vareth defended her in the Gate chamber. Then it was confirmed the night of Samhain when the Blood Blooms emerged beneath her feet. Alora is Vorak’s daughter.”
The armrests crumbled beneath the iron grip of Rune’s claws. How did they learn that?
Deimos shifted beside him, tail flicking.
“Segrith sees all,” Sal’vathar mused. “Even without her eyes.”
Something malicious and blistering rose in Rune’s chest, his pulse pounding loudly in his ears.
Ira nodded. “Our question, sire, is why not take advantage of this prize and use her power?”
Rune was across the room in a blur of darkness and smoke.
Ira’s back slammed into the wall, Rune’s hand on his thick throat, shadows writhing at his sides like serpents ready to strike. Rune’s eyes were burning, lips peeled back in a snarl as he lifted the massive demon in the air.
“Sire!” Hadeon was there, inches away to defend the lord of his court, though he didn’t dare touch him.
He knew better.
This wasn’t about a threat. This was pure instinct to protect his mate.
Ira was absolutely still, meeting his gaze calmly.
“Forgive my offense, sire,” he strained through his teeth.
“I merely meant that with the blood of a Primordial in her veins, your queen now strengthens your claim to the Netherworld. She should be here by your side to rally your army, not hide from them.”
Rune’s shadows coiled tighter, rage roaring hot and instinctive, the dragon in him demanding blood for the audacity of another male speaking her name.
Mine. The word thundered through him, ancient and absolute.
He could feel it in his bones, the pull to crush, to destroy, to remind the world that Alora was not a banner to be raised or a weapon to be wielded.
She was his heart made flesh.
But reason clawed its way through the fury, slow and reluctant. Ira was not challenging him.
He was warning him.
Power was already wavering. If Rune didn’t stand tall now, if he hid her instead of honoring her, the courts would decide the story for him. And Rune had not survived damnation to let cowards write his legend.
“We wish to keep the seven factions united,” Sal’vathar said once Rune released Ira. “With Vorak’s coming, even whispers can turn tides. They must be reminded who rules them.”
Ira grunted in agreement as he rubbed the claw marks in his neck.
“I do,” Rune said, voice carrying through the cavern. “All whispers against it will be silenced.”
The promise fell like thunder and the mountain shuddered.
A murmur rippled through the Dominions. Sal’vathar remained still, the corners of his mouth twitching with something that might have been disdain—or amusement.
Rune’s claws itched with the urge to tear out his throat.
Sal’vathar had long been marked as a threat, he could not strike. Not yet. Not without consequence.
The Court of Sin and Ruin was vile, but it functioned on careful rules.
And rules ensured balance, if not peace.
Killing one Dominion without proper cause would fracture the courts, weaken them all, and invite chaos at a time Rune could not afford it.
He needed every blade, every banner, every drop of magic when Vorak came.
The shadows settled with his patience. So he would wait, like a spider at the center of its web.
Sal’vathar inclined his head slightly. “We are here to serve you, my king.”
Rune let the quiet stretch between them like a noose.
“Good,” Rune said at last. “When the time comes to summon your legions, you will march.”
Sal’vathar gave a shallow bow. “As you command.”
Rune said nothing more. But shadows coiled tighter around his shoulders, and deep in his gut, the old magic stirred restlessly.
With that, the Dominions retreated without another word and vanished into the pitch-black hall.
Once they were gone, Deimos exhaled a low whistle. “I thought Ira was going to lose his head.”
Hadeon grunted, taking a breath.
Rune dismissed them with an idle flick of his hand and they vanished in smoke. He turned away, dropping back on his throne. Why did it feel like his control was slipping?
A sound brushed the edge of his awareness. A melody threaded with golden memory, sorrow, longing.
A voice soft and sweet, low as dusk wind in the trees.
Alora.
Rune’s breath stilled, the world halting as though time itself bowed to listen. The bond ignited like flame in his chest, a ribbon drawn tight through his ribs like silk, pulling.
Abyss take him, she was calling for him.
He should have ignored it, but Rune was already moving toward the song.
Already falling.
Rune caught Alora’s scent first before he found her standing on the edge of a cliff like a vision spun from starlight.
Moonlight pooled over her skin, softening the curves of her face as her song carried over the land.
Her golden-brown hair tousled in the mountain breeze.
It caught the light like liquid honey, wild and unbound, as he remembered it.
The silk of her dress clung to her like petals shaped by flame, curling around her waist and thighs in fluid layers, shifting with every breath of wind.
And the moment he saw her, he couldn’t breathe.
Her voice was magic. Her scent so potent, he was aching. Even if he shouldn’t be near her, he couldn’t resist her pull.
Alora faced him, then with a wave of her hand, a harp bloomed into being. Elegant and otherworldly, its frame shaped from twisted golden wood, strings spun from silver light. He inwardly smiled.
Your magic has grown.
A small smile rose to her lips, then her fingers strummed the strings.
A soft note hummed through the forest, pure and trembling. Her voice followed, a lilting cadence that made his being tremble. For she had sung this song to him before, in another life.
Where darkness reigns and stars do fall
I find fate waiting beyond it all
A crown of shadow
A kiss of flame
Still the wind calls your name
As she sang, vines sprouted around her with moss and pale pink blooms. Ivy climbed the trees and stone, white flowers unfurling in her wake as she danced. The harp shimmered with golden light beneath her fingers, and the night itself shimmered.
Rune watched, unmoving. Breath still.
He had ruled death. Wielded nightmare. Made kingdoms bow with a glance. Yet this girl, with a pure voice and glowing hands, summoned more power with a song than he could with a sword.
Her voice illuminated the longing he could no longer bury. Rune moved before he realized it, his hand lifting, then stopping short of her cheek when he caught himself.
Rune looked away as he dropped his hand. He couldn’t look her in the eyes because then he would see that she trusts him.
Her voice was faint with sadness. “Why do you turn from me?”
He had many reasons to stay away. Before he had been selfish and lost her, yet now he’d lose her still.
“I fear I am cursed to chase you across a thousand lifetimes...” Rune murmured.
Alora exhaled a heavy sigh and let the enchanted harp disappear. “Oh, I have had enough of your cryptic words.”
She took a step away from him, straight toward the cliff’s edge.
His eyes widened. “Alora.”
She gave him a sly smile as she opened her arms wide. “Then come chase me.”
And his mate fell, vanishing from view.