Mate of a Royal (Lord of Rathe #3)

Chapter One

Haide

“Run, little rabbits,” I whisper, drawing back the bowstring, each step calculated against the soft forest floor.

The bow in my hands feels like an extension of my body. Exile Island pulses around me, its strange consciousness brushing against my mind like fingers through hair. It’s as if no time at all has passed since I returned from Rathe and all of London’s drama.

Three figures dart between the twisted trees ahead. Newcomers to the island. Fresh meat. They don’t understand anything yet. Don’t know that everything here is a game without consequences.

Distant wingbeats cut through the air above. I exhale as I tighten the bow further.

I track the first one. He’s tall with panic written across his face. The arrow tip follows his frantic movements. I could pierce his throat before he takes another breath.

I smile and shift my aim.

The second target stumbles over a root and falls to her knees. Terror makes people clumsy. She looks up, somehow sensing my presence, and our eyes lock through the foliage. I wink and draw the string tighter.

“Please,” she mouths.

I shift my aim again.

The third one is smarter.

He moves in a zigzag pattern, making himself a harder target. But not hard enough. I track him easily, the arrow finding his heart.

“Which one dies first?” I ask the forest. The trees don’t answer, but I feel the island’s hunger ripple through the soil beneath my feet.

I release the tension in the bowstring, lowering my weapon just enough to let them believe they’ve escaped. They’ll run deeper into the island’s embrace. The game is always better when they think they have a chance.

“You’re toying with them again.” Zevryn’s voice comes from behind me, rich and deep.

I don’t turn. “Took you long enough to catch up.”

He steps beside me, brown skin gleaming with sweat from the hunt. “Not all of us were born part animal.”

“Excuses.” I nock another arrow, tracking the fleeing figures through the trees.

Zevryn grabs my wrist, forcing the bow down. “Do you need a recap on how to pull this bow, Luda?”

“Fuck you!” I jerk away from his grip. “I’d still be able to beat your ass.”

“Bullshit.” His eyes narrow. “What’s the matter, Haide?”

Okay, now he’s pissing me off.

He sighs in clear boredom. “You had three clean shots. You didn’t take any of them.”

I bare my teeth. “I was savoring the moment.”

“You were giving them a chance.” His mouth quirks up. “The great Haide secret softie.”

I swiftly draw my knife and press it to his throat. “Call me soft again.”

He doesn’t flinch, his mouth spreading wide. “Sof—”

My blade melts into his skin, blood spraying over my face. Life dies from the pits of his eyes, not with shock, but something else.

He smirks before his body hits the ground with a thud.

“Asshole!” I snap, cleaning my blade on my shoulder and slipping it back into the holster.

Lifting the bow again, I crack my neck and find my first target. “Looks like we’re gonna have to keep this one short.”

I release the bow right into her panicked face. It splits in half from the force.

I smirk, grabbing the next one and quickly finding the smartest newcomer.

He zigzags again. The moment he peers over his shoulder, I aim my arrow right into his eye.

Ten points to Haide!

I barely have the third locked in when the sound of wings beats through the air.

With a thud, boots hit gravel just as I unload the next arrow.

“Booyah!” I yell, smile wide just in time for Zev to swing at me.

I dodge his punch and swing behind him, wrapping my arm around his throat. “Nah, uh, bestie! You know you love me.”

“Fuck you, Haide. You know I hate cracking through those damn fucking things.”

I release my hold when I feel the tension leave his body. Only a pool of blood remains in the spot where I killed him.

“You can get me next time,” I tease, the sound of large wings bashing through the air once more.

“Bullshit,” Zev murmurs, plucking scales off his neck. “You damn well know I won’t get one on you.”

Actually, he could. He just chooses not to.

A blue dragon slams into the cliff with enough force to send rocks tumbling into the darkness below. His massive claws scrape deep grooves in the stone as he lands.

I turn over my shoulder just as the beast flings two fresh borns off his talons like they’re nothing more than garbage.

They hit the ground hard, rolling to a stop near the blood pool from Zev.

Smoke curls from the dragon’s nostrils in thick, angry streams while he stomps his foot again, making the whole cliff shake beneath us.

“Aw, come on!” I bat my lashes up at him, knowing full well he can see through my bullshit. “You know you love that I keep you guys busy! What would you do without me? Nap all day?”

If a dragon could roll his eyes, I swear this one would be giving me the most dramatic eye roll in existence. Instead, he snorts more smoke directly at my face, making me cough and wave it away.

“I’ve got my fair share of dragons to deal with,” Zev says, brushing more scales off his shoulders with obvious irritation. “But I still don’t know how the hell you manage to test their patience like this. It’s like you’ve got a death wish.”

“You know death wishes don’t work here, Zev. We just come back minutes later!”

The girl and her clever friend from earlier stumble forward. Now, with them this close, I see it. Fear. Bliss.

I pat them both on the shoulder. “Welcome to Exile Island! Try not to die.”

They exchange a glance before making a run for it.

I turn, spreading my arms wide and free-fall off the cliff through humid air that rushes past my face. My stomach flips in that perfect way it always does right before I hit the water. The ocean swallows me whole, cold and dark, before I kick hard and break the surface.

Zevryn splashes down beside me seconds later, sending up a spray that hits me square in the face.

“Show off,” I mutter, spitting out salt water.

“Says the woman who just murdered me for calling her soft.”

We swim toward the main strip, where the real entertainment lives. The sounds hit first—screams, laughter, the crack of bone against bone. Music pounds from somewhere deeper in the chaos, drums that match the island’s pulse.

Water streams off my clothes as I haul myself onto the dock.

The strip sprawls before us in its usual beautiful disaster.

Fires burn in metal drums, casting orange light across faces twisted in rage, ecstasy, or both.

A woman slams a man’s head into a stone wall repeatedly while he laughs.

Two others fight over a piece of meat—that’s probably not even edible—with bloody and relentless fists.

“Looks quiet tonight,” Zevryn says, wringing out his shirt.

I snort. “Right. Real peaceful.”

We push through the crowd, bodies pressing close in the heat and madness. Someone tries to grab my knife, and I break their fingers without looking. They curse but back off—most people here know better than to fuck with me twice.

Shouting spectators surround the main ring, cheering on the two fighters at the center. Evidence of their injuries will vanish in minutes. People here heal quick. One lunges with a makeshift spear, but his opponent manages to catch the weapon and yank it free.

He drives it through his attacker’s chest.

The crowd roars.

“Place your bets!” someone shouts from the sidelines. “Next match in five!”

Welcome to Exile Island.

…

It’s easy to spot newcomers.

You just look for the wide eyes and trembling bodies of those shaken from their first deaths.

Their first stop is usually the old witch.

Skin like cracked leather, eyes milky white but somehow seeing everything.

The newcomers cluster around her like children, desperate for answers to make sense of this nightmare.

“Why can’t we die?” asks the girl I shot earlier. She touches her cheek like she’s still feeling the arrow’s bite. “What is this place?”

The witch’s laugh rattles in her chest, wet and knowing.

She pokes the fire with a gnarled stick, sending sparks spiraling into the dark.

“Death is the easy part. Quick. Clean. Over before you can scream.” She leans forward, firelight carving deep shadows across her face.

“It’s the dying that hurts. And here? You feel every second of it. ”

“Exile Island doesn’t let go.” The witch spits into the flames.

“This place was built as a prison centuries ago, when the old kingdoms needed somewhere to throw their worst. Murderers. Traitors. Those too dangerous to execute but too valuable to waste.” Her fingers curl around her stick like claws.

“There’s plenty of folklore surrounding how this island came about.

” She pauses, and her white eyes land on me.

Not much gives me the creeps—but she does.

Her mouth twitches. “But very few know the real truth.” Her tone switches. “Like the dragons, for one. They’re here to ensure we never leave. Can’t leave…or are they?” she adds annoyingly. “Perhaps they serve a different purpose, only to be revealed when the time is right.”

I cross my arms, and she pulls her attention back to the little pets who need a story time. Wish I could say I remember my first death here, but I don’t.

“The island feeds on pain,” the witch continues. “Every death, every scream, every drop of blood spilled—it eats it all. And in return, it keeps you breathing. Keeps you whole.” She cackles again. “Well. Whole enough to break again. This is a place of nightmares. Not dreams.”

I stiffen.

Dreams.

No one dreams on Exile Island.

Except me.

Zev casts a knowing glance my way. He’s the only one who knows about the dreaming. He also knows to keep his mouth shut. Most of the time.

Before he can make a smartass remark, I spin away, calling over my shoulder, “I’m going to sharpen my knife so I can kill you with it again later.”

I don’t hesitate before dashing straight for the trees.

The forest grounds me when nothing else can.

The smell of dragon fire fills my nostrils as I run, skipping over cliff rocks, my boots pounding surfaces so jagged and steep they would send others tumbling to their deaths—hopefully he is one of those “others.”

When I come to a halt, I can barely catch my breath as I search the ground for a suitable rock. Scooping up the first one I see, I examine it closely.

This will do.

I draw my knife and start slow, each stroke a clean scrape against the stone. My movements slow to a pause when I notice it.

The quiet.

No dragons beating through the air. No frantic footsteps of scared newbies. Not even the sounds of insects or birds.

My muscles seize and the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

Someone’s behind me.