Chapter 31 #2
Her lips twitch in a quick, predatory grin. “That was never in dispute.” She stands, nods, then continues walking.
I stay put. “I need proof, not a projection. I’ve seen this show before.”
Her eyes move slowly over me, as if reminding herself that she could easily kick the shit out of me without even working up a sweat.
“The King will grant you this or he won’t. But you will not know which it is unless you continue with me to the throne room. It is your choice, little human.”
I grimace. I really don’t like this woman. Beside me, Chase sags, and I see the pain in his eyes. “Fine,” I say, because surely a throne room will have a chair. And more to the point, we really don’t have a choice.
She tilts her head, the only indication that she’s heard me, then turns and begins walking again. Chase takes my hand, twining our fingers, then nods, silently indicating that he can walk without my arm bracing him.
I want to protest, but he’s moving well, despite favoring his wounded leg.
I can hear the tightness in each breath he draws, and I know he’s holding the pain close.
I want to tell him to just let it go, but he won’t.
This is a show for Adric’s benefit. And only once we’re safely alone he’ll let himself collapse, lost under the agony he’s holding at bay only through the force of an incredible will.
I want to put my hand on his back. I want to run to the nearest balcony and scream for help.
Most of all, I want to punch Adric, which is ridiculous, but also feels very on brand for my life lately.
“Cora,” Chase murmurs. “We’re here.”
I realize I’d dropped my gaze to the floor, and look up in time to see the aisle narrow where the hall opens onto a vast chamber.
I frown as I glance around, studying the incongruity of this space.
Courtiers and subjects mingle about, talking in small groups.
Eyes flick to us and conversation dwindles as we pass.
These are Adric’s subjects—some appearing human.
Others, far from it. Some looking like refugees from King’s Landing.
Others with piercing eyes and fangs. Most looking like they could work at a bank.
I squeeze Chase’s hand, noting that he looks nonplussed. I’m not surprised. He’s no stranger to the Nightmare Realm, after all.
Then again, neither am I.
I lift my chin and force myself not to gawk as we continue the long walk to the throne—and to the lava monsters that stand in a half-circle around it, clearly guarding their king.
Conversations pause as we pass, and I have to force myself to stay calm as we traverse the long expanse of rune-scarred flagstone to the dais at the far end.
A tall window of stained glass fills the wall behind it, five moons arcing across the glass, their amber light falling in bars across the floor.
There’s no ornate throne made from swords, no medieval monstrosity. Instead, the black wooden chair that sits upon the dais is almost severe in its simplicity. I recognize it, though. I’ve seen that chair in a dream. Just as I’ve seen the man seated upon it.
Adric.
He wears a suit that the best tailor in London would weep to create, the fine cut accenting the line of his shoulders in a way that seems both elegant and lethal. His hair is dark as night, and when he lifts his head, the silver in his eyes glows in the dim moonlight filtering through the glass.
When we stop walking, Kali inclines her head, and her wolfen escorts melt into the shadows.
I don’t realize I’m staring at Adric until Chase squeezes my hand. That’s when I recognize the flutter in my chest. The lightness in my being.
And, damn me, I don’t want what I feel—joy. Pure, undeniable joy, served with a side of hate.
Hate that I missed him. Hate that I can still feel his lips on mine. The touch of his hands.
Hate that I crave him as much as I crave Chase.
And, mostly, hating myself for feeling that way.
I fight to keep my expression blank. Stoic. Nothing to see here, folks. Move along.
As I work on that little charade, Adric rises with deliberate calm, his eyes on me as if I’m both answer and problem. And despite having just lectured myself nine ways from Sunday, when he meets my eyes, I almost melt from the warmth that slides through me.
“Cora, my love,” he says, stepping off the dais to press a soft kiss to my cheek. “It is good to see you home.”
Then he looks to Chase. “Brother.”
Chase’s hand tightens in mine. “I had a warmer welcome from your wolves.” The sneer in his voice is almost lost under the pain.
“They are sociable creatures,” Adric says, returning to his throne.
His gaze dips to the torn denim, the dried blood, and the spreading shadow around the wound.
“A chair,” he says, and I hear someone at the back of the room scurry away, presumably to do his bidding.
“And send a healer to the Emperor’s Suite along with linens. Antiseptics. Fresh clothes.”
More scurrying, and within a heartbeat, an attendant appears with a tall-backed chair that rolls on silent casters. And though I can tell that he hates showing weakness in front of his brother, Chase sinks onto the chair with obvious relief.
As he does, someone snickers from the gallery. I turn, then gasp to see Vexarin standing there, his skinny body shaking with mirth. “There falls the mighty Hunter,” he says in that horrible, raspy voice.
“You bastard,” I snap. “You horrible, vile—”
“Wait,” Adric says, rising from his throne. He looks from Vex to me. “You know this creature?”
I tilt my head. “What? You mean the creature that attacked me and my friend on campus one night? Yeah. I might have made his acquaintance.”
“Attacked you?”
“He ripped open my shoulder.” I hug myself, remembering both that searing pain and also Chase’s soothing touch.
His attention turns to Vex. “You were to watch,” he says in a hard, cold voice. “You dare to mar what belongs to me?”
I bristle at the belongs to language, and I’m about to say something, when Adric lifts his hand, tapping two fingers together.
Vexarin’s eyes go wide. “Sire,” he says. “I did not—”