Chapter 38
The gates were meant to hold against an army, yet Loren heard them give way not long after he began tightening his armor.
When the Hub was built, however, dragons had not been a possibility.
Disorder erupted, echoing from the grounds below.
Screams, metal clashing, and the more distant sound of fire colliding with stone.
“You are a bit late to the battle, Your Majesty,” Camilla crooned from the chair.
Loren adjusted his armor as he strode across the office to the doors. “I do not need to prove myself in battle, Miss Dodd. I am the King.”
“You will be ruling over ash by morning.”
Tempering the heat that flooded his veins, Loren turned to glare at her.
Perhaps he should have sent her away—but then he would need to locate the sniveling bitch again in order to use her to force Ariadne to kneel at his feet.
Keeping her within arm’s reach was the most logical solution, even if he hated the sound of her voice.
“Those dragons will either die,” he snapped, “or abandon those fools when I destroy them all.”
Camilla’s lips curled, the smirk punctuated by the sound of fighting entering the tower. She cocked her head and said, “You have no idea how those dragons came to be, do you?”
Of course he did not, but she need not know that. After all, how much could she possibly know? Certainly, Ariadne had told her something about it, but even his lovely little wife would have no true understanding of such a powerful beast. She merely played at being a warrior.
Shouts rose up as even more voices joined those who were already locked in the throes of battle.
Loren glowered at Camilla and pulled a dagger from his hip as he crossed to where she sat obediently.
Her eyes latched onto the sharp blade, and he relished the way her throat bobbed just before he pressed the tip to her esophagus.
“Be a good girl,” he whispered, grabbing her by the hair and jerking her head back to expose her neck a little more, “and sit still while I get my wife back.”
Despite the very real threat to her life, Camilla snorted. “You are a fool, Loren Gard.”
He pressed the blade a little closer, not caring if it sliced her pretty skin. “Do as I say if you want to live.”
The door crashed open, saving him from having to listen to whatever Camilla’s latest snide remark would be. Loren stood a little straighter and lifted his gaze to the intruder, his heart leaping at the sight of Ariadne stepping over the threshold.
Gods, she looked horrific and otherworldly all at once.
Dark curls, damp from melted snow, clung to Ariadne’s pale face.
Her cheeks, flushed from cold and exertion, were smeared with mud and blood.
Blue eyes seared through the strands of hair that hung before them.
In her hand, she adjusted a Valenul-issued sword that dripped crimson onto the wood floor, inches from the fine rug that spread out from under the table between them.
“Hello, Wife,” Loren said, grip tightening in Camilla’s hair until the woman seated before him hissed from pain. “I see you have finally crawled back home.”
Ariadne’s head tilted to the side slowly, her lips parting in what he could only assume was disbelief before curling in disgust. She took a calculated step forward, mud imprinting on the rug. “The only one who will be crawling is you.”
Loren laughed and drew the dagger’s blade a little tighter against Camilla’s neck.
Ariadne’s eyes flickered to where he threatened her best friend before returning to his face.
His smirk grew. “I do not think you are in a position to make that happen. Me, on the other hand? I have all the power here, my pet.”
Another grip adjustment on the sword. Her hand was tired, and the blade was larger than those to which she was accustomed. The tip angled too close to the floor for it to be comfortable. Nonetheless, Ariadne took another step into the room.
Clicking his tongue, Loren pinned Camilla’s head to the back of the chair and dug the blade in even farther. “Put the sword down.”
“Do you take me for a fool?” But Ariadne paused, once again looking at her friend in alarm. “Put down the dagger, and we can talk.”
“I will cut her throat,” Loren hissed, “and still make you crawl to me. Now put the fucking sword down.”
Ariadne opened her mouth to speak, but Camilla cut in, “Kill him, Ari. Kill him and—”
“Shut your fucking mouth.” Loren slammed her head against the chair’s back.
“If you were going to kill her,” Ariadne said, the words spilling from her fast, “you would have done so already.” Now she edged backwards toward the door again, and he could have sworn her eyes glimmered, paling to a strange white. “Let Camilla go and come get me instead, Husband.”
A little game of cat and mouse? Loren could play that game.
He had won once before in Laeton. Had it not been for Nikolai’s interference, he would have indulged in his winnings.
This time, he would catch Ariadne and ensure her inability to escape him before he took what was rightfully his as King and as her husband.
Loren lowered the blade from Camilla’s neck, his cock throbbing at the idea of finally claiming her in every way. “You are playing a dangerous game, my pet.”
Lips curling into a seductive smirk, Ariadne turned and ran.
Without releasing his hold on the dagger, Loren tore after her. The desk shuddered a few inches over the rug as he shoved past it, his dragonscale armor preventing him from feeling the way his leg slammed into the side. She would not get away from him again.
Ariadne sprinted to the stairs leading farther into the tower rather than leading him back down into the fray at the entry of the tower. Free hand gripping the railing for stabilization, she whipped around to face the steps and leaped up them, the sword still swinging in her other hand.
“Come, now, Loren,” she called over her shoulder as he mounted the stairs behind her. “Can you not catch me?”
Adrenaline fueling him, Loren stretched his legs into a spring once he reached the third-floor landing. Ahead of him, Ariadne took to the next set of stairs, pausing only briefly to look back at him, her eyes still glowing like a goddess of death.
“Come get me!” Ariadne sang before disappearing up the steps.
Loren reached the fourth floor to find it empty and slid to a halt. His chest heaved from the chase, the blood pumping loudly in his ears as he scanned the landing for a clue as to where she had gone. “Come out, my pet, and play with me.”
No response.
Stepping forward cautiously, Loren peered through the first open door.
The study beyond belonged to a lower-ranking officer with less furniture.
The next room was much like the first, with still no sign of Ariadne.
Third down, the door was closed. Loren traded hands with the dagger and reached for the latch—
A flash of silver had Loren ripping his hand back just in time to avoid the down-swing of a blade from behind. Whipping around, he blocked the next strike of the sword with the dagger and stepped back to put space between him and his attacker.
Ariadne held her sword aloft, the long blade now poised correctly as she glared at him from several paces away. “Let’s play.”
Scoffing at her use of lower-class contractions, Loren unsheathed his new blade and dragged it down the length of hers, relishing the sound of metal shrieking. “I look forward to winning.”
Loren would never admit his surprise at the barrage of attacks Ariadne rained down on him after that.
He blocked, parried, and struck back. To her credit, she met each of his own swings without buckling.
She stepped to the side, circling him like any good swordsman would, and he followed suit, turning as they moved together.
It thrilled him, really, to have such passion between them.
The line between love and hate was so fine, so delicate, that he did not care if each of her attempts to break through his defenses was out of the latter.
The former would come with time—once he broke her down and shaped her into his perfect Caersan woman.
Obedient.
Submissive.
Doting.
Unable to hide his growing glee, Loren grinned as she pulled a dagger from a holster on her thigh. The sword lowered a fraction as she divided her strength between the two weapons, and she adjusted her stance to one specifically for dually wielding blades. Someone had taught her well.
Again, Ariadne lunged forward, their swords cracking together. She whipped her dagger hand forward, and the blade slipped across his cheek. Warmth dripped from the wound. No matter. It would heal shortly.
A fire blazed in her eyes as she watched the blood leak from the wound she inflicted.
If anything, it fueled him more. But allowing her to draw first blood was, perhaps, the last thing he wanted.
She would want to hold that over him for years to come, so putting her in her place quickly would ensure she did not.
“Sharp claws, my pet.” Loren brushed his palm across his cheek, surprised by the pain that lingered there.
Ariadne’s gaze flickered over his shoulder towards the stairs from which they had come. Something akin to hope flared there, but he dared not turn to look at what she saw. Instead, he swept his sword in an arc, forcing her attention back on him—back where it belonged.
Then she did something that made Loren pull up short. She tossed the dagger across the floor to whoever stood behind him.
Now that he could not have.
Loren twisted, putting Ariadne to one side and the intruder on their little dance to the other. Stooping to pick up the short blade was Camilla, her russet eyes never leaving him as she rose back to her full height.