CHAPTER 11
VEYA
Present Day
ICAN’T BELIEVE that was your first full drain last night,” Nerian says, leaning forward in his throne, fingers threading a necklace of human teeth.
Disgusting.
It’s the same dance as yesterday as I stand at the base of the dais, with Goreon guards lining the walls and a sneering court enjoying the show.
“Gods, what a privilege to witness a virgin drain. Honestly, I would’ve made more of a thing of it, had I known.” He waves his hand at me. “I wondered, but—”
“That’s enough,” I say, eyeing the empty throne beside him, for the queen who no longer holds it.
Nerian raises his eyebrows at me.
I clear my throat, trying to recover my temper so I don’t blow this, and smile brightly at Nerian. “Let’s move on. If you’d be so kind.”
“As you wish.” He leans back in his seat, finally dropping his repulsive necklace against the rich fur collar he’s wearing. “Where should we begin our discussions for the merger of our rule?”
My turn to raise my eyebrows. “I haven’t agreed to anything of the sort.”
Nerian cocks his head. “But you traveled all this way, my queen. Why risk such a journey and exposure in my territory without having made your decision?”
To get close enough to kill you.
“I’m a careful planner, Nerian. I don’t do anything without all the facts.”
“Ruthless and wise,” he says, but his mocking tone is not missed as he drums his fingers on the arm of his throne.
I prefer brave and bold.
“Let’s start with a tour. I want to know this place, how you run things, what you’re offering.”
He looks at me shrewdly for a moment, mouth pinching, and I can feel suspicion radiating from him.
I nudge Nerian in the right direction. “From what I’ve seen, my assets far outweigh yours.”
He scoffs. “Definitely not.”
I raise my hands, gesturing to the ornate hall.
“I have two of these throne rooms. Two strongholds,” I lie.
Castle Ruthlessness is unknown, cloaked in endless fog and cloud, built into rock and lying in wait.
And those who secretly reside within her are prepared to defend and protect the Night Kingdom whenever we may need them.
The king bolts out of his throne. “Goreon is unmatched, in every way,” he snarls, fangs dropping.
I look at Del, standing at attention on the dais, and let a bored gaze rake him up and down. “Even your second is smaller than mine.”
Del’s thick lips part and his eyes gleam at my insult.
Nerian stomps down his steps, fur cloak dragging behind him.
“I’ll give you a fucking tour,” he says, sweeping past me.
I wink at Del, spinning on my heel, but not before I savor his narrowing eyes and growing smirk.
Second and I walk behind Nerian, Charlotte and Emmanuel behind us, and Del brings up the rear.
Nerian’s court is an array of judgment as we breeze out of the throne room, their faces screwed in assessment, like they can’t decide if their king has any intention of joining forces or not.
And it’s red eyes all around, which means emotions are at an all-time high, good or bad.
Killing Nerian might be the easier task stacked up next to influencing his court into a new way of living. The Night Kingdom way is not for everyone. But we have had no problem ridding ourselves of problematic individuals over the years.
And I won’t hesitate to do it again.
Nerian’s long gait requires me to be on the verge of snapping to keep up with him in this heavy dress, but I don’t regret my choice. The ballgown and train takes up space and forces vampires to step aside and make way for me.
Which is entirely the point.
Guards peel back, bodies flush against walls as I sweep past.
“Let’s start with the army, shall we?” Nerian postures.
“Headcount?” Second asks beside me.
Nerian laughs haughtily, his voice echoing off marble as we wind toward the west wing. “I haven’t bothered to keep it recently. We’re in the thousands,” he says, waving a hand in the air as he leads us along.
The Night Kingdom has one thousand.
But our army is loyal, well-bred, and well-trained. Based on how I’ve seen Balor treat his soldiers, I’d say Nerian might not have a single loyal warrior in his arsenal. And there’s a lot that can go wrong when you can’t keep the devotion of your people when the killing starts.
Nerian leads us to his army out of the back of the stronghold, and we snap through the snow for about a mile before the sprawling structure of the barracks looms before us.
It looks like a prison, not a place for a legion.
I wonder if they’re chained to the walls in there, starved just enough to obey. I know I’d have to be.
Del steps in front of me, black cloak floating around him as he turns to face me. The set of his jaw and the intensity in his eyes have mine narrowing.
He’s warning me—I just don’t know what about.
But after his help with Christine and after he came to my rescue with Balor in the west wing, Del’s cautioning is duly noted, and my nerves spike.
“Be on your guard, Veya,” Nerian drawls. “I am king, but I can’t control the whims of everyone.”
Great.
Nerian steps through a stone archway, Del following, and I glance up at Second. The caw of crows echoes around us in the snowdrift, and flakes gather on my freezing cheeks. My best friend, the male who never shows fear, is laced with hesitation.
But I step a heeled boot over the threshold of the barracks anyway, following Nerian and Del into whatever this is.
To my surprise, the ground floor is empty, and our tour includes a series of vacant training facilities with blood stains no one bothered to clean penetrating stone and plaster. Outside of a few torches lighting the way, there is no warmth here. It’s cold and damp and eats at my bones.
King Nerian flings open a door and descends with Del into the underground.
I hesitate at the top of the stairs. This route will offer limited options for escape if we need it. The only exit is likely the one we’re winding down.
Images of half-starved vampires like Penny race through my mind, desperate soldiers willing to obey their king for their next meal. And it fires anger through me, heating my veins.
Charlotte threads her fingers through mine as Second positions himself at my back, and Emmanuel slips to my front.
Remaining calm is almost impossible as my fears prattle incessantly the further we follow Nerian into his army’s heart.
They could slaughter us right now.
But I firmly believe Nerian’s pride and desire to boast his wealth and power will get in the way of that for quite some time. His entertainment is the reason I’m here, and I don’t think he’s close to done playing with his new toy.
I steady my breath and straighten my shoulders against the onslaught of nerves.
The stairwell dumps onto a ledge, with an arena below us so massive I’m unsure how the ground above hasn’t collapsed in on itself. And then the roar of warriors greets their king at such a volume, the pebbles rattle at our feet.
This is why our scouts never found his army. They’re under the fucking ground.
“Gentlemen,” the king calls out over thousands of males, and I try not to scoff. Some of my best fighters are females. And don’t get me started on the assassins. Nerian has no idea what he’s missing out on.
The feral response from his males fires a chill down my spine, piercing like a needle through each vertebra. Snapping and hissing becomes a frenzy below, like an untamed monster thrashing at the edges of the endless cavern, held back only by the walls that trap it.
Nerian turns to me. “We never let them out,” he says like it’s an explanation.
“Impressive,” I tell him through a forced smile.
“When I do release them, they execute what I demand and are rewarded before returning to their shelter.”
“What is their reward?” I ask loudly, voice screaming out of my chest over the roar of souls below.
I don’t want the answer, but I need to know.
Nerian’s eyes flash red, and his fangs elongate. “Anything they want, really. Most choose a visit to the farm.”
My eyes flick to Del. His thick lips press together slightly before his features settle into a blank mask.
Clearly, he and I need a private conversation. It’s obvious Del doesn’t share the king’s proclivities, but somehow he’s the second of Goreon. And that just doesn’t make any fucking sense. What is this game he’s playing? Because it’s a dangerous one.
“Is the farm our next stop?” I ask.
Nerian chuckles. “It can be. But given last night, you may want some champagne first.”
I step closer to the king, gown snagging on the ground, but I rip myself from it without pause. “My beliefs don’t make me weak, Nerian. Show me what you have to show me.”
He bows. “As you wish, my queen.”
Nerian makes for the stairwell, and Del nods for us to follow. I watch him grip the railing, his short, dark hair falling in front of his eyes, surveying the mob below.
“This is so fucked,” Charlotte whispers in my ear, clutching two fistfuls of my gown to get close to me.
Her blue eyes find mine, and I drop my voice, tone determined: “Let’s convince Nerian to show us everything. We need to know.”
She nods and points her chin forward, holding it high, and struts her ass up the stairwell behind the king. “King Nerian, I did love the beautiful estates we saw on our journey through the city,” she croons.
“Ah, thank you for noticing, my dear,” Nerian drawls, voice echoing up the stairwell. “I built those for my nobles. They owe me their lives, really.” He drones on about his wealth and the army as we climb and trail through the snow toward the castle.
Del whispers behind me, “You need to prepare yourself.”
That’s all he says, and my mind churns with how this could get worse.
Torches and tended fires guide our way as Nerian leads us east of the castle.
The half-frozen bay glistens in moonlight beyond a series of immaculate gardens still clinging to the land despite the winter chill.
The king stops at a set of tall iron gates flanked by twenty-foot hedges for as far as I can see on either side.