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She understood. “Earth is our best choice. We will fade into obscurity there. Fleeing to another kingdom would certainly cause war. The Nurians would burn them to the ground if they dared harbor me.”
To remain and refuse to honor an oath her king made could also be a death sentence, which could come from her family for bringing dishonor to the El Shyokara name, or from the Nurians who would see her actions as an insult to their king. But she would stay her course, for she was determined to protect her people at all cost.
Finally, gentle flutters came on the wind, and Kamu turned toward Taryllion. “Thyon has signaled the lands appear to be without danger.”
“I am ready,” she said hoarsely.
“We need to pace ourselves so that our chakras are not drained. As we near the border of the Darkage, move with your full speed and power, Princess,” he bit out, scanning the horizon for danger.
They flashed with determined purpose. She did not look back. Not once. She knew in her heart it was the last time she would see her kingdom. She did not need a fleeting glimpse to remind her of the beauty and joys they were leaving behind. It resounded in her mind and echoed in her soul.
***
The Darkage—kingdom of darkness and shadows
Kerberos—Castle of the deep—main stronghold of the king
“There are murmurs of dissension,” Drac El Kyn reported to his king. He shifted, following Gidon’s progress across the cavernous room as he paced like a caged predator.
His king’s lips curved into a smile even as the deep silver of his eyes turned to hardened flint. “From where does this dissension rise and what are the murmurings?”
“It is said that you are only five centi old and not strong enough to rule our people. It is whispered that you are only in power because it is your heir-ship,” Drac s
aid. “There are also whispers of the Kingmaker promising a new ruler for the Darkage.”
Gidon’s step faltered and met Drac’s gaze. The Kingmaker was a shadow in Amagarie, lauded for his brilliance and cunning. He was without loyalty to any kingdom or king. A man most dangerous, a man whose identity had been a mystery for centuries, but whenever he stirred, destruction ensued.
Gidon strode to the fireplace and stared into the roaring fire. Its flickering cast the sigil of the ruling family—the Cerberus—a ferocious three headed gargoyle mounted above the war throne in a menacing glow.
Tension danced over Drac as the coldness that emanated from his king reached out to him, and darkness scraped against darkness. The sibilant slide of his beast whispered through him as he lowered himself into the great chair facing Gidon.
They were secreted in one of the king’s private war chambers away from eyes and ears embedded in the shadows of the court. It was sparsely furnished with only two great chairs, a throne, and a massive oak desk. The fine layer of dust on the stone floor and furniture showed how little the room had been used.
“It has been more than fifty years since we last heard rumors of the kingmaker,” Gidon said.
“Yes.”
“Assassinating my father could have been on his command.”
“Many do not agree with the ideals your father advocated before his death,” Drac said, scanning the shadows, probing for unusual patterns. Even though they ensconced themselves away, he couldn’t be too careful. “For now, the kingmaker is a rumor…I will unearth the truth of it and the face behind the cowardly murder of our king.”
“All have something to gain from his death, thinking I would be less powerful after ascending,” Gidon growled, thrusting his hand through his midnight hair unraveling it from the thong that held it.
Savagery slithered through Drac, and a smile curled his lips as he anticipated the fight to come. Gidon shared his father’s ideals, which would mean that he would be the next target. If he fell to an assassin’s blade, there would be no heir to take his place. Their kingdom would then have to choose its next leader based on traits it respected—viciousness, cunning, and ruthlessness. The last time a ruler was chosen like that was before the first Great War, a ruler of whom Gidon was a descendant. Gidon was the last of the Al Shra bloodline.
“We will need another enforcer for our cadre,” Drac said.
Gidon had been King Rajliegh’s enforcer, and now that Gidon ascended to his father’s place a fourth was needed. The circle of power and strength needed to be maintained for his protection.
“I have no intention of finding an enforcer to take my place.” Gidon’s tone was menacing as he prowled to the desk, lifting the tablet of the old laws.
Drac glanced at his king sharply. “The elders will object.” He said nothing of the danger it presented. His king would be fully aware.
Gidon hurled the tablet into the wall, shattering the granite stone into dozens of pieces. “I am not my father, as the elders will soon learn. He listened keenly to their insight because of their strength and wisdom, yet our kingdom suffers. We are only seen as a people to be feared and reviled, Drac, and my rule will change all of that. We will change all of it. ”
Gidon stalked around the room, and a hiss escaped Drac as tension spiked from his king, pricking Drac’s skin, tugging at the malevolence buried in him. He sank deeper into the great chair, giving Gidon a moment to subdue his flare of rage.
“I want to know if the kingmaker has risen, and who were my father’s assassins… Hunt and bring them before me,” Gidon said with a calm that belied the fury pouring from him in waves. He stepped into the shadows and vanished from the room.
