Page 112 of Three Dark Kings and the Gilded Serpent

“Your mother.”

He’s frozen again. Then he lurches toward me. “Do you know which one she is?”

I prowl forward, rapidly attempting to close the gap between him and me once more. “She is none of them.”

She is a woman who stood over his crib and extended her hand into his fire because, for some reason, she was determined to draw runes on his arms. For good or for evil, I don’t know which.

Darkness clouds his expression, his question sharp. “What are you talking about?”

“Your mother wasn’t an Ember Fae.” I force myself to breathe, preparing for the fight I’m about to have with him. “She was a Blood Fae.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Antony

I’m about to storm after Thyra when a firm hand closes over my armored arm.

“Do not,” comes the command.

I swing to Stellen, a rebuke ready, but he releases me and steps back. Calmly. Unhurriedly. His head tilted slightly.

“If Thyra wants help, I will hear her call,” he says. “She needs to conquer her fears as badly as Maxim needs to conquer his.”

I want to tell Stellen where he can shove his fucking wisdom, but Thyra’s accusation rings loudly in my ears: I chose to leave her. In Stellen’s arms, to be exact.

If I were honest with myself, which I rarely am, my need to go after Thyra has as much to do with my wish to protect her as it has to do with avoiding having to face my past.

My mother’s awake.

At this moment, she’s huddled beneath the dragon’s hide on a pallet a hundred paces away. I recognize Riven where he’s crouched beside her, but from this distance, I can’t hear what he’s saying to her.

“We are no longer enemies.”

Stellen’s declaration startles me, but I snort. “What kind of wisdom led you to that conclusion?”

His wolf pads up behind him to settle herself at his side and once again, I’m reminded that he’s just a bit taller than me, a height that allows him to more than stand eye to eye with me.

“I’m no longer a king,” he says. “I assume you aren’t, either.”

I’m prepared to bite his head off at that suggestion, but I take a breath, uttering an honest answer. Too much honesty today. “I’m not sure.”

“Well, which is it?” he asks.

The ruby circlet I’m keeping hidden inside my armor indicates I’m still a king, but I’m not sure I can put a lot of trust in the blood magic that controls it. My vampyric nature could be confusing that dark magic, or the blood magic has its own agenda.

As for my people, Cassia is building a small army of those who were loyal to me, gathering them to her side while Hadrian officially controls the Iron Kingdom.

I mutter, “What is a king without territory?”

Stellen arches his eyebrows at me. “Then we’re no longer enemies.”

“You’re still a fucking Frost Fae,” I snap at him.

He shakes his head. “I’m Lethian.”

I narrow my eyes at the powerful ice spreading across the backs of his hands, over his face, and presumably across the rest of his body. He gives himself a shake, sending snowflakes into the air around him. The snow takes the soot with it and leaves him clean-faced again.

“I should have left you to suffocate in the smoke,” I grumble.