Page 132 of Three Dark Kings and the Gilded Serpent

Extending my arm downward and curving my palm, I direct the blood to flow to the tips of my middle fingers, dripping directly between Antony’s lips.

He jolts as he swallows, one hand jerking away from my calf and up toward my bleeding hand, as if he would yank that hand toward himself. He stops when Stellen moves closer, his blades ready to strike.

“You already kissed me, remember?” I whisper to Antony, allowing my blood to flow, ensuring every drop reaches Antony’s lips. “Drink.”

With every drop, the color returns to his cheeks and his skin begins to knit, new skin forming across the burns.

I watch carefully the wound at his heart. The real test will be whether or not my blood can heal him there.

My hope fades when the wound on his chest remains raw and red, although his skin does pull together, closing a little.

I can’t hide my disappointment, but Antony doesn’t seem so bothered. Probably because his fundamental strength is returning, his eyes brightening, his mind clearly working faster because he shoots a glance at Stellen before saying, “Don’t cut off my hand.”

With that, Antony reaches for my bloody fingers, slowly lifting himself up onto his knees, gradually drawing my hand toward his mouth.

He pulls my forefinger between his lips, sucking gently on the least bloodied digit before dipping his tongue into the blood now pooling in my cupped palm, lapping at my skin.

“You’ve given me enough, Thyra,” he murmurs, casting another sharp glance at Stellen, who swiftly returns his swords to their scabbards and takes my bleeding arm.

Stellen’s frost power razes sharply across my wrist, cauterizing the wound, a swift pain I welcome, as it stops the blood flow.

He passes my hand back to Antony without spilling a drop of the final trickle of blood gathering in my cupped palm.

Antony buries his mouth against my palm, licking off every last smear and then lingering, planting small kisses around the sealed wound at my wrist and along my arm to the crease inside my elbow.

Lifting his gaze to mine as he continues kneeling, he presses my hand to his heart, right across his wound.

The black poison drains from his eyes, leaving his irises emerald green but somehow more shadowed, a haunting that pins me to the spot.

“You are my hope, Thyra,” he says. “I would rather lay down my life than hurt you. Let the blood bind take my strength. I don’t fucking care. My life is yours.”

My throat tightens, my heart hurting as he rises to his feet, keeping my palm pressed to his chest, his gaze unwavering. A fierce conviction burns in his eyes.

All of my fears well up within me, but now they rise like a dam before it empties and drains away. I struggle to speak through my tears, my relief, and then the enormous weight of trust both Antony and Stellen are giving me.

“I want… I need…” I bite my lower lip, trying to find the words when my body has other ideas and my legs buckle.

Both Antony and Stellen move in, Stellen’s arm wrapping around my stomach from behind and Antony’s arm wrapping across the small of my back, each of them closing in tight before I can fall.

Slowly, we sink to the floor together, their heads bowed on either side of me, their embrace supporting me. Wrapping me in a safety I never expected to feel.

Quietly, so softly I’m not sure if Antony will hear, Stellen breathes the lightest melody at my ear, his power soothing the ache in my heart.

I breathe in the warmth, the comfort, and what feels like…love.

“Stay with me,” I whisper. “No more fighting. No more conflict.”

I listen for a change in their heartbeats, uncertain if they’ll pull away from me, but they remain calm.

Antony rumbles at my ear. “Stellen, do you remember what I said to you in the Frost Kingdom?”

Stellen replies, “Too well.”

When they fall silent again, I ask, “What did you speak about in the Frost Kingdom?”

Neither man responds immediately.

Then Stellen says, “We have power over your fate.”