Page 119 of The Serpent Prince

His body trembled, taking on the power.

“Imani,” he gasped. “Kill me.”

“I know.” And she was glad he didn’t have to be alone. She murmured, “It will end soon, Kiran. I promise.” She paused then added, “It will end soon, and you will feel the best you’ve ever felt. Stronger, with more magic … multiplied,” she whispered. “You will be unstoppable, my love.”

A black obsidian crown grew from his head, cracking and breaking through the skin to encircle his brow.

The strongest witch in the world—and a twelve-mark witch—had just become the king of the Niflheim Kingdom with an army from the Under following him.

It made her bones tremble in fear at what was to come.

He could have destroyed his father and brother years ago. In minutes. He had always been the strongest shifter. Was this why his mother had died—to protect him? It was plausible because for all these years, he could have killed them all in minutes. He knew—and hid himself.

But he hadn’t acted on this knowledge. Why?

The man was too smart for that. Instead, he had waited years. He had watched until it was time.

Imani had a sick feeling she was somehow the final piece in his plan. Gods … did he know what she possessed? Who she was? Had she been lying to herself this last year when she’d convinced herself that she could tell him about the Drasil? Convince him to run away with her? Was it a fantasy she had created for them?

Imani had never been more terrified at what she now knew was inevitable.

He stood, panting, magic practically exploding from him. His eyes dilated and thinned. He fisted his hands and screamed. This was the power she could see raging inside his muscles. It was burning him, all that magic transferring.

In an instant, his dragon wings burst from his back in a storm of emotions rippling off of him, half-man, half-dragon.

Still breathing hard, Kiran turned to face the crowd, his eyes slitted and determined. With a deep breath, he then lowered himself onto the throne, his wings draped over the sides.

An insane, wild look, with a hint of a smirk, crossed his face. It made her shiver with fear and something else … something warm and reverent.

Her body was on fire. Guilt, humiliation, and desire made for a truly heady cocktail. How could she possibly still want him?

It was dangerous. She knew Kiran was a monster. She had seen it herself. And now, with what he’d just done to a huge group of innocent people, she had all the proof she would ever need that he was capable of terrible things. But it wasn’t the violence she abhorred—it was his lies to her. They swirled inside her like a sickness.

A king atop the throne, he was so different yet the same. Saints, Kiran was good at performances. Imani didn’t think she’d even cracked the surface of the real him.

Nothing about the throne had changed. It was still large enough to seat two people, but, like his father, Kiran somehow dominated it. Casually sitting with his wings draped behind him, his legs spread, leaning his elbow on the armrest, it was an image Imani wouldn’t forget for a long, long time.

Arrogant bastard.

He raised his hand and made a fist with it. Immediately, all chatter and noise died out.

He had seemed like a titan earlier, in all that armor. Now, he loomed over Imani, who still kneeled on the ground. Tall and broad-shouldered but inhuman. Still, he was no less daunting, and he was the king.

Even if this place and these people meant nothing to Imani, she sensed the aura of power radiating from him. An arrogance.

His piercing gaze settled on her, his focus still intently on her.

Imani thinned her mouth, staring steadily back. Whatever he commanded would be done. His power was absolute, and amongst the shock of all his lies and manipulations, Imani didn’t even have the strength to fight back.

What Kiran might intend as king turned her stomach into knots. She had to get him alone, to talk to him about making a plan together, even if their trust was in tatters.

The king rose and stepped past the debris and rubble piled up in the throne room, stalking toward Imani, chest heaving as he stared at her like she was some sort of creature, some monster that was more a walking corpse than a man.

She immediately stood, holding his gaze with what she hoped was a blank expression. As his bloodshot eyes took Imani in, vacant and vicious, she felt like she was looking into the face of death itself.

He watched her with a sharp, unreadable gaze that made her want to strangle him with the shreds of her dress. Why did his gaze do things to her? However, this was a different Kiran. A towering, imperial, majestic figure cut from the obsidian crown now on his head. Imani imagined this Kiran commanding men in battle and decimating armies with his magic.

Someone screamed and shot an arrow at him, only narrowly missing him. “We won’t trade one tyrant for another!” he shouted.