Page 38

Raising the same finger, only slightly, she held Eborthorn’s gaze. He had intended to harm her brother—had wanted to insult her. She should kill the pathetic excuse of a male.

The council remained silent witnesses. Had Eborthorn finally lost all sense? They watched, stares burning into the side of her head.

Areanel’s mask remained one of boredom, aloof though she simmered with rage. Her power threatened to burst free, beating and thrashing as it grew against her already-wavering will.

It hurt to keep it at bay, searing her from the inside out.

With a deep inhale, her bright light took the form of a collar and whipped around Eborthorn’s thick, stocky neck. Tightening her hold on her power, she let her rage shimmer through the rope of bright blue.

Eborthorn gasped.

The council daren’t move. The stench of fear permeated the air, and their faces paled. Each watched the exchange and refused to meet her gaze. Their breaths turned shallow and measured.

Eborthorn’s wrinkled hands clawed at his neck and the blue power that coiled around it. Making a circular motion with her finger, Areanel felt the delicious burn of her power expanding, and excitement built in her veins as she let more loose.

Bang!

The sound sent lords jumping in their seats. Their heads bowed, eyes trained on the long wooden table before them as Eborthorn’s hands slammed down. Palms flat and splayed, the blue light of her power circled his wrists, pinning him in place, and his eyes bulged out of his skull.

Areanel let that glimmer of exhilaration pass through her mind as she watched his face turn red, then slowly blue from the lack of oxygen. Sweat dripped down his forehead, mingling with the tears that streamed from the corners of his eyes.

‘Your voice bores me, Lord Eborthorn…’ She paused, sighing. ‘Why is it that every word from your forked tongue is either a lie or counterproductive to our goals? Do you enjoy hearing yourself speak? Because I don’t.’ She picked at her nails, continuing in a bored tone. ‘To answer your question, our king has yet to order such a menial task. If he wishes it so, I will find these supposed rebels, and I will make them squeal.’

Areanel knew well that she needed to show them power, but also that she must remind the lords that she wore a collar of her own—and just who held it. Her subjugation was imperative. She knew her father’s spies watched their every move, and her gaze flicked to the younger council member sitting furthest from her—his form wiry and eyes scheming. She did not know this male, and yet, as her eyes swept his face, Areanel thought she glimpsed a look of respect cross his feline features.

She did not trust him.

Allowing her true intentions to show would derail her plan. It was paramount that she remind these lords who held the real power, because they craved it. If an unchained woman held more power than them, she knew they would turn on her in an instant, sow discord and petition her immediate removal. They had done so already, so who was to say they wouldn’t again?

Unlucky for them, Areanel knew how to play the game, and she played it well. She needed to be smarter. Quicker. Ten steps ahead.

Areanel would admit to only herself that her ambition had grown over the years. It was in her nature to be competitive, and when her father’s mortality eventually faded, Areanel would be king.

It was the law of the Elvadora—the gods’ law—that the next king of Andrea be the biological child of both its previous king and queen, but the child must hold a power akin to their forebearers’. Areanel’s power exceeded that of all her brothers, except for her late brother, Ivan. Still, looking around, Areanel knew without a doubt that the Council would see her hanged before they knelt before her.

Only one man enjoyed kneeling before her—and when their gazes met, the world fell away. Surprised cobalt met heated emerald. Rymedur’s hooded look was one of sinful promise.

Intense heat left a flush of warmth across her skin, and an acute sense of awareness trailed, prickling the goosebumps that rose as a shiver of something fiery, aching and wanting.

Her lips parted, toes curling in her heeled boots. Something phantom was slithering up her leg, curling on her thigh like a tight embrace.

Areanel stared at the clear skin along Rymedur’s forearm—where a shadow usually rested—and did not need to look down to see what caressed her leg. She knew exactly what it was, what Rymedur had sent to her—and the way he looked at her now, like he wanted nothing more than to get on his knees and devour her, was a testament to all she already knew.

Chapter 15

Rymedur

Rymedur had thoroughly enjoyed watching the performance.

His wife was extraordinary and captivating, but when violence danced behind the brilliant blue eyes he had fallen in love with, Rymedur thought she was ethereal. Godlike.

Resting his hand against his mouth, Rymedur tried to hide his amused smirk at his wife’s not-so-subtle demonstration. Gods, he adored her. Found her utterly irresistible.

When her cold mask remained in place throughout the show, he wanted to howl with laughter. He was sure he was the only one who noticed the fire raging behind her cold eyes.

He wondered if Areanel would allow him the chance to make that flame blaze brighter later tonight. His gaze travelled along the gown she wore, admiring how perfectly it fit her form. The black of her dress was the same inky hue as his powers, and the fact delighted him. Excited him. She wore the dress as well as she wore his shadows, and he could not wait to adorn her with them later.

Emerald clashed with the bluest gems he had ever laid eyes on as his gaze leisurely perused her face, already turned his way. Did she already know what he was thinking?