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Kallie slipped her hand out of his, reaching for her fork. “No apologies necessary, but I hope you will learn to share those burdens that weigh so heavily on you in time. Your rule will only be as strong as you are. And if you don’t mind me saying—you, King Rian, look exhausted. You should rest more.”
He sighed and mumbled, “A wishful thought.”
“What do you mean?”
Rian shook his head, but the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips did not reach his eyes. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
Clearly, the king was the type of person who kept things close to his chest but wore his heart on his sleeve. If Kallie could get him to trust her, he would crack right open like an egg.
She could not force that trust, however. She needed to nurture it first. A long-term manipulation would only work if it had a foundation to attach itself to.
Kallie leaned toward him. “Someone needs to worry about the king who worries about everyone else. Isn’t that what a queen is for?” Kallie smiled sheepishly, forcing a blush on her face. Let him think his presence affected her. Let him believe that she was here only for him.
“Oh, and please do call me Kallie. Kalisandre and Princess are much too formal for two people who are to spend the rest of their lives together.”
“Very well then,Kallie.” He chuckled to himself, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand, then added. “I would offer a nickname to you as well, but there’s not much one can do with a name like Rian.”
“Ry?”
“Like rye bread?” Amusement mixed with disgust forced his brow to raise.
Eyes lit with a twinkle of mischief, she cocked a brow. “I suppose I will just have to get creative, won’t I?”
“I suppose so.”
The trap was laid, now to reel him in.
Chapter11
GRAESON
Graeson drewhis arm back before letting it fly through the air. His knuckles smashed into the training dummy. Straw poked through the top of its head from the force of the blow. He pulled his hand back and jabbed it with his other fist. He struck again.
And again.
And again.
He would continue to strike until all his anger had run through his veins and flown out of his hands. Until all the straw pieces had been forced out.
The announcement shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him, yet hearing the words spoken out loud sent him storming out of the castle. Before he realized it, he was at the training grounds. An icy fire in his gaze and a knot in his stomach. If he didn’t release his anger in some productive way, it would come out in the worst way possible. And he didn’t want those around him to hurt more than they already did.
With each punch, Graeson let out a small piece of himself, a piece he usually kept closed off and under close guard. Ever since he was a child, he made sure to keep that monstrous part of him on a tight chain. He pulled it tight against the morals and hid it beneath everything that made sense.
When Graeson was younger, he had feared the thing that lay inside him. Had fearedthisside of him. The monster was a reminder of the father who had abandoned him. It was because of that man that Graeson lived with it. Perhaps if his father had stayed, Graeson would not have feared that side of him growing up, but Graeson hadn’t been that lucky.
Graeson didn’t know he was not like the others until he had lost his temper and then quickly his control. That day, he had lost almost everyone.
Only a week had passed since Domitius had found his way onto their land. When he had surpassed the kraken and the cliffs, past their defenses, and burned down the summer home they had been staying at for the month. Graeson couldn’t remember what had set him off—he was too young at the time to remember. Graeson only remembered the red coating his vision, the icy anger coursing through his veins. He had been trying to hold himself back all week, but one day, he had finally combusted. And when he did, he had blacked out.
No one told Graeson exactly what had happened. They even tried to hide it from him. After all, how do you tell a child that he had killed two grown adults and injured a dozen?
It didn’t take Gaeson long to discover the truth. He had seen the destroyed room, the blood on the floors, the way the servants cowered away from him. Then, when he had heard the piercing cries from the infirmary and asked what had happened to the patients, no one could look him in the eye.
Since that day, Graeson ensured that the monster living within him—his cursedgift—remained locked away. Over the years, he learned to contain the beast residing within him. He learned to dampen it, control it.
He never rereleased the beast. Not entirely, anyway.
Even now, when the monster’s rage fueled him, Graeson kept a tight hold on the beast. Only a faint crimson haze blurred the edges of his vision. He needed to release that anger before it consumed him. Or else that control would falter, and there would be no going back. And lately, his control was built on a shaky foundation. One wrong move, one wrong step, and the floorboards would fall through.
