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“That I can do.”
He flashed her to his private dining room. A massive space consumed by a long table piled high with both sweet and savory dishes. The spread remained available twenty-four seven, the dishes exchanged every hour and always the right temperature. A mystical amenity already in place when he’d overtaken the kingdom.
“In contrast,” he added once he’d gained her attention, “if you fail to procure my property, I’ll unleash my wrath upon your loved ones. My bucket is hungry for entrails.”
“I thought we’d already agreed to that.” Neeka dismissed him to “ooh” and “aah” over the dishes as she loaded a plate. Munching on steamed broccoli, she claimed the spot at the head of the table. “My compliments to the chef.”
With a sigh, Rathbone picked her up, set her in the adjacent seat, and plopped into the vacated chair.
She continued eating, unbothered. “I can’t help but notice we’re alone here. Where are your servants and subjects?”
“Their loyalty belonged to the previous sovereign, so I killed them.”
“And you couldn’t find anyone willing to work for you after that? Weird.”
“My wife will select our servants.” Also, he’d been busy assisting Hades the past few centuries. The other king had warred with Lucifer, a hell prince currently impaled and in lock up, guarded by winged warriors known as Sent Ones.
“As far as excuses go, it’s threadbare at best. You were too lazy, admit it.” She devoured a spear of asparagus. “So? Delight me with the story of your romance with Skeletoria. Help me understand the fairy-tale romantasy I’m soon to rekindle.”
A harsh rebuke reached the edge of his tongue. For the sake of the partnership, Rathbone swallowed it. “Her name is Lore. Lorelei the Incomparable. She’s a goddess of desire.” He tapped a claw tip against his empty plate.Clink, clink, clink.“I will permit many leniencies with you, oracle, but not this. Not disrespect to my wife. Consider this a solo warning. Next time I act.”
“Ten-four,” Neeka replied with a jaunty salute. “Only say nice things about the nasty bag of bones. Don’t worry. I’ve got it plugged into ole faithful now.”
He swiped his tongue over an incisor. “Lore is my everything. My fated.” No use trying to pretend otherwise. Let this female comprehend the depths of his feelings. His willingness to cross any line, no matter how objectionable, to accomplish his goal. “I won’t compromise her well-being.”
The oracle shrugged, unimpressed. “As long as your check is good, so are my services. Now, then. Tell me the important stuff. Explain your meet cute.”
What an odd, exasperating creature. “We met the same as anyone else, I suppose. I visited the Realm of Agonies to decide whether to contend for it or not.” Back then, he’d been a fresh-faced soldier full of determination and dreams. “She belonged to the former king. I took her from him, then claimed his lands as my own.” From the beginning, Rathbone had striven to prove himself worthy of the gentle beauty. To be the male honored to pamper her as she deserved. She had rewarded him well for it.
Having spent his childhood hidden on a distant planet, raised by servants, he’d longed for family of his own. His mother had deigned to visit him upon occasion, but only to compare him unfavorably to the father who hadn’t wanted him. With Lore, Rathbone had gotten his wish, and it had been far superior to anything he’d imagined.
“And then?” Neeka encouraged.
“And then someone killed her.” Someone he had yet to identify. Unless Erebus had told the truth. When Lore awoke, she would explain what happened, and Rathbone would proceed accordingly. “After I revive her, we’ll rule this kingdom together.”
“You’re right.” Neeka popped a bite of squash into her mouth. “Your story is the same as everyone else’s. There’s no pizzazz. Nothing to regale your future brats with—yet. Thankfully, I’m on the case. And because I’m such a giver, I’m gonna gift you with a freebie and spice things up. By the time I’m done, you’ll have the grandest tale to ever grand!”
A ridiculous claim undeserving of a response. “What do you know of love stories? Do you have a companion?”
“Nope. Well, yes and nope.” She hiked her shoulders. “A few years ago, I married the Phoenix you just poled. I filed for divorce by killing him, but he re-alived, as he always re-alives, and injected me with the turning toxin.”
Rathbone frowned. Harpies didn’t do divorce. Not with their consorts. “Why did you wed him if he isn’t your fated?” What washermeet cute?
“Well, my father is an oracle and he told me I’d find my consort in the flames. Since I owed a friend a favor, I decided to pay up and be a hero at the same time, taking her sister’s place at the wedding. I hoped Ahdán was my Inferno Man. He wasn’t.”
Rathbone detected a note of sadness. Like any good king of the Underworld, he pounced on a perceived weakness. “Help me bring my wife to life, and I will slay the Phoenix again and again until he stays dead. Consider it another bonus.” His suspicious nature forced him to add, “But if ever you betray me...” Several of his mátia opened, glaring at her. So far, she hadn’t shown a hint of fear concerning his promises. But she would. “Lest you think I’m someone willing to forgive the slightest duplicity—” He whipped out his arm and caught her by the wrist.
Flash. They materialized in the foyer of hisdungeon. Votedthedestination to avoid when visiting the Underworld for three centuries running. The scent of blood and terror lingered on the walls. Which made sense. Every partition was built from the remains of previous guests.
“Understand me,” he announced. Around them, immortal beings of varying species were chained to different torture devices, begging for help. Moans of anguish and desperation provided the chorus. “This is what happens to those who work against me. And do you know who works against me, oracle? Anyone who isn’t working with me.”
Neeka traversed a wide hallway minus her host, exploring the luxurious but abandoned palace. She must have gotten trapped in her own little world after their side trip to the dungeon. Now, she had no idea where she was or when and how she’d lost the guy.
Such a curious fellow. He had all kinds of extra flavor. Her favorite kind of immortal. They kept things interesting. Add in Rathbone’s überprotective streak and unwavering determination to guard what belonged to him, and he skirted the edge of perfect.
She came upon a spacious sitting room with velvet settees, porcelain side tables, and portraits of the Crimson King contorted in the most ridiculous poses while wearing next to nothing. A smile bloomed as she examined each masterpiece.
Pretty sure she recognized the artistic style, she checked out the artist’s signature. Madame Anya. Yep. Sure enough. Neeka snickered. Anya, goddess of anarchy, was a party buddy. Anya loved to gift her “artwork” to anyone who miffed her. That Rathbone displayed the collection, rather than burn it, spoke of a delightful sense of humor Neeka appreciated. An unexpected trait from a hardened warrior who enjoyed dishing threats.
