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Her palm feels strange in mine, somehow too hot and too cold all at once. A low, continuous vibration shoots energy through my skin.
We head to the empty dais, and confusion mars the inclination of her perfect brows, until I let go of her at the first step.I feel the sudden lack of her touch like one would a phantom limb.
Silver stands in a smooth, swift leap as I walk up, and comes to a halt at my left as I sit on my smooth ebony throne. “Done with your game?” she grumbles, visibly disapproving.
“Not quite,” I reply, watching Rhea’s bewilderment morph into shock, and finally, settle on white-hot fury.
She hates that I played her. My smirk hikes up higher yet.Welcome to the club, Rhea darling.
Sensing Vess’s approach, I shrug off his jacket. Underneath, I wear nothing but one of my regalia: a thick gold necklace inscribed with the story of my grandfather’s ascension from war lord, to god, and then king. It bears a single black diamond, wider than my fist. It’s cumbersome, and rather ugly, but it makes a statement.
Vessorian sets my crown back upon my head, and Silver hands me my gold scepter resting against the throne. By the time my mother reaches the dais, I have shed the man and embraced the king.
All rules of propriety dictate that I should acknowledge Lucyan, but first, she’s supposed to curtsy. As she doesn’t, my gaze returns to a far more charming subject.
“Well, Rhea, what do you think of this king of ours?”I smirk.
“He seems more satisfied with himself than any man ought to be,” she retorts.
The courtiers within ear range gasp and whisper. Before the next heartbeat, the entire ballroom will have heard the jibe.
“I’m not accustomed to not being recognized—or regarded for more than my crown. You’ll pardon my tricks.”
“Will I?”
She has a spine, this pretty terror, and sheoughtto count herself lucky I am not of a mind to snap it in two.
“Eventually.” I must regretfully return my attention to my mother.
The high priestess stands at the head of her six disciples, all of whom have vowed their lives to the service of my absent grandfather.
The god of shade, like all elders, long disappeared, tired of this world, so who knows what he wants, really?But their faith has a long list of guidance presumably dictated by my grandfather. In exchange for their practices, the shade gives them a number of powers, ranging from visions to deathly skills.
Most of their ways are inconsequential to me. One of the traditions, I’ve used just last week: any pilgrim making it to their sacred hall may ask one question and have it answered. That’s how I forced Lucyan to give me a way to end the threat of war. Never mind that I don’t quite understand what I’m supposed to do—other than holding this reveal.
The disciples come to my bed each year at least once, on the winter solstice, standing in line until I’m done coming inside their wombs, as the antiquated faith dictates. I’d wager my grandfather started the tradition to get his dick as wet as he wished.
This is how I came to be, when my mother had her turn with my father.
I take several brews to ensure I don’t spawn any heir of those power-hungry vipers, though we certainly do have our fun.
The disciples wear nothing but swirls painted on their skins, but my mother’s covered in fine silk and diamonds chained to white gold, the upside-down V representing the order of shade bright at the center of a diadem on her forehead. Usually, they stir my attention, but they’re nothing to the stunning southerner glaring daggers at me.
“Well, Lucyan. It is agreeable of you to honor us with your unsolicited presence.”
The courtiers around us chuckle at her expense, and my mother bristles. “Pardon, my king. I was under the impression I’d be welcome under my own son’s roof.”
I may be fond of my games, but have no patience for hers, nor am I tempted to indulge her in causing a scene. It’s one thing when Lucyan makes such a fuss in front of my court, but there are too many foreign eyes seeking weaknesses here.
“And welcome you are, mother. Stay the night—stay tomorrow, if you so wish. I will have the finest quarters prepared for your ladies and your rooms will be aired.”
Vess bows deep and slides away, taking my words as orders to be relayed through the appropriate channels.
Her quarters are on the south wing of the keep, while I reside high in the north tower, as far as possible from her clutches.
Satisfied, Lucyan inclines her head a quarter of an inch—not a bow by any stretch of imagination, but I pretend I take it as such.
I’m glad to see her retreat. Silver slowly slides off the dais and follows her at a safe distance without being asked to.
