Darrock
Jessamine dances, a crown of bloomed roses bouncing atop her brows. Wicked violet eyes glint with mirth as she takes the arm another, granting him the reward of her dance. Soft, luscious lips curve with joy, bejeweled fingers rising to the air as her lush hips sway left and right, beckoning us forward, capturing and holding our attention.
We watch her, helpless to her charm. Her wiles. Her cruel yet innocent laughter. She tosses her silvery blonde hair back and a sultry sound leaves her lips as the moonlight descends, illuminating her skin. She is divine. She is something ethereal. The court watch her with fascination. They hate her, but they watch her with the same reverence with which we worship the goddess. Such is the lure of the crown. When she laughs, they laugh. When she dances, their feet move. The joy is sickening, addicting. It used to be so when the king was happy, before he lost his joy to an enchantress himself. Now, with her, it has returned.
My fingers brush over my heart, feeling the strong race it is engaged in. I cannot tell when it started. The first time I said I had feelings for her, I had lied. The second time and every time after that had been carefully constructed lies to win her heart.
I cannot tell when it stopped being a lie. It doesn’t matter how many women I bed, I find myself thinking of returning to her chambers, lounging in her bed covered in her scent and listening to her rant or curse at everything and everyone, including myself. It is strange. I’ve never been a man moved by emotions or desires. Every decision I make is carefully panned out to bring me the best results. I play games, I kill, I seduce, I fuck, if it means I get what I want.
Yet, I stare at Jessamine, and I become a fool. I become tongue tied. I lose focus and become her pet.
The crowd stiffens as King Hunter steps off his seat, joining the dancing throng. He takes the princess from her partner and pulls her into his arms, spinning her across the floors. Jessamine’s eyes widen a little, before she laughs, clutching at his shoulders and matching his every step with expertise. His eyes soften and the King smiles, his golden crown suddenly seeming less ominous. Less dangerous.
He doesn’t ever smile, but for his daughter, he would. He would dance for her. He would kill for her. He loves her and he is a fool to show it. Having the king’s love is the same as having an arrow aimed at her throat. There will always be enemies. There will always be spies. All searching for weaknesses. She is his, and now, she has become mine. He thinks sending me across the sea will keep her safe. He doesn’t realize she is safest with me. Even if I didn’t have these useless feelings, I would never hurt my only means to the throne.
My gaze drifts across the hall and rest on the other one. The Neredian King watches her, a fond smile crinkling his too pretty eyes. I despise him. I hate that I despise him only because of her. My fingers are a few inches away from my sword and I wonder if I should kill him before he takes her from me.
Shoulders bump into my arm and I peer down at Raya, who’s smiling sheepishly at me. Irritated, I pull my fingers from the sword. “What?”
Raya places a hand to her forehead, faking a swoon. “Never would I have believed a day would come where I find my brother yearning after one woman.”
I level a frosty glare at her before snatching a glass from a servant’s tray. “I suppose Griffin has grown weary of your big mouth and that is why you are no longer flaunting your devastating beauty before him.” I bring the glass to my lips and glower when I taste juice. Snarling at the servant to fetch me liquor I discard the juice.
Raya scowls. “My feet hurt from dancing and, well, the princess has his attention as well.” I follow her gaze across the hall. Indeed, Griffin stands in the throng, dancing around Princess Jessamine as he waits for an opportunity to even take her hand.
I nod toward the fair-haired Alpha by the pillars. “Brydan looks lonely. You could keep him company. I hear his father is relinquishing authority of the pack to him soon. You would make a fine Luna by his—”
“Maybe put your relationships in order first before you try to sell me off,” she says, tugging her skirts up as she saunters back to her friends who bat pretty lashes and flaunt their bosoms in hopes to catch my attention. They do, but I’m more interested in something I am unsure I will ever have.
A brimming glass of liquor suddenly appears before me. “I believe you need this.”
I stare up to find hazel eyes that burn like liquid fire tonight watching me. The Neredian King watches me with faint curiosity and a conspiratory smile. It is unnerving. I consider shattering the glass and digging its shards into his throat. Then I think better of it. I play out killing him in my mind, running him through with my sword like I told Violet I would. I wonder if I could win a fight against him. I wonder if I could actually kill him.
I highly doubt that. I may be the strongest Alpha and Lord, but I am no King. I would be a fool to swing a sword against a creature with an aura as monstrous as his—a wall of varying shades of blacks and reds, with its sentient mouth stretching, yawning to reveal a chasm of darkness and hell. Sweat breaks under my clothes and it takes my best efforts to wear a mask of indifference as I take the glass from him.
“I should thank you,” I say. “But I cannot find a reason to.”
King Kier waves me off nonchalantly, turning his gaze ahead to properly watch Jessamine. Rage tightens my gut. He doesn’t think me a threat. It is in his movement. His confidence. His arrogance. I am the one engaged to her, and yet, he believes he owns her. He considers me no one of consequence. Blood roars in my head, deafening me temporarily. My hands are on my sword, unsheathing it before I can properly think.
The king’s gaze turns to me and drops to my fingers wrapped around my sword. The corner of his mouth curled up into a cruel smile. “Surely, you would not exercise such stupidity, attacking me before so many.”
My grip only tightens. “You are in a foreign land, surrounded by a court that loathes you. These are MY people. Should I wish to spill your blood, there would merely be witnesses and no resistance.”
His smile is cold and calculating. “Go on then, if you truly believe you will survive what comes after.” He leans in, his gaze like simmering coals as he tries to read me. Then he pulls back, clapping twice with an amused laugh. “Ah, she’s done it to you as well.”
I blink, visibly letting go of my blade. “What?”
“She has bewitched you.” Another laugh like the sound of glass shattering. “You are a far cry from the clown who tried to take her from me in exchange for information. She’s changed you, and you have succumbed to the urge to become what you think she wants.”
I frown, despising the fool even more as his words ring true in my mind. My heart. I fold my free arm around my chest, reaching for the dagger hidden in my jacket as I take a sip from the glass. “I understand now why she grew bored of you. You spew a lot of nonsense.”
My words do not rattle him. He plows ahead, eyes too old for his appearance scrutinizing me. “Tell me, how does it feel, being utterly helpless as she snatches and holds your will in her grasp? As she rips down every wall you have built around your heart mercilessly? As your control slips from you and you let it because her want and need have become yours?”
The glass in my grasp cracks. “How does it feel knowing you have lost her due your foolishness?”
Hazel eyes darken. “You forget yourself, Alpha Darrock.” The raw command in that voice. The utter dominance and power have heads turning our way, eyes seeking to find the source of the tension and aura that suffocates the space. Servants and courtiers give us wide berth and the music grows louder, as if in a bid to drown us out.
“It is you who forgets himself,” I growl. “I have watched her pick up what was left after your betrayal and somehow become stronger. Formidable. I have watched her battle against fear and win while you entangled yourself in the skirts of your Luna. I have held her hand through meetings and revelries, lending her my strength whether or not she asks for it. I have watched her work herself so hard, she falls ill. I have watched her train until her hands are bloody and sore. Until her body gives out. And each time, I am there with her. Tending to her injuries. Lending her a shoulder, my back, my limbs, my fingers, my lips, whatever she wants. I have earned my place by her side. You have not. You do not take what is mine. I am not generous enough to let her slip from my grasp. I will kill you, and if I cannot, I will cut your hands, so you never touch her again.”
He grins and to anyone else, it might have seemed as just that, but I saw it for what it was. A gleam of a predator who has his prey cornered. “Then I suppose she must be insatiable, if all of that isn't enough to keep her from returning to me. She may be in your intended, but her heart, her desires, they still echo my name." He chuckles. "Shame that you assume her presence as true submission. Did she mention it? The little sounds she made when my fingers closed around her throat?"
This time, I do not hesitate.
The ashen dagger cuts through flesh, digging into his side. Ivory fabric stains with red. His eyes widen with surprise, no sign of pain. Impressive. I punch the hilt of the blade, ramming it deeper. Someone screams--a servant. I chuckle for the first time tonight, feeling quite like myself as blood seeps down my hands. Staring directly into his eyes, I whisper, so only he can hear, “Remember the pain, King Kier. It will feel much worse on our first night together."