Series: Lords of Rathe Series by Meagan Brandy
Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
The music changes its tune, the room quieting only slightly and right on cue, the passageway opens with a yawn. The moment it does, every pair of eyes spins that way, landing on her.
And oh, gods.
She’s wearing that.
Fishnet over flesh, a leather scrap that might’ve once been pants tied into a makeshift skirt, and a blood-stained shirt that absolutely belongs to someone else. Probably a mess that needs cleaning up.
She struts down the war hall like an angry little thing. Seconds away from turning this entire place into a battleground.
My battleground.
She doesn’t flinch beneath the stares—and everyone is staring at my little chaos monster. The girl doesn’t even hesitate as a hundred voices fall silent as she passes. A cigarette dangles from that luscious mouth of hers like she’s about to break into a bar fight.
And fuck me, I don’t know which one I’d rather watch.
Her entrance has an immediate effect on my brothers.
Between Creed jolting upright in his throne, Knight’s narrowed eyes, and Sinner looking reluctant to even move—as if he might shatter the illusion—I don’t know whose reaction I enjoy more.
None of them knew she was coming back.
And by coming back I mean, you know, going to Exile Island to retrieve what is mine. I bet their minds are racing right now, trying to put together why I’d want this untamed and untrained gifted mess of a girl back here.
My money is on Knight figuring out the why first.
Or Creed, mind-mirroring magic and all. If I let him in my head when his nosy ass seeks entrance, I have no doubt he’ll see.
I stay seated, grinning like the feral bastard I am, and wait until Haide is nearly at the foot of the dais before I speak.
“Well, hello, my little monster,” I purr, voice wrapping around the silence like a rope around a throat. “Took you long enough. Did you get lost?”
She ignores me.
Good girl.
It would be boring if she just smiled and apologized like a good little mate would.
A weak mate.
No, Haide is made different, and I can’t wait to cut her open and find out just how much.
She stares up at me with a bored expression, blowing smoke straight in my face in a move made to disrespect, and I have to work hard not to laugh.
She’s perfect. The air around her quite literally pulses with defiance, the war room itself recognizing a threat and making sure we’ve caught onto it.
Good.
Let them see what I chased. Let them see what I caught.
The chamber, built from obsidian and the ancient blood, begins to thrum. I can feel it under my boots, thrumming like a heartbeat as the ancient stones stir, searching for the truth of the girl before me. Above us, the lights flicker once, twice, and with a breath of old magic, it clears.
The room finally stirs, the silence replaced with whispered words of curiosity.
They want to know who stands before one of their kings.
I’m fucking humming with anticipation.
The walls begin to shift around us and Haide moves to the side, gaze flickering out across the space as I sit back in my throne.
A breath later, we turn our attention to the people of Rathe. The courtyard is full, thousands standing in the square, shoulder to shoulder, on the cracked cobbled stone, staring up at the palace as the veil between us dissolves.
Creed rises like a blade being unsheathed: sharp, cold, and carved from the kind of authority people are bred to obey.
He steps forward, but his eyes linger on Haide for a moment, a tightness teasing at his temples.
“I speak now not only as your king,” he begins, his voice as steady and clean as polished steel. The courtyard stills instantly. “But as one of you.”
The weight of him is different from mine. Measured. Cold. Royal in a way I’ve never aspired to be.
“The battle for the throne is over. The blood spilled cannot be undone, but the path forward can be rewritten. There will be no ministry, no share of the throne outside of the Deveraux name or split between our people.”
“And while we may have walked different paths, we are all born from the magic of the grounds we walk.”
“Not all of us,” I murmur with a grin. My eyes trail over the masses, the Stygian roaring in awaited vengeance, and the Argents, shuffling back in silence.
Aside from the slight frown that builds along his brow, Creed ignores me. He continues flawlessly, ever the perfectly bred son. “I can sense your fear, Argents. But believe me when I say you are safer now than you were before. Trust in us as your kings, and we will not do you wrong. Cross us and die. Disrespect us and die. This goes for all gifted kind, friend and foe. There will be no second chances and no ministry to back you, but we will consider building a council around us that you can trust.”