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)
I arch a brow. “Just had to go get something of mine,” I say smoothly, folding my hands behind my head. “I’m here now. Talk.”
Creed shifts his attention to the center of the table. There, the runic map of the realm softly glows. Its lines of light and shadow tracing alliances, magical disturbances, and blood-signed treaties that flare when violated.
“The Argents are frantic,” he finally says, his voice all steel and diplomacy, honed like a blade meant for council chambers, not battlefields. “The ascension of us four to the throne has left them feeling…imbalanced.”
“As they fucking should.” Sinner snaps before he can finish, swinging his leg over the arm of his throne and lounging like he’s at a gods-damned tavern instead of one of the four most powerful seats in the known realm. “We don’t need them. I say we kill them all. Or just wait for whoever is going around killing our people to do it for us.”
Killings? That’s news to me.
Creed ignores him, but I see the way his jaw tightens when my head swings his way in question. His attempt at maintaining his patience makes me want to poke harder. Sinner’s wrong though: the Argents are as important for the ecosystem of Rathe as we are. You know…we gotta eat.
“We can’t have the alleys of Rathe painted in blood being the first thing documented in the Archives of Aether,” he goes on, voice clipped.
The Archives of Aether. I tried to read them once by breaking into the sacred lair with the help of a witch. But the moment I touched the scrolls that magically record every aspect of a king’s reign, I was flung through the wall. I landed on my ass on the floor of my father’s torture chambers, hellhound leashes whipping me from every direction.
My father laughed and watched. Then he poured me a drink and asked if I’d ever do it again.
I miss the king.
Creed continues. “If the scribes start recording this reign as a massacre of magic blood, we may never gain the alliances we need to solidify our rule.”
I snort. “So don’t start a massacre. Easy.”
Sinner laughs again.
Creed doesn’t blink. “Four bodies have been found as of two moons ago. All Stygian born. All savagely murdered in their own homes. Homes here in Rathe.”
I sit forward, a frown pulling at my brows. “You would know this,” he continues, “if you didn’t run off and block us out the minute you crossed back into Rathe with that outsider.” He eyes me curiously as his powers brush against my temple, attempting to enter my mind. I block him out, oddly fatigued by the effort to do so. “You are a King now; you can’t disappear only to come back and hide away while waiting for your newest toy to wake the fuck up.”
Sinner smirks. “Next time just don’t dose her up so high.”
“There won’t be a next time. She is here now, as am I, so tell me what we know.”
Creed frowns in my direction but gets us back on track. “Nothing. That’s the problem. So far, they seem random, but we have Vicente looking deeper and checking their ancestry line for clues or connections.”
“It’s the Argents.” I shrug. “You said it yourself: they feel threatened. They want to force doubt into the minds of our people. Make them question if we can handle taking over after Father’s death.”
“No.” Knight glares at the table, face pinched tight in thought. “There was a scent in the air at all the scenes. Tar or lava rock. Something familiar but not Argent. And it was messy.”
“Messy how?”
“Like someone lost their shit.” Sinner laughs. “And blacked out in rage.”
I wave dismissively. “People lose their shit every day.”
“Not like this.” Creed worries, looking over at Knight.
I glance between the two and sit back with a sigh. “Just say what you’re thinking,” I mutter, bored now. “Enough of the philosophical shit.”
Knight sighs and leans back, running a hand through his hair, the scar slicing through his brow tugging slightly as he moves. “We need to keep as much normalcy as we can. We come into this reign soft. Last shit we need is people running around and treating their own kind like they’re threats and making our job harder.”
I stare at him.
“Again,” I repeat, slower this time. “Just say it. Clearly you two talked about it already.”
Creed snaps to me. “We need to go back to Rathe University.”
The words hang there for a beat—just long enough for the Leviathan bone beneath my boots to pulse again, as if the ancient beast can feel the ripple of what that means.
Back to the university. Where we’re forced to live on the pathetic place known as Earth, in the giftless world, yet in a school dedicated to our own. Where the next generation of magic-bloods are trained. Where politics are sharpened behind false smiles, and swords are dulled behind glamours. Where the throne was first promised to us. Where we were watched. Groomed. Tested. Hunted.