King's Warrior

by Frost Kay

  A pained expression crossed his face. “Little one, don’t justify what I did. It was wrong, no matter the circumstances, and I hurt you. That still pains me.”

  She waved a hand at him. “There are worse things in life.” The statement was flippant even though her heart sped up. She understood true evil beings now. Rafe was not an evil being. He was human. He made mistakes just like herself.

  “I don’t deserve forgiveness just because there is a bigger monster out there.”

  It was uncanny. He’d always been able to read her.

  “Tehl and I spoke about this the other night. No one deserves forgiveness, and that’s what makes it precious. It’s a gift. Please let me make it right between us.” The telltale heat began behind her eyes.

  Rafe pushed from his chair and knelt in front of her, placing his palms on either side of her face. “I’m sorry to my very bones, Sage, for what has taken place between us. If you need my forgiveness to move on, I forgive you. Even though there’s nothing to forgive.”

  Some of her guilt eased at his word.

  He continued. “It’s I who should be begging for your forgiveness.” He pressed his lips together and glanced away. “I’m ashamed of the way I acted. I’m not that type of man.”

  He turned back to her, and she placed her right hand over his, on her cheek. “Please let there be peace between us.”

  “Until my dying breath,” he said. His thumb swiped something from her cheek. “I also must atone for my broken promises. I promised you that I’d protect you, that I’d make Rhys pay.”

  She stiffened as an assortment of images assaulted her.

  “I’m to blame.” He said it with so much pain, it snapped her out of her spiral.

  Sage pulled his hands from her cheeks and held them in her hands. “No one is to blame for that animal’s actions, except himself.”

  “Is he…” A hesitation. “Did he hurt you?”

  Her skin cooled as another memory crept up on her.

  Rhys leaned down until the tip of his nose brushed hers, as if they were lovers. Fear paralyzed her as she stared into the mud-brown of his eyes.

  “If you weren’t property, I would’ve torn you apart already.” His eyes ran over her face, an unholy glee in his gaze. “Maybe I already did.”

  One of the warriors pushed a flask against his mouth and another pinched his nose. He fought harder, spewing the brew everywhere. Sage watched in horror as liquid and drool dripped down his chin, and he mouthed, ‘You’re mine.’

  Not like he could have. “No.”

  Rafe scanned her face. “You never could lie to me. Don’t start now.”

  “He’s dead. Does it really matter?” she asked dully.

  “He’s dead?” Her friend squeezed her hand. “Did you kill him?”

  “No, that honor was taken from me.”

  “Murder is not honorable.”

  “But vengeance is.” She shivered and stared over Rafe’s shoulder blankly. “He should have been made to suffer, experience the pain and suffering he’d brought on others. But he was gone in the blink of an eye.”

  “What happened?” Rafe asked, his voice soft and smooth.

  “The warlord,” she said flatly, as one of her nightmares rushed to the forefront of her mind. “Rhys brought me before the warlord.” She could remember how beautiful and untouchable he’d looked sitting on his throne with his imposing leren sitting on either side. “Rhys had warned me to keep my mouth shut.” She smiled bitterly, focusing for a moment on Rafe. “But you know, I was never one to keep silent. I spoke out and was rewarded for such the perceived embarrassment.” Sage touched her mouth where Rhys had backhanded her. “I found myself on the floor, then a hand reached out to help me up…”

  “Take it, please,” his smooth voice said.

  With no other option, Sage slipped her hand into his. He lifted her from the floor, and she swore she heard her bones creak. She met his gaze and dipped her chin as she pulled her hand away. “Thank you.”

  A nod. He scanned her face slowly, taking all the time in the world. Then, he moved down the rest of her body, stopping here and there to examine a scar, a cut, a bruise. Was he admiring his man’s handy work? Looking for ways he could hurt her? She held herself stock-still as he walked around her as if he were inspecting chattel.

  “What happened to her clothing?” he murmured, only loud enough for Rhys to hear.

  “The other woman needed medical attention. Sage had to use her shirt as punishment for insubordination.”

  The warlord hummed and paused by her side.

  “Is she still pure?” The question lingered in the air.

  “Of course, my lord. We wouldn’t dare touch what is yours.”

  She forced herself to hold still when he caressed a scar along her hip and then her wrist.

  “How did she come by the scars?”

  “She and I had…a disagreement, if you will,” Rhys replied smugly.

  Her stomach churned at his lies.

  “And the rest? She’s been beaten badly.”

  “All deserved, I can assure you. She brought them on herself. She never stopped fighting.”

  Another hum. “What do I cherish most in the world?” the warlord asked conversationally.

  “Perfection.” Rhys’s response was automatic.

  “What comes second?”

  “Our line.”

  “True,” the warlord answered, circling her again. “And who bears our lines?”

  “Our women,” Rhys drawled.

  Sage turned her head to follow the prowling warlord. All his pacing had her on edge. He stopped between Rhys and herself.

  “Do we ever hurt our women?”

  “No,” the monster replied, his mud-brown gaze darting from her to the warlord.

  He glanced at her arm, and the warlord’s lips thinned just a touch. Slowly, he began circling her again. This time, she turned to keep her back from him. She was finished with his inspection.

  A small smile tipped up his sensual lips. “I wondered when you would give up your submissive pose. You don’t have it in you to bend to someone else’s will.”

  She bared her teeth at him, countering his movements. “You know nothing about me.”

  “On the contrary, I know everything.” The warlord slid behind Rhys and whispered, “You shouldn’t have marred her. You know how I feel about that, and yet you disobey me.”

  One moment, Rhys was staring smugly at her, and, the next, he was gurgling on the floor, scarlet liquid slipping from his neck.

  Her body flashed hot and cold, and a high ringing filled her ears. A tremor rippled through her body as Rhys gasped and writhed on the floor. Even as death claimed him, he managed to choke out something that would surely haunt her dreams.

  “I’ll always be on your skin,” he coughed, and the light in his eyes dimmed.

  She blinked. No.

  Sage scrambled toward Rhys and dropped to her knees next to him. Carefully, she held a hand over his parted lips, shaking. Not one breath. “No,” she uttered as she frantically grabbed his wrist to feel for a pulse. Nothing. “No, no, no, no, no, no!”

  Her eyes darted back to his face, and she gagged at his empty, unseeing eyes. He was gone. Dead in a matter of heartbeats.

  No pain. A clean death. No suffering.

  An ember of rage caught flame in her gut. How dare he die! “You bastard!” she screamed and slammed her fists on Rhys’s unmoving chest. “You don’t get to die! Breathe, damn it.”

  Still, his chest didn’t move. He was dead.

  He didn’t deserve a quick death. He didn’t deserve death at all! He deserved to rot and suffer in eternal hell like she did every day. A wail came out of her that didn’t seem physically possible. “Death was too good for him!”

  Sage pulled her hands back and held up her shaking palms. They were red. Covered in blood. She retched, bile burning her throat and flooding her mouth. In a frenzy, she scrubbed her hands over her pants and half-corset, so
bbing. She didn’t want him on her. Pushing up from her knees, she tried to stand, only for her feet to slip in the gore. Again, she gagged and scrubbed harder, but only succeeded in making it worse. Her body now looked like a garish painting of red, brown, and black.

  Even in death, Rhys seemed to win.

  Sage blinked back to the present, the room a blur of colors around her. “The warlord took him from me. The warlord was observing, completely calm, utterly unaffected by the murder he’d just committed. I cursed him. You know what he did?”

  Rafe shook his head.

  “He shrugged, shrugged like it was nothing, and said Rhys deserved to die for his actions.” Sage shook her head. “He didn’t deserve to die. He deserved to suffer. When I told him that, he said the reason he’d executed Rhys was because he’d touched me. For that, he had a price to pay, and that I was too valuable to ruin.” She laughed hollowly. “No, that was the warlord’s right. He wanted to ruin me himself.”

  “I am so sorry, little one,” Rafe whispered brokenly.

  Sage focused on his golden eyes, her body numb. “Sorry doesn’t fix what happened.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” he said sadly. She gasped as he yanked her off the chair and pulled her into a rib-crushing hug. “I promise to do my best, as will my people.”

  “I know you will.”

  Rafe pulled back, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “Stars above, your skin is like ice.” He glanced around the room, spotting what he was looking for. He tugged a blanket off the back of his chair and wrapped it around her shoulders. “I hate that you went through that. Hate it.”

  The only thing she could do was nod. She hated it as well, but there was nothing for it. What was done, was done.

  “The only consolation I can find is that he’s gone. Rhys can’t hurt you anymore.”

  She chuckled, the sound dark and haunting. “Maybe from the mortal world, but he haunts me most nights.” She glanced out at the balcony to the night sky, stars just barely appearing. “Rhys was a rabid dog compared to the monster that’s ruling Scythia.” She turned back to a grave Rafe. “He cannot succeed, Rafe. We cannot allow it. The warlord kills everything in his path.”

  “He won’t.”

  “Will you fight with me?” she asked.

  “I will fight with you. I vow it.”

  He held his forearm out to her. Sage reached a shaking hand out and clasped forearms.

  “I missed you, friend,” she said.

  He squeezed her other hand. “As I missed you.”

  Twenty-Seven

  Rafe

  His smile dropped as he exited the study. He nodded curtly to the Elite stationed outside the door, both relief and worry at war inside him. Sage’s words whirled in his mind as he strode down the wide hallway, turning to his left, and jogged down the steps, ignoring the stares he always seemed to draw. It was the eyes he knew. In Aermia, they were unique, but in his kingdom, he was one of many.

  Many who would fight in the upcoming battle.

  Rafe had always known his actions would lead to war. That much wasn’t a surprise. His people had been preparing for Scythia’s attack for over fifty years. But now that it was upon them, he found himself anxious. Before, the people in Aermia were just another part of the plan, but now? Now they had names and faces. They were friends. Friends he’d watch die because of the blackguard on the Scythian throne.

  Sage’s empty green eyes flashed through his mind. The warlord had damaged Sage. A deep-seated fury brewed in his gut. No one hurt those he loved. The abomination that called himself lord would die.

  He barely noticed when a maid scampered out of his way, her eyes wide as he stalked by. Even after everything Sage had gone through with Rafe, she’d never given up. She’d fought. Rafe could always see her fire brewing right underneath the surface. But today? He rubbed at his chest as he pushed through the exterior doors leading to the training ground. Today, he’d truly seen how broken she was. Her fire was still there, but it flickered and sputtered, hardly alive.

  It was his fault. He should have tried harder to find Rhys. But even as the thought passed through his mind, he knew the truth. If it hadn’t been that traitor, it would have been someone else. No one can control everything, no matter how much he tried. It just wasn’t possible.

  Rafe passed through the gate and jogged down the slope into Sanee, weaving through alleys and then running across roofs. He squatted on the edge of a tavern roof and listened to the medley of music, shouting, and crass jokes below. He whistled a five-note song. An answering tune floated softly through the air.

  He dropped from the roof, landed on his feet, and rolled to absorb the impact.

  “I hate it when you do that,” a male voice commented from the dark. “You’re going to break your neck one of these times, and I will be blamed for it.”

  Rafe straightened and swept his cloak back. He could have dropped from three times that height and been just fine. “You’ve seen me attempt much more dangerous feats.”

  Badiah stepped from the darkened corner and pulled his pipe from his mouth, shaking his head. “And I’m not completely over those experiences. You scared ten years off my life.”

  He leaned a shoulder against the tavern and smiled at the shorter man. Even after all these years, Rafe had no clue how old Badiah really was. There were a few lines around his eyes and mouth to indicate he was older. “I’m sure you have many more left yet,” he said.

  Badiah puffed on his pipe, eyeing Rafe. “I’ve not seen much of you lately. How is our girl?” he asked softly.

  He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “She’s not the same as she once was.”

  Sadness crossed his companion’s face. “But at least she’s out of his grasp. He can’t hurt her anymore.”

  “The damage is already done.”

  “Then we kill him,” Badiah said without inflection. “That girl deserves peace, and we will give it to her.”

  “We will.” Rafe reached into his pocket and handed the wiry man the note. “Deliver this as fast as you can. It’s time.”

  Badiah straightened. “It’ll be done. I’ll have news for you soon.”

  “Thank you.”

  His companion nodded and turned on his heel, disappearing down the alley. It still amazed him how easily the man blended into his surroundings. Rafe tugged his hood up to cover his face and went the other direction.

  There was much to do and little time.

  War was brewing.

  Twenty-Eight

  Sage

  She sat on the bed, staring at the fire.

  Today had been more emotionally exhausting than she expected. Speaking to Rafe about what had occurred with Rhys in Scythia had been liberating and draining. The flames danced, casting shadows on the wall that writhed and twisted together in mesmerizing patterns.

  “How did your conversation go with Rafe?” Tehl asked quietly.

  She glanced over her shoulder as the bed sank behind her. The crown prince sat with his back to her, rubbing the back of his head. “It went about as well as I expected.”

  He grunted but didn’t say anything further.

  Sage stared at his back for a beat before turning to the fire. Her eyelids drooped, but she didn’t want to sleep. Sleep opened her to the horrors she’d rather forget.

  “I forgave him,” she blurted.

  “What?”

  She scooted onto the bed as Tehl twisted to look at her. “It was time,” she said, picking at her linen shirt. “I’ve come to realize that friendship is one of the most important things in the world. And Rafe’s been my friend for a long time. He’s fought for me, and that means something.”

  “That’s well-done, Sage.”

  His reaction was curious to her. Rafe and Tehl never saw eye to eye, but, after today, she’d say they were…friends? She peeked at him through her lashes. “I’m surprised how amicable today was.”

  Tehl stretched his leg out on the bed and leaned back on his hands, br
ows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “You weren’t the best of friends before.”

  “We came to an understanding and then fought together for something important.” He shrugged. “That bonds people.”

  “That I—”

  A knock interrupted her.

  Tehl pushed from the bed and opened the door. Sam nodded to Tehl and strode into the room without an invitation.

  “That is the second time someone has walk into my room like he owns it,” the crown prince muttered.

  Sage hid her smile at his grumpy tone.

  Sam plopped into a chair by the fire and held out a note. “I know it’s late,” he said wearily. “But Lilja sent news.”

  She froze. This was it.

  “A meeting has been set for tonight. I’ll escort you to the place.”

  Sage sprung from the bed and begun to tug on her boots. Lilja had done the impossible. They had a meeting with the Sirenidae. Her movements were quick as she strapped her daggers to her body. There was no time to lose.

  “Have you notified anyone else?” Tehl asked, clasping his cloak around his shoulders.

  “Lilja said it was only to be both of you and myself. The Sirenidae are skittish enough. It could damage our chances if we arrived with a large party.”

  Tehl pulled her cloak from a chair and held it out. Sage paused for a moment then turned so he could help her with the cloak. A small burst of warmth suffused her at the simple gesture of kindness. She’d seen her papa do that for her mum her entire life.

  “Thank you,” she said, her fingers brushing his as she clasped it closed.

  Sam yawned and slowly rose from the chair, his movements stiff.

  “What have you been up to today?” she asked. “You’re moving like an old man.”

  Her brother-in-law winced. “I’ve been training with Blaise.”

  “Truly?”

  “She walloped me today. I’ll be feeling it for quite some time.”

  Sage sniggered. She’d have loved to see that.

  Tehl pinned his brother with a serious look. “Did Lilja say anything else?”