The Darkest Wolves - A.K. Koonce Page 0,43

a seat.” Prince Ravar is by her side in a flash of blurring dark colors. Then he pulls out the chair to the right.

And like an obedience-trained puppy, she takes a seat.

Right in front of the glass of poison.

The drilling of my heart is so apparent that a sheen of sweat sticks my hair to the edges of my face.

“What’s wrong?” the Prince asks as he holds my chair out for me as well.

Does he know?

It isn’t even a question. The question is, how much does he know?

“Nothing.” The smile plastered against my face isn’t charming at all. It’s tense and vomit-containing. It holds back all the sickly feelings turning in my stomach.

“Then sit down.” His smile is no longer carving. It’s gone entirely. Vicious rage is in his eyes, his posture, in the very stance he holds.

A blade not at all worthy of a dinner party lines the table on my left-hand side. It’s ornate with glittering black gemstones, and it curves up in a hard ark that’s intended to maim.

He knows.

He knows everything.

In the midst of my panic, Nyra lifts her glass to her pink lips.

My heart stops.

The noise in the room halts as I watch her with wide eyes and shaking hands. And I use those trembling hands to shove the wine glass from her. It tumbles against the black-clothed table and rains down on the rock beneath our feet. It’s a clattering sound of anxiety that matches how I feel entirely.

And now every pair of eyes in this room are staring up at us.

The Prince finds his smile, and he looks out at his people below him. “I present to you my beautiful but inelegant bride,” he tells them in a booming voice.

A few shifters chuckle. But most are smart enough to gauge the room.

And the room is fucking edgy, my friends.

“Clap for her!” he roars, his face blooming red within the dim lighting.

Applause erupts all around us, and a quiet sound pulls at my attention. Sobs. Hushed tears fall from Nyra’s eyes, and I can’t imagine how she must feel.

She wanted a normal life. She didn’t want chaotic adventure. She wanted love and babies and…peace.

I’m such a fuck up.

My hand finds hers beneath the table, and I try to focus on her energy. She’s my family. She’s my blood. She’s just like my father.

And I need the one thing my father kept me from all those years.

I need my beast.

My eyes close hard, and I think about all those times that energy rattled awake inside me. I think about the untamed power lying dormant within my soul. I think about my Goddess and how much I need her in this moment.

The table in front of me shakes hard as a fist comes down and cracks the wood just beneath my own hand. My lashes fly up, and I meet the inky depths of his gaze before glancing down at the dagger he holds in his fisted hand.

“I’d like you to brand your belongings, my lovely,” he says like a lover’s secret.

I blink at him slowly, but I feel the hate radiating off of him.

“What do you mean, my Prince?” The quiver in my voice is very real, and I hate how weak it sounds.

“Your Goddess Moon is important to you. You’re a wolf shifter, correct? Not a hell fae?” The skepticism in his tone tells me everything.

His beloved queen was a hell fae. And he thinks I’m just like her. Worse yet, he thinks I’m conspiring with her.

He’s not entirely wrong.

Nor is he right.

“I swear it, my Prince. I am not a hell fae.” Honesty stings my tone, but still he glares down at me.

“Then brand your belongings with the symbol of your Goddess Moon.” His gaze shifts slowly, and then he’s looking at my sister. With a jerk of my wrist, he turns over my palm and forces the hilt of the blade into my hand with intent.

“No,” I declare so loudly I hear chairs scrape across the floors below.

And I just know it’s one or possibly three overbearing men.

I have to protect them, and Nyra, and every one of these people this man is hurting day in and day out.

My fingers slip over the cold jewels along the hilt. Something inside me purrs to life as I hold his gaze. A blaze of power crawls through me. Fiery heat licks at the flesh along my arm, my neck, my face.

And then, I lunge at him. The sweep of my arm and the curve