that he’d been King of Kings, he had never refused a King entrance.
But that’s exactly what he did now.
If he was going to begin righting all the wrong decisions he’d made, he couldn’t talk to anyone. They would tell him that he had done the right thing before. That there was no need to change anything.
And they’d be lying.
That was the type of Kings he had. They were the bravest of dragons, the best of men. The only reason he had gotten through so many eons was because of them. They had needed him, and that allowed him to compartmentalize his sorrow and loneliness to focus on them.
It hadn’t been the healthiest thing to do. He’d known that it would all come back on him like an avalanche of misery and torment someday. In truth, however, he’d honestly thought he would be dead long before it did.
That hadn’t happened, though. Instead, he was faced with a deluge of regret, anger, desolation, sadness, heartache, and despair.
This was his punishment for not dealing with those feelings when they first came to him. He’d pushed them aside, telling himself that the Kings needed him, when in fact, they hadn’t. He was the one who needed them.
All this time, he had been the weakest of them all. He had no idea why the magic had chosen him to be King of Kings, especially knowing all the wrong decisions he’d made that had brought the powerful dragons to what they were now.
“Con!” Ulrik bellowed in his head. “I’m going to stand outside the office and bang on the door until you open it. Or would you rather I rip it down? You know nothing can keep me out.”
That wasn’t true, and they both knew it. Every Dragon King had magic, but none was stronger or more potent than Con’s—and he’d made sure that when his door was shut, the only way it could be opened was upon his command.
No one could tear it down—or rip it down—unless he allowed it.
“Con,” Ulrik pleaded. “I’m worried. Talk to me before you do something we’ll both regret.”
“You really should answer him.”
At the sound of the female voice behind him, Con whirled to find Death sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk. She wore a black gown with long, sheer sleeves, reminiscent of her attire before she’d picked up her sword again. Her long, blue-black hair was pulled back at the sides to fall with the rest of her locks. He looked into her lavender eyes while he debated whether or not to order her to leave.
Erith was a goddess, which meant she had more magic than he. She ruled the Reapers, but more than that, she had been his friend for thousands of years. Although he hadn’t realized it was her until recently, because she had changed her name and appearance just enough to fool him.
She blew out a breath, her eyes lowering briefly. “The Kings are concerned.”
He turned his head to the side. “Do you know how many sunrises I’ve seen?”
“Probably as many as I have.”
“I’m tired, Erith.”
“Leaders like us can’t get tired.”
He scrubbed a hand down his face, feeling the whiskers against his palm. It had been days since he’d shaved, combed his hair, or even changed clothes.
“You look like shite,” she told him.
Con wasn’t feeling up for conversation, even with Erith. He turned his back on her and looked out the window.
A rustling of fabric from her full skirts sounded, and then she was beside him. “You have an amazing view.”
“I doona want to be rude, but I’d rather be alone.”
Just as he said that, Ulrik banged on the door again.
Erith crossed her arms over her chest. “It doesn’t look like you’re going to get that wish.”
“Why can you no’ leave me alone?” he bellowed.
Con couldn’t believe he’d let his anger get the best of him. He was always in control of his emotions. Always. And he’d just snapped. It must have been loud enough for Ulrik to hear, too, because even he halted in his knocking.
“Well. That’s something,” Erith said into the silence.
He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m hanging on by a thread that is unraveling even as we speak. I need to be alone.”
“No, you need friends,” she insisted. “Actually, there’s someone in particular you need.”
His head snapped to Erith, his voice dropping low to show his anger. “Doona go there.”
She raised a black brow. “Why is that?”
“You know why.” Con fisted his hands as he fought the urge