they were going to crush their enemies together. Revenge would never taste so sweet as it would with her by his side.
He needed to be level-headed for that.
Calculating. Cautious. Above all, present of mind.
“I see,” his left-hand said, still slightly bitter but less offended than he’d been.
“Draeven, I’m only going to say this once for both you and Dominicus. I’m choosing to overlook your transgressions because you believed you were doing the right thing, and you’re the type of man that will always do what he thinks is right. I’ve always known this, and until Quinn, you always trusted that what I was doing was right. If not in the immediate, then in the end . . .”
“What are you saying?” Draeven asked.
Lazarus took a long draw from his glass and swallowed before setting the glass aside and looking Draeven in the eye.
“Don’t get in my way again. Don’t lie to me again. Don’t withhold information again. I am king, and I will not be made a fool or live to see my plans ruined because you thought you knew better than me. You are my left because you’re not easily swayed. I can forgive Lorraine’s transgressions easier because I understand her love for Quinn. You and Dominicus, however, you chose to play king, and I won’t stand for it. Be my left-hand, or no hand at all.”
Draeven opened then closed his mouth, then nodded once.
“I understand,” he said. He lowered his eyes, and Lazarus didn’t know what was going through his mind, he just hoped that he’d come to his senses soon.
“Good. Relay that to Dominicus when you see him. I’m tired of the brooding, and it isn’t going to help him with Lorraine.”
Draeven opened his mouth as if to comment, and then he paused and said, “Very well.”
Lazarus waited for him to let himself out before returning to the balcony.
There was much to do, but just like before, Quinn was an obsession he couldn’t rid himself of. A fascination that never lessened.
Both him and the dark god had that in common.
The difference was Mazzulah let her go in favor of winning the game.
Lazarus had lived without her once, and he was never letting her go again.
Not for his crown.
Not for his country.
Not even for the whole Sirian continent.
He’d sooner let them all die than lose her, but he was playing a game where winner takes all. Losing anything was not an option.
Chapter 29
Queen of Mourning
“The truth can either break someone or make them stronger, and only that person decides which.”
— Quinn Darkova, fear twister, walker of realms, the hussy
The black carriage, pulled by four steeds, sent an interesting message.
Quinn stood at the top of the staircase next to Lorraine as she watched it roll down the long dirt drive. Kairick stood on her other side, dressed like a noble boy. He wasn’t watching the carriage, though. He was watching the skies.
His firedrake wanted to come out. However, Lazarus wasn’t keen on sharing anything. If not for the fact that he held Vaughn’s soul, Quinn might have been willing to let him return with Thorne when this was all over. Two soul eaters under the same roof was going to present problems. Quinn was choosing to take things in stride and pressure Lazarus only when needed.
Today he was tense. She thought it best not to poke the barely contained soul eater when he was stirring restlessly. Thorne stood at one of his sides, and Draeven at the other as the carriage slowed to a halt. Several horses came to a stop behind it. Ilvan guards dressed in black and gold. Quinn wondered if the change to their house colors would be permanent with Axe in charge, or if it were simply mourning.
The front man jumped off the side and went to open the door, but it opened on its own before he got there. A fiery red head of hair popped out first. Axe jumped down, brushed her black shirt off, and then lifted her head.
None of the amusement or childlike innocence she’d had was there now.
There was pain, lots of it, mostly repressed beneath an even greater amount of anger. Her eyes were red around the edges, if dry now. She wore no crown even though golden embellishments lined her clothing, and an axe was strapped to both hips.
“Queen Axelle—”
“Where is Vaughn?” the young girl said, cutting straight through Draeven’s pleasantries. Behind her, Petra exited the carriage. Her gaze was guarded and her hair more grayed than it