The Warrior King (Inferno Rising #3) - Abigail Owen Page 0,100

Gorgon understood exactly. “What happened to make you king?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. “My father died of old age, taking my mother with him to the grave.”

“And your brothers?”

“Both killed in the same fight not a year later. A dispute with the Blue Clan over territory, actually. Before Ladon’s time. Before the king before him, even. Suddenly I found myself leading a people who didn’t know me. Who wanted anyone but me, to be honest. While I would have preferred to put another man on the throne and be a council to him. But by blood, I could not turn my back on my birthright.”

Meira cast her gaze over Gorgon, trying her best to picture him young, inexperienced, and unwilling. Trying to picture the clan unwilling to be led by this man whom they now so obviously revered. “How did you gain their trust?”

“Patience. Time. The latter of which you don’t have.”

She hummed a dry amusement. “Gee, thanks.”

“I will offer this advice…” He paused, as though ensuring she listened. “That which you cannot avoid, welcome.”

Meira tried not to frown as she searched the expression of the man in front of her for any clue as to his real thoughts. His emotions remained steady, as usual a barely there thread, like a spider’s web brushing against her skin. Was this kindly advice meant to help? Or had he guessed what had happened between her and Sam?

Meira dropped her gaze to her lap. “My mother used to say that if you must play, decide upon three things at the start: the rules of the game, the stakes, and when to quit.”

“Wise words, though I’m afraid they don’t help me.”

She lifted her gaze, raising her brows in question.

“A king doesn’t have the luxury of quitting.”

What about a queen? What about a phoenix? What about…?

Gorgon leaned toward her, slowly, but with intent clear in his eyes, offering her a kiss.

With a gasp, Meira jerked back slightly, and he froze, his brows lowering at the telling action.

Thinking fast, she licked her lips and hoped the lie didn’t sound like a lie. “The last time I kissed you, you died.”

A flicker of something in his eyes and a shiver of…questioning?…told her he wasn’t buying that. “The last time wasn’t me.”

Heat rose in her cheeks. “It’s stupid, I know.”

Gorgon lifted a hand to cup her face, only kindness in his expression now. “You’ve been through a lot. We all have. Perhaps—”

“My king, we are ready.”

Meira flinched at the sound of Sam’s voice and jerked her head to find him standing at the entrance to the room, gaze narrowed on her and the king, but no expression. Not a single emotion. A man carved from iron.

Gorgon turned his head more slowly to address his captain. “Excellent.”

The king got to his feet, and Meira stood with him. “Ready for what?”

Chapter Eighteen

Samael walked ahead of the woman he’d mated not that long ago…and the king she was supposed to belong to.

Every step drove a dagger of ice deeper into his soul.

He hadn’t dared go back to his own rooms since they’d found the king alive and returned to the clan. He didn’t dare, because Meira might try her mirror trick to corner him there.

And what he planned to do…to set her free so she and her sisters could help set his people free…

He’d seen her face when she’d heard Gorgon was alive. Shock. Guilt. Panic.

Because of him. Because he’d confused her, telling her they were mates, and went along with her when she’d offered herself to him. Because all he’d seen was his need to claim the woman he believed to be his. Selfish. Stupid. He’d put her in this untenable position.

For claiming her, now he would burn.

To fix it. For her. For his clan. He couldn’t do that if she touched him again. If she begged him with her lips, with her eyes, and that voice. If her jasmine scent got too heavily into his lungs.

He wasn’t as strong as he’d once thought.

His weakness had led them to this place, but he could fix it. His brand had yet to appear on her neck. If he could keep apart from her long enough, it would never show. Because he’d be gone. He would erase himself from the equation in order for the sides to balance. His death wouldn’t drag her into the grave, not without the bonding mark. She’d be free to do what she’d vowed before the gods and all their people to do and mate the