The Warrior King (Inferno Rising #3) - Abigail Owen Page 0,5

serious.

The fathomless eyes of a black dragon shifter peered at him from a face that was all angles. Older than Samael by close to eight hundred years, Gorgon’s black hair was peppered with gray. How the man had yet to show more signs of the brutal aging an unmated dragon dealt with after he passed a thousand was a damn miracle.

“I need you to swear an oath to me, Samael.”

He’d never seen Gorgon like this before, almost nervous, except the king was never nervous, not even when Pytheios deigned to visit in person. Dragon shifters wouldn’t follow that kind of weakness, and Gorgon had been king longer than any other currently on a throne. Longer even than the rotting king himself.

Shoulders back, Samael returned his king’s gaze with a steady one of his own. “I’ve already sworn you my fealty and my life. What more do you need?”

“Two things.”

“Anything, my king.”

“First, I have appointed you my Viceroy of War.”

Samael jerked, shock a physical jolt of sensation. A position on the king’s council? A political position that was typically reserved for someone of higher-ranked bloodlines. “No—”

“You are my captain and my best fighter. I trust you and lean on your guidance. I have faith in you over every other dragon within the clan.”

Samael leaned his fists on a nearby table and shook his head. “The clan won’t accept me in that position, and you know it.”

Not with his muddy, lowborn bloodlines.

Gorgon held up a hand. “It’s done. I’ve already informed Adish.”

The king’s beta, who was in Ararat representing the king to his people while Gorgon was here securing the clan a phoenix mate.

Samael clamped his lips around more words of protest. His king had clearly made up his mind. The clan would be pissed and resentful, and no doubt would protest. Hell, they’d barely tolerated his position as captain of the guard, but they’d have to deal with that later. For now, he nodded. “And the other thing?”

“The other thing…” Gorgon paused and almost seemed to gather himself. “If today goes wrong, swear to me you’ll give Meira the same oath of fealty that you gave me. Protect her from the backlash. Our people will not be pleased, but she will be their queen. With or without me.”

Rejection punched through Samael. “My king, no—”

Gorgon gripped him tighter, fingers digging into his flesh. “Swear it to me, Samael. She is a phoenix, even if her sister Kasia ends up being the only one who inherits the fullness of those powers. Our clan needs her.”

Black dragons might be the quiet, contemplative shifters of all the clans, but they were proud, and danger didn’t make them so much as blink. They shouldn’t need anyone. “No clan has ever been led by only a queen.”

With a huff of a laugh, Gorgon dropped his hands. “Maybe that’s what’s been wrong with us all this time.” His expression hardened. “Do you swear?”

For this man? Anything. “I swear.”

But Samael was confident that he wouldn’t have to uphold that oath. If anyone was deserving of a phoenix for a mate, this king was.

Gorgon’s shoulders dropped fractionally, but even that much said enough. Shock reared up as the king pulled Samael into an embrace, almost as he would a son, and just as abruptly released him. “Go. Protect your king and queen on their mating day. All will be as the fates decree.”

Samael executed a stiff bow, one he reserved only for those times when he wanted his king to know the honor coursing through his veins like wildfire at the responsibilities accorded him.

Following the king out of the chamber, Samael shut the door behind him and swiftly made his way down the side of the throne room, passing behind massive mirrors that stood every twenty feet around the circumference. Though he barely glanced out over the crowd gathered to witness the mating ceremony, he took in every detail, every scent, each covert glance in his direction, even the taste of the room.

No threats as far as he could ascertain, though with the stench of wolf shifters blending with the natural smoky scents of dragon shifters, it could be hard to tell if a threat was nearby. Thanks to those “guests,” necessary or not, he’d need to be extra vigilant.

Passing through a smaller door at the back, he entered the vestibule outside the throne room, and his dragon rumbled and settled inside him in almost a reflexive way.

Meira stood with her sisters, achingly beautiful in her midnight-black mating gown, which