Ryke

 

I hate him.

Cruel, rotten bastard.

Love is for the weak. At least that’s what my father always told me. And when my mother was caught with another man, desperate for love and affection my father never gave, she was driven from our lands. He wasn’t even man enough to do it himself. Simply had his men pull her from his bed one morning, taken to Equatoria, and forced into madness along with the others who’d wronged him in some way. When he told me, I nearly lost my mind. Spent weeks battling The Damned in search for her. Maybe she’d survived. Maybe she hadn’t succumbed like the rest of them. But then I’d seen her. Her soft, silky brown hair she’d once taught me to braid was stringy. Her loving eyes were vacant. And she was hungry. On a warm day with a broken heart, I had slain my mother because my father was too weak to do it himself.

Mercy.

I showed her the mercy he should have.

With her blood on my hands, I stormed the castle on a hunt for my father.

Each and every man beneath him nodded to me as I passed on my quest to see him. They saw the look in my eyes. The fury. The hate. The thirst for vengeance. And they let me pass because they loved my mother too. She was the sweetness and loving and kindness our kingdom always lacked. Without her, we were just another kingdom under the rule of a cruel tyrant.

Not anymore.

As I stare at his sleeping form, I know it must end. It ends with him. I vow to be like my mother, choosing more than just cold killing. A Truth Seeker demands answers, not blood. I will always demand answers. I unsheathe my sword that, until recently, was too heavy. I’m almost a man now, just months shy of my eighteenth birthday, and finally have harnessed my gift. My age is irrelevant, though. I’m the heir to the throne no matter my age, and with my newly discovered powers, I am a force to be reckoned with. I summon my fires, hotter now because of my rage, and light up my sword with flames. Father stirs and I press the tip of my blade on his bare skin over his heart.

“Why?” I demand, waking the man who stole my only sliver of happiness. “Why did you send her away to Equatoria?”

Truth, not blood.

That is my ultimate craving.

His amber eyes open and meet mine. “I always knew it’d eventually come to this. You trying to take my throne.”

I press the tip of the blade into his skin, reveling in the way blood seeps from the new wound I’ve created. Panic briefly flashes in my fierce father’s gaze.

“Answer the question,” I growl. My gift is a raging beast inside me—a beast whom I’ve only sparingly dealt with, but now one I willingly release from its cage.

“She was a whore, boy,” Father sneers. “And pregnant with another man’s baby.”

Pain lances through me. “And you sent her to her death? Knowing she carried my sibling? It could have been yours!”

“A king only needs one heir,” he bites back. “And mine is threatening me with a sword. Imagine if there were more. Chaos.”

“You took away the only thing I ever loved. Why?”

“This wasn’t about you, Ryke. This was about betrayal. And she got what she was owed.”

My rage consumes me as I push down. The wet sound of my sword pushing through his muscle and into his heart is one I’ll never forget. A fire maker can heal himself, but a sword through the heart will kill him. My blade hits its mark because his eyes flicker as life literally bleeds from him.

“You betrayed me, too, Father,” I say in a cold voice. “And you got what you were owed as well.”

I yank his crown off the table and steal his sword that’s sharper and better than mine. On my way out, I find his most trusted man. His eyes are wet with tears, the grief overwhelming him.

“You could have stopped me,” I challenge, raising my sword.

This man could have. Easily. He’s the strongest, quickest fighter in the Volc army.

“Noni wouldn’t have wanted me to.” His eyes burn into mine, flashing with love as he speaks of her. “She always knew you were a good man.”

“She was with child,” I murmur. “Your child, hmmm?”

Hot tears race down his cheeks as he nods.

I clutch his shoulder. “I found her. I put her out of her misery.”

Relief makes him sag. “Thank you.”

He falls to his knee and bows his head. “I pledge my loyalty to you, my king. Your mother would have wanted it that way.”

“Remove my father’s head and burn his body,” I order. “Tonight, we’ll have a coronation feast. Make sure everyone knows it.”

“Yes, my king.” He rises to his feet. “Anything else, your highness?”

“I’m not like him, Danser,” I assure the man. “I’m nothing like him.”

“No, your mother made sure of that.”

I wake in a cold sweat, disoriented and groggy, but alive. It takes a moment for me to understand my surroundings. Walls made of thick ice-covered stone. A chill in the air that cuts to the bone. A sleeping queen at my side.

Last thing I remember was taking a sword through the chest. I’d seen the beautiful hatred in Elzira’s eyes aimed at the one who’d harmed me. Felt it like a punch to the heart. I survived, though. For a bit there, as I lay in the snow, I questioned if I would. I’ve taken many swords into my body over the years and easily healed. This was different. The sword was dipped in something harmful to me.

Looking down at my chest, a small, feminine hand rests over my new pink scars. She must have healed me with her touch. Her body stills as she wakes and then she lifts so she can look at me.

Wide, concerned blue eyes.

Poutiest lips in all the kingdoms.

“Elzira,” I rumble, my voice dry and cracked.

“Shhh,” she croons as she sits up and reaches for a cup on the table beside the bed. “Don’t speak, drink.”

The tenderness with which she brings the cup to my lips makes my heart clench in my chest. That bastard almost took me from her. I swallow a few long sips and then ask the question I need answering the most.

“Is he dead?”

Her expression becomes murderous, the blues in her eyes blazing. “I cut off his head.”

Reaching up, I slide my hand into her blond hair and pull her to me for a kiss. “So fierce,” I say against her lips. “Cruel, beautiful queen.”

“Just protecting my king.”

“How are you feeling?” Danser asks as he enters Elzira’s room.

“It’s been three days,” I gripe. “I’m fine.”

Elzira rolls her eyes at him. “The poison is slow to leave his system. Mazon thinks he should be on bed rest for a week.”

“Why is he on the floor then?” Danser questions, amusement turning the corners of his lips up.

“He’s a stubborn fool,” Elzira explains.

“A stubborn fool who’s strengthening his abdominal muscles,” I bite out at her as I do another curl, sitting up and clenching my abs. “I’ll be ready for battle in two days’ time.”

Elzira rises from her chair by the window and walks over to me. She’s not wearing a dress. In fact, ever since the battle with The Damned, she’s had my tailors make her fitted suits in black. My cock aches each time I get a glimpse of her ass that the material is molded to. The weight she’s putting on looks good on her. Healthy. Strong.

“Battle?” she asks, putting her booted foot on the center of my chest to keep me from sitting up again. “We killed them all. The battle was won.”

I grip her ankle and move it away so I can continue with my exercise. “The battle, yes, but not the war.”

“You still want to go there?” Danser asks. “Even now? Even after…”

He means her.

Elzira.

“I came here with a mission: Invade the Hidden Lands,” I remind them both.

“And to take a princess from a dying queen,” Elzira hisses, fury rippling from her in chilly waves.

I rise to my feet and grip her jaw. “Yes. That is why I came here.”

“I’ll ready the troops to depart in two days’ time,” Danser says coolly, not at all impressed with my answer.

As soon as the door closes behind him, Elzira wrenches from my grip. She stalks away, heading for the window. Her hands grip the ledge and she looks out the window, a slight tremble running through her body. I stalk after her, caging her in.

Outside, my men are camped out and still celebrating our win led by a cruel queen and her army of white.

“In two days, this hiding in a tower with you will end,” I growl. “And you wish to spend that time angry with me?”

Her breath hitches when I reach around to her front to unfasten her trousers. I push them roughly down her thighs and then mimic the action with my own trousers. Once my cock is in my grip, I tease her from behind, rubbing it between her thighs until I feel her need coating my shaft.

“Beg for it, Queen.”

“Never,” she hisses. “You want it so badly, take it.”

I slap her fleshy bottom, loving the shriek that escapes her. “I want it badly,” I agree, my voice a husky rumble. “And I’m going to take it as many times as I can until I ride off toward the Hidden Lands with a bride on my horse with me.”

Gripping a handful of her hair, I push her down toward the window and enter her with a hard thrust. The air around us swirls with snow. I pound into her hard enough for her forehead to hit the glass. She whimpers but presses her ass back, wanting every long, hard inch I’m offering her.

In two days, everything ends.

She writhes as her orgasm nears.

Poor, poor queen.

I’m so sorry it has to be this way.