Page 125 of Vicious Is My Throne

“I’m tired,” I told them. “Tired of making everything worse when I try to make things better. Tired of causing harm when I only want to help. If the magic is truly a sentient thing, then I ask it to honor my wishes.”

I wrapped my fingers around the pommel.

It was frightening how well the handle fit into my hand, how perfectly the cool metal melded to my flesh as if this blade had been made for me. Thunder rocked through me, my bones quaking as power rattled and roared like a call to arms.

My magic rallied, stars and shadow, cold and darkness, and the impact when the two powers collided turned my vision into a blaze of starlight.

A sign, if there ever was one, and I lifted the blade over my head, both in triumph and as a plea to anyone listening to hear my words.

Please don’t force any of my friends to bear the price for what I was about to do.

53

ANARIA

“Zorander’s asleep.” I closed the door to the darkened bedroom, my nerves tightening as every eye fell on me, Tavion on his back in bed with the sheets pulled up, Raz by the fire, Tristan reading over in the far corner as if that buffer of space came naturally.

“He passed out the second his head hit the pillow.”

“Not surprising since he’s completely drained,” Raz murmured, reflections from the fire dancing in his eyes. “Zor’s lucky to be alive. We all are.”

“We are.” I closed my eyes for a minute, letting that fact sink into my aching bones.

“Come to bed, Anaria,” Tavion murmured, the gentle plea lacking his usual arrogance. “Let us take care of you.”

I couldn’t move. “I just doomed an entire realm,” I told them quietly. “Probably doomed everyone who couldn’t escape in time.” I looked at the soft bed, the warm, crackling fire, and the males I loved.

“I feel…This feels wrong. To have all of this when there are people running for their lives.”

“First of all.” Raziel pushed to his feet, his body a whip of solid muscle. “None of that is your doing. None of it. You have done everything to free these realms. To make things better for everyone. Corvus and Gelvira…they’re the monsters, not you.”

Then he was right in front of me, cradling my face in his big, calloused palms. “Never you, princess.”

“Still doesn’t change the facts, Raz. Three realms are about to fall into ruin because I changed the power structure. Me. Not someone else.”

“Stop.” Tristan’s sharp rebuke cut through the noise in my head. “Stop going out of your way to make this your fault so you can gain some control over a fucked-up situation. You have acted out of kindness to make this world a better place. Some bad shite happened because the gods are power hungry fucks. That does not mean you orchestrated any of this. You are good for this world, Anaria. You are good for us.”

Tristan closed the book on his lap. “We are alive because of you, and celebrating being alive is a joy I will not allow you to deny yourself.”

“Well, who thought a wyrm would become the voice of reason around here?” But Tavion’s grin was tempered with something else—worry, I realized, his green eyes raking over me, cataloging every detail of my misery.

He patted the bed. “Now stop agonizing and come to bed. Let us take care of you, Anaria. Let us make love to you.”

Maybe it was those words—make love—that softened my sorrow over today’s debacle. Or maybe it was the gentle invitation in my mate’s eyes, in the way Raziel cradled my face like I was something precious and lovely.

“Okay.” The horror that cemented my spine into a hard, rigid line faded enough for me to relax into Raz’s embrace, to let myself feel something after spending these past days locked down in some cold, dark place.

Raz’s warm hands slid over my shoulders and down my arms. Slow, like we weren’t in any hurry at all. “You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. You’ve had my heart, princess, ever since you burst into a rough hunting camp and begged us to go face certain death to save your friend.” His lips were so warm pressed against my forehead.

“That is who you are. That is the queen we love. Who we will serve until the very end of time. We are yours, Anaria.” He slid the too big shirt down over my shoulders, those lips finding every inch of revealed skin. “And you are ours.”

His whispered words were a boon to my soul, a wash of calm that erased the last of my unsettled thoughts. I leaned into him, drinking in his strength. “I’m yours.” I nipped at his bottom lip then pressed my mouth to his.

Gods, he always tasted so good. I could never—would never—get enough.

He dragged the shirt the rest of the way off then palmed my arse through the thin breeches, walking me backward toward the bed. I didn’t care, too busy devouring his mouth, too focused on his hard muscles bunching beneath the shirt.

“Get this off.” I tugged at his shirt, his mouth grazing down my throat. “I want to feel your skin against mine.”

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