Page 36 of Kiss the Filthiest King

“You don’t have that power!” he screams, practically spitting at him.

“Don’t I?” Darina asks him directly, that voice of her sickly sweet and oh so delightful as her shifting eyes settle on the bone king.

She moves to stand right in front of him, reaching his height thanks to the three steps leading up to the dais.

“You’re Valdred’s father, are you not? He favors you in looks, at least."

The lord narrows his eyes, not sure how to address her now that she's talking to him directly.

"One who sends his own child into a fighting pit, leaving him to rot for centuries," she continues, calm and serene in the silence. "Kneel."

The order is but a whisper, soft and quiet.

Immediately, Valmort is propelled to both of his knees, bones crashing against the stone floor.

"Remove that circlet atop your head. It’s no longer yours. You will consider your son your lord and master from this moment on," the high queen dictates. Then, she turns, bored.

As if nothing happened at all, she smiles and takes the wine Loch hands her after trying a sip. “You’re too kind.”

I watch from my column, several paces away, as we’ve discussed, pleased it was the bone king who challenged her first. He was always a prick.

She’s made an example out of him, and none will attack head on again. They realize she holds her mother’s power now, though none know the price it has cost her. Costus.

It doesn’t mean they won’t attack. They'll simply find other means.

"You'll pardon me for saying so, my king, but I think I'm hard," Foxwell announces.

I snort.

That display of sheer power was the sexiest thing I've ever seen, and I will take pleasure in bending her over and taking her after this.

"Aren't we all."

17

THE APPEARANCE OF GIFTS

Darina

My heart is still pounding. No matter how many times I practiced with Loch, I wasn't sure I could do it; I wasn't sure my voice could command it. But there's now a bone-whitecirclet on the floor of the dais proving I could. Idid.

Loch goes to pick it up after giving me wine, tucking it under his arm. "Well done. Half of today went perfectly. Now, we drink."

Alcohol doesn't go to my head fast, despite my small frame, so I gratefully take a fortifying swig. Immediately, my eyes widen.

"What is that?" I marvel. “It’s delicious!”

"Something you ought to drink a lot slower," he scoffs. "Fae wine, seasoned with a pinch of dream or nightmare or joy, or despair, or merriment, or who knows what else, depending on the vintage. If you've never been drunk on fairy wine, you've never been drunk. Be careful; today's not the day to start."

"Why didn't I get that warning?" Rachel grumbles.

Her glass, I notice, is already empty.

Loch is the picture of innocence. "You didn't ask."

Oh, dear, these two are going to drive each other insane, if not outright murder each other. I sigh."Water for the rest of the night, maybe?"

"Funny you think water would be any safer. It matters not whatshedrinks—she should just have it served in an iron mug."

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