Page 27 of Taken By the Leviathan King

KRAK’ZOL

Threedaysuntilthealignment. The words echo through my mind like a death knell as I watch Imoogeen sleep.

My little queen lies curled on our shared bed platform, her transformation accelerating since our return from Rynor’s festering fortress. Delicate scales, the color of a twilight sky, shimmer along her spine, catching the ambient light of our chamber. They are smooth, cool to the touch, yet beneath them, I sense the heat of her human blood, a tantalizing contrast. The scent of her is changing, too—less human, more... mine. A primal urge rises within me, a desire to trace the patterns of her new scales, to feel their texture against my own, to claim this beautiful, terrifying evolution as proof of our bond. I fightthe urge, knowing she needs rest, but the Leviathan in meroarsto possess her, to complete what the Heart has begun. Even unconscious, she radiates strength—this human female who dared to challenge a Leviathan king, who now carries part of the Heart’s essence within her.

And part of Rynor’s corruption.

I can sense it festering inside her—a parasite latching onto the connection between her mind and the Heart. She fights it even in sleep, her brow furrowed, fingers twitching against unseen enemies. The bond between us pulses with her discomfort, and I resist the urge to wake her. She needs rest after what she endured to save Bethra.

Nira approaches silently, her healer’s eyes assessing Imoogeen’s condition. “The corruption spreads,” she murmurs, placing a bowl of luminescent paste beside the bed. “This will help slow its progress, but it cannot cure her.”

“Nothing can cure her except destroying the source,” I growl, my claws extending involuntarily. “Rynor must die.”

“And yet you hesitate.” Nira’s gaze is knowing, uncomfortably perceptive. “He is still your brother.”

I turn away, unwilling to acknowledge the truth in her words. Memories surface unbidden—Rynor and I as younglings, racing through the thermal vents; teaching him to hunt the deep-dwelling kraken; standing together at our father’s deathbed as the crown passed to me.

“He chose his path,” I say finally, the words bitter on my tongue.

“As did you.” Nira gestures to Imoogeen. “When you claimed her as your mate, you set events in motion that cannot be undone. The question now is whether you will see them through.”

Before I can respond, Imoogeen stirs, her eyes fluttering open. For a terrible moment, I see a flash of toxic green before her natural color returns.

“How long was I out?” she asks, her voice raspy.

“Too long,” I rumble, moving to her side. “The council grows restless.”

She sits up, wincing slightly. Through our bond, I feel the shadow of her pain—a burning sensation where the corruption spreads beneath her skin.

“Did Bethra’s information check out?” she asks, all business despite her condition.

I nod. “Zorath confirmed it. The alignment occurs in three days. The Heart will be at its most vulnerable—and its most powerful.”

“Then that’s when we make our stand.” She swings her legs over the edge of the bed, determination overriding discomfort.

“You should rest,” Nira protests, but Imoogeen waves her off.

“I’ll rest when Rynor’s dead.” She meets my gaze, a challenge in her eyes. “Unless you’re planning to lock me away for my protection?”

A rumble builds in my chest—half amusement, half frustration. “I learned long ago that attempting to confine you only results in more trouble.”

The ghost of a smile curves her lips. “Smart king.”

The war chamber buzzes with barely contained tension as my commanders await orders. Zorath stands at my right, Imoogeen at my left—a formation that has not gone unnoticed by the council. Some approve of her elevated status; others remain skeptical of a human queen, transformed or not.

Vara, my fiercest warrior, kneels before us. “The outer defenses are secured, my king. But our scouts report Rynor’s forces have grown. The corruption spreads faster than we anticipated.”

“How many?” Imoogeen asks, her voice carrying the authority of command.

“Three thousand at least,” Vara replies without hesitation. Her immediate deference to Imoogeen silences any lingering whispers of dissent among the council. “They gather at the edge of the Midnight Trench.”

I study the tactical projection before us—a three-dimensional map of the territories surrounding the Heart. Rynor’s forces are positioned strategically, blocking all direct approaches.

“He expects a frontal assault,” I observe. “He knows our traditional battle formations.”

“Then we don’t use traditional formations,” Imoogeen counters, moving closer to the map. The royal markings on her skin pulse brighter as she focuses. “The alignment affects the Heart, but it also affects the currents.”

She traces a route through the map—a dangerous path through thermal vents and unstable canyons that no sane commander would consider.

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