Page 139 of The Soulbond and Her Beloved

Zaiper laughed when villages burned, smiled as younglings died, found humor in the shrieks of pregnant females as they bled out in childbirth. He wasnotone to feel these things.

So yes, the darkness could stay.

And when light finally came, Razarr would be there, silent and stoic in a corner, waiting on him.

Razarr was not dead.

He could not be.

So why, in all the blasted hells, is this filthy, makeshift pillow beneath my head damp with my tears once again?

***

High Lord Herodis’s mood significantly improved when he received word that Princess Emeriel awaited him in his study.

But as he pushed the door open with a smile on his face, a large, commanding figure leaned against his desk, shrinking the room around him.

Now that Herod thought on it, the message had only said he hada visitorfrom the Citadel.

“To what do I owe the honor of your presence, Your Grace?” Herod greeted, inclining his head in a deep, formal bow.

“Herodis,” Grand King Daemonikai straightened casually. “I came to speak with you. But I'm not here to addressHerodis Duonavaar. I'm here to speak with Gustazlion HerodisDragaxlov.”

Chapter thirty-two

DRAGAXLOV

“Huh?”

Herod was still smiling. How could he not? He had not heard that name in so long, he was not even certain he’d heard it correctly now.

“Process it,” the Grand King said mildly, folding his arms across his chest. “I will wait.”

“Process what? I do not understa—” And then it struck him.He called me Gustazlion.Dragaxlov.

Herod went pale. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re speaking of Your Grace.”

“Oh, you do.” King Daemonikai’s voice was quiet, but implacable. “The Oracle told me of a youngling who buried his heritage beneath another name. Who wore a new life simply to survive.”

Herod’s back went ramrod straight. “I do not go by that name. In fact, I have not been addressed by it in over two millennia. It does not exist to me.”

“Perhaps it’s time it starts meaning something to you again.” The Grand King walked to the nearest couch, lowering himself onto it. Crossing his legs, he added, “The Northern Throne needs its ruler.”

“With all due respect, my Grace, I must decline,” Herod said flatly.

He felt no anger in him as he said it. No pain, no bitterness.

The old resentments had faded long ago—lost somewhere a thousand years past, when he had stopped caring about his ancestors’ crimes or their legacy.

Time did, in the end, heal certain things.

“I expected as much,” King Daemonikai said, nodding slowly. “You buried that part of your life so deep you never once tried to resurrect it. Not even when the Dragaxlov elders died.”

“Never once did it cross my mind,” Herod answered truthfully. “Were it not for the Oracle, it would have remained a faded past. One that feels as if it never belonged to me at all.”

He crossed to the couch opposite the King, lowering himself onto the cushions with a sigh. “The name Duonavaar is a worthy one. I strove for millennia to ensure it stood on its own merit and all that effort was not wasted. After my mother died, after the long years and harder work, I finally found the courage to return to the heart of Urai. I built a life here. A home.”

Without pride, merely stating facts, he continued. “I started as a reputable farmer, then became a crop overseer, then the village agriculturist, and finally the High Steward of Harvest. I rose, rank by rank, until I single-handedly became High Lord of Agriculture. I did this without the Dragaxlov name and power, and I have no intention of claiming either.”

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