Page 22 of A Throne of Blood & Vengeance

“It does seem that way,” he said gently. “Maybe not half, but you must have a decent amount of Fae blood for the iron to bother you.”

“Has the crown ever spoken to you?”

Draven drew back, and I tilted my head up so I could meet his perplexed gaze. “What do you mean?”

“That crown . . .” I swallowed. “It’s spoken to me twice. The first time, it called me ‘the forgotten one,’ and then, earlier, at dinner, it asked if I was ready to ‘take my rightful place.’ There was a wraith before . . . he called medin tros.”

“Forgotten queen,” Draven murmured, concern bleeding into his expression. “Are you sure neither of your parents were Fae?”

“My mother was definitely a Harker.” I chewed on my bottom lip. “But I don’t actually know much about my dad’s past. He was born in an outpost. I know his mother died when he was young, and he never spoke of his father. When I was a kid, I just accepted he was my dad and never questioned why he didn’t talk about his past.”

“We’ll escape this place and then find the answers we need.” He leaned down and kissed me before pulling back and resting his forehead against mine. “I will always keep you safe, Samara Harker,” he swore, “with my life.”

“And I will always keep you safe, Draven Nacht,” I promised, “with my life.”

Suddenly, heat burned inside my chest. I gasped and stumbled back as my fingers gripped the front of my dress and pulled it away, expecting to see burnt flesh, but my skin was perfectly smooth. I looked up to find Draven staring down at his own bare chest, his hand placed on the same spot I’d felt the burn.

He raised his gaze to meet mine. “I’m guessing you felt that?”

I nodded, a suspicion already forming. “Take a few steps back?”

Draven did as I asked, curiosity brimming in his eyes. I also moved back until we were about as far apart as we could get in the cell.

I felt it—the strange awareness of Draven. It was like a piece of his soul had embedded itself inside me.

Draven stared at me in wonder. “What is this?”

“I have no idea,” I said honestly. “But you should know, I have the same thing with?—”

The door to the dungeon burst open as Vail stormed in. “What the fuck did you two just do?”

Chapter Six

Roth

I gazedup at the utilitarian fortress before us. Most of the castles left behind by the Fae were architectural wonders that combined beauty and functionality.

The Fae who had built what was now House Devereux had skipped the beauty.

Foreboding, dark grey stone walls stretched towards the sky, while a deep moat curved around the outside of the walls. Its waters were obsidian black, and all kinds of wicked things swam in them. Behind the walls, a singular rectangular structure rose. The windows were hidden by glamour, so it appeared to just be solid walls.

The only break in the uniformity was the occasional turret. But those had none of the whimsical designs like those of House Harker or many of the other Houses. Just more grey stone with no visible windows.

I’d once made a comment to my parents that perhaps the House’s appearance wasn’t enough and we should hang a sign on the outside that read, “You are not wanted here. Leave or die.”

My mother’s response had been, “Do you think it will help?”

I hadn’t been able to tell if she’d been joking.

Kieran and Alaric stood on either side of me, silently lending their support. We’d all agreed that it would be best if I spoke for the group. It wasn’t a position I preferred, but it was my House—my family. Nyx, Adrienne, and Emil were fanned out protectively around us.

My siblings wouldn’t be happy about outsider rangers being allowed in, but they’d just have to deal with it. It wasn’t like I was happy to be back here after swearing to never return.

“Let’s get this over with.” I grimaced and strode forward, Alaric and Kieran immediately falling into step with me. It was telling how unlike himself Kieran was at the moment because he had barely asked me about my family and why I’d left in the first place on our way here. He was usually so nosy about everything.

I was pretty sure he was clinging to his rage and channeling that into motivation to get Samara back. Because if he allowed himself to feel the despair and panic that we were all dealing with, he’d fall apart and never put himself back together. I couldn’t blame him for that, and personally, I preferred this version of Kieran. I could deal with clipped answers and cutting remarks, but I didn’t handle criers well.

Alaric had withdrawn into himself a little more than usual but was otherwise acting the same. If Samara were here, I’m sure she would have picked up on more clues as to how he was truly feeling.

---