Series: Lords of Rathe Series by Meagan Brandy
Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Here I am. Right in front of those damn war room doors—the same ones Legend hauled me through that first night when my whole world flipped upside down.
Some fancy-ass music seeps through the cracks, all prim and proper, the kind that makes my jaw clench. And the voices? Just a bunch of rich people talking over each other; it’s a hollow noise that makes me want to punch something.
Only now, this is my life. Only now, this is my future.
I smooth down my dress, checking that my dagger is still secure against my thigh. The blade’s weight grounds me, familiar and dangerous. Mine.
Through the crack beneath the doors, golden light spills across my feet, the music only just drowning out chatter.
My hand hovers over the door handle. Once I walk through, there’s no going back. No pretending this is all some twisted game. No more hiding behind sarcasm and violence. No more pretending I don’t feel exactly what Legend has been begging me to feel all this time.
Inside that room, he waits. His brothers wait. His entire world waits to judge whether I’m worthy of standing beside their king and it won’t matter, because he chose me. The bond. The Gods. They all chose him to be mine.
And now, I’m finally ready to stake my claim.
I grip the handle, metal cold against my palm, and push the doors open with as little effort as possible.
And fuck…
This isn’t the war room I remember. It’s like someone cracked the world open and spilled magic everywhere, leaving it to harden into something beautiful and deadly all at once. The ceiling disappears, giving way to a night sky stuffed with stars that shouldn’t be there, shining too brightly and way too close. They aren’t just tiny dots of light, they dangle like diamond encrusted chandeliers, all fire, silver, and ice.
Ripples spread beneath my boots—not stone, not wood, but something caught between liquid and light, each footfall sending frozen waves through depths that shouldn’t exist. The bone table is still there, only…
Its bones ripple like vertebrae when it shifts, the head turning to me. Only it’s fucking alive.
Damn. That’s cool as shit. Okay, so maybe I jumped to conclusions a little when I first imagined this ball.
Figures glide between floating candles, their flames bleeding colors I’ve never seen. Violet, poison green, the soft blue that can’t decide if it’s green. Shadows twist along the pillars, alive, wrapping around carved bone and stone while vines slither upward, unfurling flowers that wither before they hit the ground. A fawn with a woman’s face tilts her chin as she passes, hooves clicking against the impossible floor.
What the fuck is she supposed to be? I don’t stare long, swiping a drink from a table.
I sip without inspecting the drink, since right now, I’d take anything. I’d take damn Emmie with a bottle of Fae Juice more than this. Where the hell is Legend?
Then everything goes quiet.
Not suddenly, but like someone turned down the volume—conversations trailing off, laughter cutting short, until all that’s left is this eerie, half-heard music. Like violins playing from another room.
Heads turn. Eyes snap to me. A few at first. Then the whole damn room.
Some guy’s date leans in to whisper, but he doesn’t even blink, just keeps staring like I’m something he’s been hunting. A woman fidgets with her necklace, fingers shaking, not from the weight of the gems, but from whatever the hell they’re picking up from me.
Their expressions all seem to shift. Hunger. Greed. The kind of want that strips bones clean.
No in-between. No mercy.
My heart kicks into a sprint. Sweat beads at the back of my neck.
Some look like they could devour me. Others seem to think I’m not worth devouring.
Fuck this. All of it. I should’ve stayed in my room, claiming sickness, but Emmie was so sure. And I wanted to look good for him. I wanted to prove to him that none of this shit means anything to me and that I’m ready to admit it now.
But I don’t see Legend anywhere.
Just faces I don’t recognize staring at me like I’m an outcast, which I am. I’d fought hard to keep my place in their uptight world. I failed some classes, but passed others, I haven’t killed a single fucking person since I first got here. Yet they still stand here, high on their horses, and look down at me as if I’m lesser.
And Legend wonders why I hate them all.
Where the fuck is he?
I cut through the crowd of Fae with their sharp grins, eyes tracking me like I’m the main course. A cluster of warlocks nearly knocks me over, reeking of burned magic and whoever they took to bed last night. And then there are the giftless, clinging to the walls like they’re afraid the floor might swallow them whole, all wide eyes and desperate energy, praying someone notices them.