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Izidora slipped from the bathroom into our closet with the stealth of a mouse, and I forced myself forward, ignoring her until her reflection appeared in the window beside me. Turning, I raked my gaze across the tight leather pants and flowing shirtshe wore, the gray cloak clasped at her throat by a large diamond.
“I’m ready,” she stated, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin.
I lifted a dark brow. “For the lift?”
Her confidence faltered for a moment. “Yes,” she lied.
“Come,” I held out my hand to her. “I will move us there to save time.”
A heartbeat passed, but she accepted it, sucking in a deep breath and nodding. I whispered the words again, and the windows disappeared, only to be replaced by the dark stone walls of Ryza Citadel. With a hand on the small of her back, I guided her through the halls and to the door that led down to the subterranean home of the Félvér.
Izidora paused again at the top of the stairs, but only for a moment, and then she stepped into the spiral staircase with determination written across her face. Only steps apart, We spiraled down and down to the place where I was born and raised. I both loved and hated returning to these tunnels. On one hand, they served as a reminder of how far I had come. On the other, they reminded me how unloved I truly was.
Zuriel was already waiting for us when we entered the large training area, and he dipped his head in greeting to me before acknowledging Izidora. He was quiet and kept to himself, especially after Ithuriel, the other Angel, died, unlike the bawdy Demons who fought and fucked in the open.
“I’ll return in an hour,” I said, giving my mate one last look before turning to leave. The door closed with an echoing click behind me as I left her in the care of her Angel cousin. Rares was hunched over his desk, papers strewn haphazardly and a bottle of ink nearly tipping over beside him. I cleared my throat, not deigning to speak to the old Mage who brought me so much pain.
He looked up from his work, his gnarled hands pausing over the parchment. “Ruslan,” he acknowledged with a grunt. Then he plunked his pen into the bottle with a clink and pushed away from the desk, his bones creaking as he rose. Without bothering to wait for him, I spun on my heel and stalked toward the spiral stairs. We had a meeting with my father to discuss Rares’s earlier findings. One by one, I cracked my knuckles, over and over until we finally reached the hall that housed the most important offices in the Iron Realm. The heads of all the noble houses in the Iron Realm had a room along the right side, while on the left, advisors worked away, keeping the realm running smoothly.
Between the doors, finely crafted works of art stood on pedestals, glittering with a thousand gemstones. The artisans of the Iron Realm were the best in all of Északi, which was why the other realms’ noble houses sought out our work to adorn their own homes.
My father’s office stood at the end of the long hall, and two sentries stood on either side of the door, stone faced and unblinking. “We’ve come to speak with King Azim. He should be expecting us,” I shot at the male on the right, my fists clenching and unclenching behind my back as I struggled to keep my head.
He knocked once, a sharp rap, and my father shouted, “Enter!”
The male opened the door for us, and we strode into the cherry wood-paneled study. The ceiling was a lattice of the same beams, small chandeliers hanging from each hole. A wall of windows faced the snow-capped mountains in the distance, and before them sat the king of the Iron Realm in a plush, high-backed chair, a large desk of the same wood separating him from us and a smattering of other plush furniture. Rares and I bowed, then took up seats in the chairs across from him. Bilerose in my throat at the sight of my father sitting smugly behind his desk, as if he knew I knew what he had done to my mate.
I couldn’t wait to kill him.
He rose from his ornate chair, sauntering to a section of shelves that housed various liquors, then grabbed three glasses and a bottle of dark amber whisky before serving each of us.
My father had not let himself go as King Zalan had. While the signs of age showed around his eyes and atop his brow, his gut did not spill over his pants, and he still retained the muscle of youth, even if he moved slower than before. He had the dark hair and eyes of pure-blooded Iron Fae, and his skin was pale but not sallow. There was a little of myself in him, mostly in the set of his jaw, his strong brow, his high cheekbones. But the Dragon blood that flowed through my veins made me measurably bigger, taller, and stronger than him, especially in my prime years.
“My King, you are so generous,” Rares thanked him as he accepted a glass.
Ass kisser.
Without acknowledging his gesture, I snatched the glass, knocking back a gulp, needing the burn to steady me. I had words for my father, ones that he was not going to like.
“So,” he began, “What news do you have of the princess?”
Straight to the fucking point, per usual.
“She lacks muscle tone, but she has no deformities, My King. Zuriel also confirmed that she is indeed an empath.”
Rares could not contain his excitement; she was like a precious gem to him, a shiny object to add to his collection. Only Angels possessed mind magic, but Izidora’s empath magic was even rarer, and possibly the crown jewel among his catalog.
A wicked smirk played across my father’s face as he held his glass in toast to Rares. “That is excellent news. How soon will she be ready?”
At this question, Rares wrung his hands nervously. “Well… with her weakness, it will take time to make her battle ready. She is not strong enough to fly far. She is with the Angel now, learning how to use her gifts.”
My father leaned forward, the temperature of the room rising with his temper. “When?” he asked, the single word filled with a warning that he was not interested in excuses or games.
“Six months or so, give or take,” Rares wheezed.
The king sprung to his feet, hands smashing onto the desk in front of him as he towered over our seated forms. His displays did not bother me, but Rares feared him. They would both fear me momentarily, as I waited for my moment to uncover the rage I’d buried after learning of Izidora’s abuse.
“I want the continent to fall within the year. How am I supposed to do that if she is unable to join us for half of it? Tell me, after waiting all this time for our final weapon, why is it that I have to wait longer? We already wasted months because those bastards of the Night Realm found her.”
