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Izidora’s smirk mirrored my own, and I laughed maniacally, realizing my mate had kept this from me, from all of us. She was not only an empath who could influence emotions, she was also able to manipulate the actions of others. Her hate-filled eyes never left the aged Mage, though sweat poured into them as she fought for control.
Using her magic for that was draining her too quickly.
“Ruslan, you are pathetic, always have been, and always will be. You crave love, and that makes you weak. You are no son of mine.” My father spat blood toward me, coating my armor in a ruby sheen.
With a roar, I sliced his throat, watching with rapt satisfaction as he clutched at his gurgling neck, the life draining slowly from his eyes. “And you are no father to me.” My words rang with finality as he drowned in his own blood, his last wet breath the sweetest sound I had ever heard.
A snap popped across my skin – Rares’s oath transferring to me. I straightened, towering over the lifeless body of the male who had given me life, and turned my attention to the Mage who was compelled to serve me. Rares’s knife remained poised and trembling above his heart, ready to bury the metal at the will of my mate. “You may release him, Izidora. He is no longer a threat.”
She collapsed in time with the knife, and I rushed to her side, catching her just before she hit the ground. Her head lolled, eyes closed, and my chest tightened as panic gripped me.
I couldn’t lose her to burnout, not when I was so close to having everything I ever wanted.
With the back of my hand, I touched her forehead, looking for any sign that she might be close, but found none. Hefting her into my arms, I kicked the knife clear across the room, and Rares looked at me with a new loathing that ran deeper than our prior dislike for one another.
“I may be bound to you now, Ruslan, but I will fight every instinct I have to save your miserable life,” he spat.
I merely shrugged. “I should have let her kill you, but I think I might find use for you yet. Oh, I just thought of a chore actually. Clean this up.”
Rares’s glare was hard enough to break glass as I approached the outer door. “Izidora, can you please unlock it?” I whispered. She was barely conscious, and I needed to get her food and a bath, fast. Her hand trembled as she lifted it, so small and so weak, and my heart beat a staccato rhythm as I waited for the telltale click of the lock. I wasted no time bursting through, only to find a regiment of my father’s personal guard with swords drawn at the door.
“I am the king now, and as your commander I order you to clean up this mess and ensure Rares returns to his quarters, under constant watch until I say otherwise. Clear?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” the soldier in front replied, his eyes wide and bouncing around me, taking in the blood that coated my armor and the trail of footprints I had left behind.
“Good, now out of my way.”
They parted for me, and I rushed Izidora to the apartments left unused in the citadel. Along the way, I yelled at a maid to prepare a bath and another to bring us food. My vicious reputationcommanded immediate compliance, and by the time I barged through the door, a host of servants followed me, readying the large apartment for occupancy. I laid Izidora on a chair, grabbing a glass of water and tilting her head back, trying to get her to drink the liquid. She sipped from the glass with assistance, then collapsed back once more.
“Stay with me, sprite,” I begged.
Though she did not feel like she was burning out, I feared that her Angel blood might make the symptoms appear in a way that was harder to detect.
“Someone fetch Zuriel!” I demanded. While I waited for the Angel, I lifted more water to her quickly cracking lips. She refused, turning her head every time I offered it. The maid running the bath shouted it was ready at the same time Zuriel arrived. His already pale face blanched at the scene before him.
“What did you do, Ruslan?” he shouted, kneeling before Izidora, feeling her head and checking her pulse.
“She might be burning out, I don’t know!” My voice cracked, sounding as desperate as I felt, and Zuriel must have taken pity on me because he scooped her up, barking orders at the servants who scurried about. He carried her straight to the waiting tub and dropped a hand to feel the temperature.
“It needs to be hotter. Angels need heat to prevent burnout,” he explained.
That I could do. Black fire engulfed the tub, burning hotter than anything an Iron Fae could conjure. Once it was near boiling, Zuriel shouted, “Stop!”
He dropped Izidora into the tub, still fully clothed, and her body was wracked with shivers. My hand shot out to comfort her, only to be jerked back as the temperature burned me.
“How is this not going to kill her?” I snapped.
“Trust me, Ruslan, she will be fine in a moment.” Zuriel’s tone was sharper than my talons, and I said nothing else.
She sank beneath the water, her shivers subsiding once she was fully immersed. I held my breath, praying to the Goddess that I had not killed my father only to lose my mate in the process. Bubbles burst from her mouth, and she surfaced, fully awake and spluttering. She clung to the side of the tub, and I snatched a towel from a nearby servant. Izidora was delirious and tried to climb out, but Zuriel grabbed her shoulders and held her in place until she regained full consciousness.
“Izidora, can you hear me?” he asked, crouching down to eye level.
“Yes,” she whispered, voice hoarse and grating.
“Follow my finger with your eyes,” he requested. Those gem-like eyes followed his finger obediently, back and forth, up and down, then in a circle.
“Good. What is the last thing you ate?”
