Page 92 of His Realm

“In fact, Lady Carice gave the prince his only child, just as, I understand, Lady Alruna, your mother, gave both you and your brother to your father without the benefit of him taking her as his mate.”

There were several gasps in the room, but I stayed quiet. I let my words sit there instead, allowed him and everyone else the time to let them sink in. Interestingly, no one coughed, and there wasn’t any sneezing. Nothing. Only silence.

His expression was murderous. I didn’t miss any part of his anger or his glare, and I stood there and held his gaze and didn’t look away. Because no, Carice was far from my favorite person, but that was personal. Between us. I blamed her for coming between Cassius and Nerilla, something that happened before I was even born, but half of that resentment I carried belonged to Cassius. He made the choice to cast Nerilla from his side. He regretted it in the end, but really, that had nothing to do with me. The point was, I loved Nerilla. Always. A part of me hated Carice and always would. But Ødger didn’t get to cast aspersions on a lady in the king’s court when his own mother was no better. They were, as I’d reminded him, the same.

Ødger looked away, and I heard Keres catch her breath beside me. She knew, as well as I did, what that meant.

“Apologies, my lady,” he said to Carice, who was suddenly on my right, her hand on my bicep, squeezing tight.

“My gratitude, Lord Maedoc,” she replied sweetly. “And truly, Keres is, indeed, a courtier of the prince’s consort.”

“Your king misspoke, then,” he said to me, rising and starting down from the dais.

“Sadly,” I said, grinning at him, “His Majesty’s memory can be a bit spotty. But as your guard Sorin surely reported to you from the spying he did with his companions before he finally acted, the king has more courtiers and courtesans than he can count and doesn’t, on any given day, keep track of who is, or isn’t, in his bed.”

Soft, relieved laughter from all over the throne room, and when Ødger joined them, I heard Carice exhale beside me.

“The king has always been a man of great appetites,” Ødger said as he stepped in front of me and offered me his hand that was ungloved, unlike his brother’s.

I clasped his hand in mine, even though I saw how tight the skin was, nearly skeletal, bent and kissed the back gently, lifting my head to meet his gaze.

The moment our eyes met, I realized they were no longer a cloudy blue, but instead, black.

When Varic’s used to do that, turn so quickly, his pupils blowing when we were in bed together, it was very hot. These days they changed to gold, both when he was claiming me and when he was angry enough that the wall between the man and the beast came down too fast for him to catch before he transformed. It didn’t happen often. Varic’s control was fierce, but so was his wrath when provoked.

Ødger, as far as I could tell, had no power over his beast at all.

One second he was talking to me, the next his changed hand, with nails that resembled talons, wrapped around my throat and was holding me up off the ground.

“Jason!” Cirillo cried, and I saw the guards rush to surround him, Keres, and Carice.

I could die here, and that was something I never considered. What could Ødger possibly hope to accomplish with this power play? It made no sense to me.

I closed my eyes and saw…Varic.

Varic smiling at me, laughing with me, holding my hand. The love was a living, breathing energy between us, and it was to be cherished and fought for.

I had to get free. I had to fight. I was the prince’s consort, and I was certainly strong enough to stand at his side.

Taking hold of Ødger’s wrists, I wrenched my body up while at the same time kicking out with my legs. I had no idea if it would work. I certainly wouldn’t have moved Varic, and it was doubtful that Hadrian or Zev would have been knocked off-balance even a bit, but I was betting that whatever was ravaging and rotting the outside of Ødger was probably doing some kind of job on the inside as well.

His hand was forced away from me when he fell back, and because of how long and sharp his nails were, they sliced my neck. It wasn’t deep, it wasn’t life threatening, but it was enough to draw blood.

Ødger moved so fast, using far more speed than I thought him capable of, his hands on my chest driving me down under him to the polished stone floor. He shredded my jacket with his claws, my T-shirt underneath, and then wrenched my neck sideways, baring it, holding my head and chest in a vise of strength.

I couldn’t move, and he opened his mouth to drink.

Every part of me said no. Screamed no. And none of my anger and dread, remorse and pain, the helplessness I felt in that moment was for me. All my wrath was for what could not be allowed to happen.

I was Varic’s font. My blood was for my prince alone.

Never had my barrier been used to defend, only shield. It was not by nature a kinetic ability. My barrier rose and fell at my bidding, yes, but not always. It was far more instinctive than anything else. Most importantly, it was a static field. It was not interactive unless acted upon. It was a defensive tool, not an offensive one.

At that moment it occurred to me that I wasn’t in fear for my life—it was a far greater betrayal. My blood would be taken without my permission, without my desire and love. It was an abomination of all I held dear and that which Varic trusted me with.

It could not stand.

One moment Ødger was looming over me, the next he was thrown halfway across the room, tumbling several times before coming to a stop.