Page 82 of The Fallen Fae King

I hate this plan. I hate how I know Freya will look at me afterwards. I hate how Daire will lose.

And normally, I enjoy winning my battles with that winged fucker.

Sometimes, however, you must play the villain.

The banquet table has been pushed to the side to transform my couch into a throne.

I sit motionless, restraining myself from shivering against the freezing drafts that gust through the chamber.

I glance at the blood moon, which hangs low in the sky. Dawn is starting to smolder on the horizon; its embers catch on the edges of the clouds.

The scarlet moonlight bleeds through the banquet room’s high windows. It catches on the wall’s frescoes, which depict silver dragons flying across the court.

I scan across the statues of the Dracanian kings that flank the room, along with couches. They remind me of the collection of gold and silver statues of dragons in Maximinus’ study, which he has threatened to add me to with his metallicum magic if I disobey him.

I brace myself.

What happens next is necessary.

I must remain undercover in my own kingdom, until I can challenge the most powerful sorcerer in the realms, my uncle who can take my golden core and melt, twist, and control me in the most horrifying way.

I wrinkle my nose.

The room is flooded with Alpha dragon pheromones.

Courtiers and council members, the noble silver dragons, including Decima and Liviana, are lounging on the couches.

I nod at Ignatius Messalla, my poor Alpha cousin and new secretary, who is helping to run the Shadow Military Academy. He is standing smartly beside the entrance, guarding it.

Ignatius’ Shadow Military uniform is immaculate as always, and his golden hair is caught back from his face. He is a couple of years younger than Freya, and amongst these old councilors, he looks it.

For the first time, I believe that I made the right decision taking him under my wing.

Ignatius’ icy blue eyes meet mine.

My lips pinch, however, when I notice how tightly his arm is being held by his elite but icy Omega, Aquila.

Is the Omega struggling amongst so many Alpha pheromones?

When I glance around, I am shocked how different the atmosphere is to when Lanlin arrived in a fog of incense-scented shadows and roars from his demonic lions to claim my Omega as his.

Then, the same Alphas had huddled in tense, silent groups, who are now chatting and laughing like this is a carnival. They grab and down wine from the trays, which the Beta servers are carrying between them.

I am the only one who is sitting in unmoving, sober silence.

My court are glancing between each other in gleeful anticipation, as if waiting for the entertainment — Lanlin.

I made him kneel and then prostrate himself last time. But it didn’t humiliate him. He only had eyes for the Omega and Blood Lover whom I was tricking him into believing would become his.

Will it break him this time, however, now that he knows they were never his from the start?

I feel sick.

Imperial Legate War Varus, a ruby Alpha and my war general who is standing behind me, leans down. “Where is the fanged fucker? Can’t you see the first flames of dawn burning the moon from the sky? Any longer, and your fated mates will tumble through the portal, only for your pet vampire to burn like a candle in the sun.”

“He’s not my pet.” I twist over my shoulder to glare at War. She is in her late thirties, muscled, and dressed in ruby-encrusted gold and leather armor that she has also polished for this special night. “He’ll be my prisoner.”

War raises her scarred eyebrow. “I’ve seen more self-awareness from a rooster.”