Even the servers seemed hesitant to approach with the thundercloud hanging over him. Rokath waved them forward, and they eased into their roles, settling glasses of water in front of us, followed by steaming baskets of bread. Our dinner was once again fish, which I’d quickly learned was the norm given our proximity to the sea.

Honestly, I didn’t care so long as it wasn’t whatever that mushy, tasteless, sticky gruel was they made in the war camp. I felt bad for Trol having to endure it for so long. Whenever we departed, I’d bring him some real food—something that would last the trip at least—to express my gratitude for all his sacrifices.

“How was your journey?” I asked Kiira as I bit into a hunk of cheese.

“Uneventful. Though every town we stopped in had something to ask of us,” Kiira replied smoothly.

Xannirin stabbed at his plate with more force than necessary. Rokath glanced between them, then looked at me.

“Something is definitely off,” I said quickly to my mate.

“Like what?” I asked her.

She spread some chive-filled butter across a roll. “Mostly prayers or aid. Though many had questions about the war.” She flicked her attention to Xannirin before nipping at the bread.

The Kral finally lifted his gaze and it speared straight into me. “I wasn’t aware peasants were allowed to dine at the high table, Rokath.”

Rage flooded our bond—and it wasn’t only from my mate. My lips curled back from my teeth. Rokath beat me to speaking, though.

“She is my mate.” The final word dripped with violent intent. “Therefore she is a member of House Vrak.”

Olet and Rapp held their breath as the two faced off. I glanced below, at the tables lined now with both soldiers and priestesses. None of them paid any attention to the war waging between the cousins.

A sneer rose to Xannirin’s face. He set his dining ware down and dabbed his mouth with a cloth. “Not until you wed.”

Rokath’s face turned a shade of red I hadn’t seen since our earliest fights. His hands shook as he dug his fingers into the table. “I do not need a ceremony to know she is mine.”

Kiira leaned over and whispered in my ear. “The Kral has final say in our marriages. It is the only real power he has over us.”

Could Xannirin really force Rokath to marry another despite our bond?

“I have always considered you a member of House Vrak. Do not worry, Assyria. We’ll sort this mess out.”

Kiira’s words were a balm, and I knocked my shoulder against hers in a silent thanks.

Xannirin stole our attention. “She’s no officer. She’s not of noble blood. She can sit with the rest of them.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the priestesses.

Olet kept his head pointedly down. Rapp shifted in his seat like the wood was burning him. Though the movement brought him closer to Kiira and me. Subtly, he reached under the table and rested a hand on her thigh.

Rapp and Kiira were close friends, as both had told me. But that gesture was more than friendly—it was a sign of unspoken support. Would Rapp take Kiira’s side in any matter against Xannirin? What if it contrasted against what Rokath wanted? And where did Kiira’s loyalties lie?

I’d grown accustomed to the dynamic between Rokath and Rapp, but Rokath and his cousins were an entirely different story.

“She remains here,” Rokath stated, more than a hint of challenge in his tone.

Xannirin’s regard settled over me again. I refused to bow under it. “Like it or not, My Kral, the Fates chose to bless the Halálhívó and I with a bond. And are the Fates not wise in their weavings?”

The words that had been used on me to force me to comply, to obey, to surrender my autonomy flung back at the male responsible for most of it.

A muscle feathered in his jaw. “It’s curious, is it not, how new symbols emerge from war?” He leaned in, his focus still entirely on me. “It’s a shame how the attention can be so deadly.”

And with that, he shoved back from the table, scattering the servers behind him. In quick, precise strides, he stalked from the room. Rokath leaped to his feet, but Olet grabbed his arm and yanked him back down. “Halálhívó, I believe following the Kral now would be unwise.”

A wildfire of fury engulfed our bond as my mate stared at his cousin’s backside. Kiira reached for him, and he flinched at her touch on his arm. “Cousin, we have much to discuss. First, let’s eat. It’s been weeks since I had anything decent.”

Rokath softened at her gentle plea. With a long sigh, he turned his attention back to us. “Fine.”

I nudged him down our bond, offering my strength to him. Was I furious at Xannirin’s outlandish treatment of me? Of course. But right now, the best thing I could do was to support my mate.

After all, these were his cousins. He’d created all of this with them. If I wanted to ensure Demon society changed for the better, I’d need to learn to play along. Xannirin’s favorite game was kazat, according to Rokath. I’d lay out my bets, coerce him into a challenge he couldn’t refuse. I’d cheat victory to ensure he’d be forced to perform after his loss if I had to.

I glanced at the rows of females below. The utter joy that slipped through their veils warmed my heart and invigorated me.

I hadn’t set out from Stryi to become the figurehead of a movement. But now that I had? I’d burn everything down before I’d bend again.

And I would not let any of these females, or the rest scattered and suffering through the realm, down.

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24

Xannirin’s loaded threat from dinner echoed louder than my footsteps against the stone staircase. Three levels down, I paused, hand scraping against the smooth bricks until I found the nicked one. I dug the heel of my palm into it, and with a groan, a nearby slab rolled to the side, revealing a hidden passageway.

The military academy held two premier residences, one in each of the rear towers. The Kral’s was much harder to access, and this was one of two routes that led to his quarters. The primary one was more known, while the one I entered served one purpose: escape in event of attack.

It was the quickest path from my room to Xannirin’s, and the fury burning inside me needed a release.

The door slid shut behind me, bathing the passage in darkness. I strode forward with utter confidence, counting my strides until I knew I neared the hidden switch to open the other side. The rough stone gave way to a smooth spot, and again I pressed, emerging from the narrow opening into another spiral staircase.

Through clenched teeth, I forced air into my lungs, trying to rein in the wrath clawing up my throat. The beast inside me begged for a chance to punish Xannirin for his behavior since his arrival. The fear I’d carried over how my cousins would react to these proposed changes morphed into something far more dangerous.

Heat licked up my spine and steeled it for the conversation ahead.

Each step I trudged upward dredged memories from centuries before, when the three of us had begun to take the necessary actions to bring Demon society to heel. To ensure that our vision was successfully executed. To ensure the survival of our race.

Had we made the right decisions along the way? We were certainly nowhere close to the end we’d had in mind when we set out.

At the top of the staircase, a heavy wooden door stood ajar. Low voices drifted beyond as I stared at it, rubbing the sides of my jaw.

“Does the mighty Halálhívó doubt himself?” Assyria entered my mind, her tone light and teasing. Yet I knew she worried for me. With our bond, everything was shared, and hiding my anxiety about this conversation had been difficult.

“Only the ability to restrain myself,” I replied, my fingers itching to close around Xannirin’s neck.