76. Arran

It could have been worse. Most of those assembled merely blinked up at Veyka in confusion. Terrestrials were warriors. They all knew the Void Prophecy existed. But I doubted any of them could recite it. It was a legend—like mates.

But there Veyka stood. Real. My mate, not a legend.

And not done talking.

"The humans call them nightwalkers, because they come while we sleep. They creep into the minds of our males and turn them into monsters. Mindless, vicious monsters who will kill a wife, a child, a friend." She paused. "We know them by their true name. The succubus."

Silence.

Shifting of feet, but not shifting to beasts. A small miracle. The silence would not hold. Veyka knew it, by the expectant tilt of her chin. But what else did she have to say?

What are you doing?

My mind was silent. Not even a growl.

She did not trust me, even after the ice cave.

"Amorite is our only defense, the only thing that will repel them." She dropped her travel pack, tugging loose the plump pouch strapped to the side. She held it aloft where her blade had been. "By royal decree—every male in Eilean Gayl will step forward to have his flesh pierced by amorite."

The great hall erupted.

I grabbed her wrist. "You should have told me," I growled.

Veyka did not waver. "You would have tried to stop me."

"Because you are wrong."

She cut her eyes to me, spearing me with those shards of blue ice.

I did not flinch, my grip on her wrist tightening. "We rule together."

Her eyes flashed again. "You cannot decide to play king when it suits you. You are either my mate and king, or you are not."

She ripped her hand away—too easily. Like I'd never really had her at all.

"Osheen, step forward and receive the amorite," Veyka yelled.

The hall quieted again. Waiting.

Osheen stepped forward, ever the dutiful soldier. Cyara was there, handing Veyka a needle heated with the handmaiden's flame. Another few seconds and it was over, a small amorite stud winking in Osheen's earlobe.

Barkke stepped forward next.

I wanted to strangle her.

So fucking clever. She'd seen Osheen, seen the warm welcome he received, and seized her opportunity. But it did not change the fact that she was wrong. Or that she had not trusted me enough to share her plans, however quickly they'd come together.

She could speak into my fucking mind. But she'd chosen not to.

More terrestrials came forward. Veyka did each piercing herself. A queen, serving her subjects. My father. Male after male. Until the crowed parted and revealed a line of unmoving males.

I stepped closer to Veyka.

"Come," Veyka purred, licking her lower lip. "I promise to be gentle."

None of the males' eyes flared with desire. None of them moved. Lyrena shifted closer.

The eight males held a solid, unmoving line. I recognized none of them, but that meant little. I had not been to Eilean Gayl in decades. The one at the center looked oldest, though they were all young. It was he who spoke.

"We have seen no evidence of this supposed darkness."

Lyrena dropped a not-so-casual hand to her sword. Veyka merely cocked her head to the side.

"Nor have any of you graced the halls of the Goldstone Palace. And yet, the Gremog waits to taste your flesh, just the same," she said.

A velvet wrapped threat. Veyka did love violence.

Still, the males did not move.

"Come," Veyka said again. Her voice made the promise—she would not ask a third time.

No movement.

Lyrena drew her sword. "Your Queen gave you a command."

The leader smiled.

This was what Veyka had meant. A queen, but to many terrestrials, in name only. She needed me at her side. Not only as her mate, but to make good on an agreement made seven thousand years ago by the Ancestors.

Veyka handed the needle back to Cyara and pulled the drawstring on the pouch of amorite.

"Any male who refuses the amorite is a danger to Annwyn. A traitor." She smiled as she gave Lyrena the order. "Kill them."

The hall erupted once more.

Veyka.

Some terrestrials applauded. Bloodshed was entertainment. Many stepped back, forming a circle for the fight. Executions. Lyrena would not lose.

Veyka. We need every fighting, able-bodied soldier.

Her back was to me. She was re-stowing the amorite.

Listen to me.

She straightened. We do not need traitors.

Just because someone disagrees with you does not make them a traitor.

She turned, slowly. But her eyes did not go to the males, some shifting, some brandishing weapons. Lyrena laughed in their faces and encircled the makeshift arena with a ring of fire.

Veyka ignored them all, her eyes fixed on me. Beautiful, raging storm clouds gone to shards of ice.

"Who are you?" she hissed.

I did not flinch. "I am the High King of Annwyn." I turned back to the spectacle. "No one shall die today."

Lyrena's flames banked. She looked past me. I did not turn to see the betrayal in Veyka's eyes. I could feel it in my soul.