Page 32 of The Serpent Prince

Everyone practically fell over themselves to shuffle backward.

Magnus glared at them all. “No one is to ever touch these elves, especially the female. This is her new home, and my new pet will be safe in this palace. If anyone touches her, you will answer to me directly!”

Reaching to hold Imani’s chin again, the king turned to Kiran, his burning gaze fixed on the prince. She wished he would stop touching her. “That includes you, my son. Is that why you wanted to hide her? Did you purposely cast that magic to keep her from me, Kiran? That glamour had your signature all over it,” he all but shouted at his son, and Imani remembered that Magnus was supposedly a powerful witch in his own right, despite his disdain for magic’s use in general. The echo shield was not enough for the most powerful witch in the realm.

“I wanted to avoid a situation like this,” Kiran ground out and gestured to the glassy-eyed crowd still murmuring and inching toward Imani and Luvon. “Even with the throne’s power, with so many people, this could get out of control.”

“So you’re an expert on Norn elves, eh?”

Kiran shrugged. “I am about to be mated to one.”

Imani wanted to obliterate the throne itself with those words.

The king roughly dropped her chin and turned to face Kiran head-on. “You want this one for yourself, don’t you? I already gave you one, but you aren’t satisfied. Of course you want her. She’s more beautiful and more powerful,” he snarled at his son.

With a quick glance at Ayla, Imani felt satisfaction shiver through her. The princess’s face was pinched in irritation, and her clenched fists gave away exactly what she thought of Magnus’s tirade. Imani vaguely considered staring the woman in the eyes and pulling her under the thrall, too, but with the confrontation between Kiran and Magnus, she needed to focus.

There was no response from the prince to Magnus’s yelling. Why didn’t he defend himself? Hitting back with a snarky reply seemed like the thing he’d do in this situation. Instead, Kiran’s eyes were … empty. Desolate. His creature was nowhere in sight. Was it afraid of the king? Was this why the king didn’t think Kiran had any shifter power?

There was too much to understand about this complicated family, but patience was a virtue, and she would burrow deep and learn as much as she could.

Magnus stood and pointed down to the floor. “Don’t ignore me, boy. Did you think bringing me this girl would forgive what you did before you left? Well, I haven’t forgotten, and now you’ve tried to lie to me. On your knees.”

What had Kiran done? Imani’s brows wrinkled in concern.

The only hint of Kiran’s reaction was the tiny rise and fall of his shoulders.

“Do you want this female elf for yourself, Kiran?” Magnus pointed to the ground. “I said on your knees, for Saints’ sake.”

With an immovable, unreadable look on his face, Kiran finally dropped to his knees and bowed his head.

Saevel spoke up. “Father, Kiran is the one who discovered the elf and brought her into our employ. It was he who managed to bring her away from the Essenheim court to ours. We owe him our gratitude.”

Magnus ignored Saevel and bared his teeth at Kiran. “No response for your insolence? I don’t care if you found her; you specifically disobeyed me when I said no glamour. Now, show your penance. Lick. My. Boots,” Magnus growled.

Imani’s face blanched, her body literally shaking with anger in the face of King Magnus’s cruelty. Kiran was a prick, for sure, but they all accepted his dirty work, welcomed it even—dirty work he’d used to get her under their control. Then they treated him like this? She wanted to fill the room with darkness watching someone as powerful Kiran—someone she reluctantly respected, despite the hatred—forced low.

To think she had hoped the Dark Kingdom wasn’t as barbaric as the rumors said.

Without a word of protest, Kiran did as his father asked. His pink tongue languidly swiped across the left boot, followed by the right one. His moves were unhurried, and as Imani watched him subjugate himself in humiliation once again—but this time with a far larger audience than merely her and Saevel—her chest ached. Kiran wasn’t born to bow to anyone, let alone lick shoes.

With a blink, the creature emerged behind the windows of Kiran’s eyes, and it was enraged. But, in the next blink, it was gone.

Why didn’t Kiran shift? Was it that embarrassing?

“I’ll ask you again, you ungrateful bastard: Do you want her for yourself, my son?” Then, with a wide right hook, Magnus’s fist connected with Kiran’s face, and all Kiran did was grunt in pain. Silence. Another punch. “Do you?” he shouted. Another punch. “I hate repeating myself!”

Imani put her hand to her mouth. This was what the thrall did in all its power—one word and Imani could have both these men licking her boots and doing exactly what she wanted. It stirred their emotions to new heights, but she would not attempt to quell the argument without knowing what her shadows might do. While she’d felt powerful before, now all she wanted to do was cast her illusion again, remove these glassy-eyed looks from their faces, and stop this madness before it careened out of control.

The prince still didn’t stop his father’s strikes. When Magnus eventually pulled back, there was blood sprayed on the floor. It covered Kiran’s teeth, too.

“Yes, of course, I want her for myself,” Kiran replied softly but defiantly. “Look at her perfection.” The elf prince gestured vaguely toward Imani’s form. “She belongs with me.” He touched his ears then pointed to his chest.

Sometimes it did feel like she belonged to him—body and soul—but Imani wasn’t stupid enough to read anything into the words. Kiran didn’t want her—he wanted her power.

Angry tears pricked her eyes at Kiran’s bitter lie.

Magnus threw his head back and laughed. All but one of Kiran’s master witches laughed with him. As if the concept of Kiran and Imani together was an absolute joke.