Page 21 of Slayer

A hollow laugh falls from my lips, and I savor his unease in response to it. “I’m the queen of the bloody pirates you hang.”

His eyes widen before he catches himself. “You expect me to believe you can control pirates? The scum of the earth?”

I lean forward, locking him in my stare. “I find it amusing that you call them scum when you fatten your coffers with their goods, their weapons… when you use them for the very power you claim makes you untouchable.”

I let the words drag, heavier with each syllable. “And now… you’ve outsourced your dirty work to me, which may be your biggest mistake yet.”

“So you’ve come to bargain for the boy’s life?” The king’s smile is smooth, calculated, evil, coasting across his face like fire on oil. Roman finally tears his gaze from me and turns to his father. Oh, he’s been blindsided. He didn’t know. He didn’t know his father intended to use me to kill Maddoc.

“Interesting,” I murmur, watching the betrayal ripple between them.

Roman finally asks, “Who?” His voice is molten, striking like sparks off steel. Gods, that voice. Smooth as smoke, edged like a flame, too warm to dismiss, too sharp to forget.

But the king never looks away from me. His black eyes remain locked on mine, greedy to see pain flicker across my face when he says the name. His lips curl.

“Maddoc Brine.”

I move before my thoughts can catch up with me. In one fluid motion, my dagger rips from the table and presses to the hollow of his throat. The firelight catches the edge. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” I hiss, “commanding me to kill him?” Younger me would have slit his throat right here, in front of both of his sons. But I'm more patient now, more calculating.

The king doesn’t flinch, his pulse beating steadily against my blade. And then he laughs, deep and guttural, the scruff of his beard scratching against the blade.

“Do it,” he says, steady as stone. “Slit my throat. Paint my walls with a king’s blood. Because if you don’t”—his eyes glitter like an obsidian night sky, unblinking— “you will slit his instead. Every chain you wear, girl, every bargain you think you’ve twisted to your favor, they all lead back to me.” His tone is cruel, vile.

For a moment, we linger in a silent stalemate. My blade at his throat. His smile daring me to push harder. Neither of us move. Neither of us break.

“And as for your unanswered question, the king is who I am. And I rule everything and everyone, including you.”

I press the blade deeper until I break the skin. Blood wells, but it isn’t red. It’s black. My breath catches.

Before I can lean closer, heat sears across my wrist. My fingers are burning. A hand wreathed in fire has closed around me. I don’t turn my head. Only my eyes slide sideways, locking with that complex amber stare. Roman.

“Leave him.” His voice is low and consuming. “You don’t want to end up dead, now do you… little ember?”

The name burns worse than his fire. Little ember? Who the fuck does he think he is? I yank free and slowly sink back into the king’s chair, lips curling as though the new nickname didn’t cut as deep as it did.

My voice is steel. “Let me tell you something about me, Your Majesty.” The king wipes the black sheen from his throat with his fingers, then looks back up at me with obsidian eyes, unwavering.

“One.” I hold his stare, dagger still twirling between my fingers. “I am never anyone’s toy. I do what I want, when I want. And that means I kill, torture, and burn the bodies I choose. I work for me. Not you, not Silas, not any damned pirate. Me.” My gaze flicks to Roman, still standing like a flame-forged sentinel, waiting for me to rise again. I can’t see any flame; I can only feel it. Like I am a moth drawn to the light.

“Two.” I lean forward, elbows on my knees, voice dropping into something low and unsettling. “I don’t kill innocents. And three.” I smile without warmth. “I most certainly don’t work for royals. Ever.” Silence presses heavily between us. The king is bleeding smoke. Roman is burning fire. I’m daring them both to strike first. “Have I made myself clear?” My gaze bores straight into the king’s blackened eyes.

He remains deadly still. “As much as I love a detailed list,” he says, “I’m afraid you’ve already opened the blood mark. That means you’ve taken my job, whether you like the name written there or not.” He leans back, dark amusement flickering in his eyes. “But luckily for you, I am willing to make a deal, young slayer.”

“A deal?” I bite back. “What bargain could that slow, rotting mind of yours possibly conjure? Do you not realize making a deal with me is the same as making one with the devil herself?”

His eyes gleam at my words, unshaken. “I have to give it to you. You're bold, sly, deadly for someone your age. Raised by the best of the best in an academy that forges humans into weapons.” His smile is eerie. “If someone wants a man dead, they know exactly whose name to whisper and where to find him.”

My blood freezes. No one outside Magda should know the Slayer Academy like this. If anyone did, they’d be dead. Unease stirs in my gut at the feeling that there’s more to this king than I anticipated. “How would you know?” I ask, challenging him even as the dagger twitches between my fingers.

The king looks toward Roman. His son’s eyes lost their fire for a moment, but when his gaze slides to me, it’s as if the embers inside him roar back to life. Heat and sparks. Flames igniting only for me. How odd. Roman gives the subtlest nod. The smallest gesture that anyone else would miss, but not me.

“Because,” the king drawls, savoring the moment, “he used to walk these very halls. Sit beside me in the throne room. Play games with me when we were young…” He pauses, wretched laughter breaking from his chest.

I lean back, feigning ease, though both hands itch with the desire to spill his blood. “Tell me what you’re circling at. I hate waiting. I hate games. And when I get bored…” My smile is razor thin. “I torture. Or kill. And right now I see three perfect bodies in front of me to play with.” I let out a low laugh, sour with a little bit of crazy.

The king only lifts his chin, crownless but no less regal. “There are things even you don’t know, slayer.” His voice rumbles with power as he gestures to the wall of portraits, the firelight licking across countless faces, shadows stretching like ghosts. “Do you recognize anyone?” he asks, testing me.

I trace the line of painted smiles, carved frames, legacies burned into canvas. And my stomach drops. The world tilts. There he is.