Page 64 of Sinadim

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He remembered it in pieces.

A jumble of disordered memories he could only see through the blurry fog of something… broken. Something horrible. Tiny fragments of lost time flickered in his mind, bursts of light and pain that screamed and begged in the same distorted voice. Wordless and desperate, it was a plea for relief.

But from what, he couldn’t begin to say.

Everything was quiet, now.

Not peaceful, but… silent.

Desolate.

Heat throbbed in his face. Aching with every sluggish beat of his heart. Every errant twitch of his brow. And he remembered the slicing flash of pain as it tore through his⁠—

A shiver took him. Rippling through his mane, it was a rejection. Desperate refusal to look straight at that final moment, that last instant of golden brilliance before it was snuffed out.

Instead, he thought of the Silver City as he’d last seen her. Gleaming in bronze, shimmering with the high heat of the noon sun, she’d danced on the horizon before them. Taunting in her elegance, as if spreading welcoming arms barbed with poisoned arrows, she reached for the clouds and kissed the sun.

A smile twitched at the edge of his lips, even then. Even through the splintering, throbbing ache of oblivion, for the sight of those sweeping spires and elegant domes brought the tight ache of nostalgia. Shimmering in the heat, it was a place he’d been born to rule.

One he’d forsaken.

A future lost in a reckless gamble taken too soon.

His army had come from the East—that much he knew was true. An army supplemented with whores and veterans. Coastal mongrels not meant for the winds of the desert sands, and yet, they’d handled the harsh clime without complaint. Taking the punishment in stride, keeping pace with the bulk of his forces until the very last moment.

And when they’d crested the final dunes to look upon the elegance of the Silver City, the prince had allowed their resilience to bolster his confidence. Brain muddied by an inflated knot of supreme arrogance that stoppered the gushing torrent of warnings that screamed, “this is a mistake!”

Pompus, spoiled fool that he’d always been.

Chosen by the Nine.

Destined to claim a seat at their divine table.

He laughed and sent a wet, hacking cough tearing through his chest, making clotted wounds rupture and spurt. Sticky heat seeped over his cheekbone and slithered down. Back. Tracing the edge of his jaw until it filled his ear with a prickling hum, stuffing that tiny orifice with a steady drip of fetid gore. Deafening him to the moaning of the phantoms haunting his shadow.

It was relief cloaked in agony. A chance to cling to something beautiful and fleeting, just for a moment.

And with an eager, cowardly leap, his thoughts skittered back to better times. When sorrel thighs were braced and spread wide in eager welcome, beckoning him to rut into sodden, eager heat. The hypnotic sway of dusky nipples puffed and dripping golden dew as he rocked into that sacred sheath and emptied himself of every burden. Giving over to the tight, milking fist of Omega muscles designed to strangle and pamper his knot long after his seed had taken root.

A craving for more sent deadly claws to slice that illusion to ribbons. Garrish and spattered with gore, it ignited his mind with a fevered rush and beckoned horrific images to flash in the dark.

A clawed fist flashed through his vision.

Blurry with the kiss of foggy memory, it swiped from his brow down, across his cheek—and tore a hole between fevered dreams and dreary reality.

His mind was flooded with a gush of fluids spilling from gaping wounds. Flooding his nest, filling that precious, delicate bubble he’d shared with a peasant. A brother. A crimson ocean that surged and frothed, drowning tiny, squalling babes with brilliant green eyes.

His claws dimpled his palms, slicing through the meat. Denying the lies flashing in his fevered mind, for she was safe.

He knew that much.

Remembered barking orders for his Razie to spirit her away by the light of the full moons. To keep her hidden and secure, cherished… even if he couldn’t.

She was somewhere back in Tengit, tending tiny, sorrel babies. One with vibrant green eyes known only to the Karahmet bloodline, the other boasting an icy, shade of damning blue.

It was all he could offer.