A Kingdom of Ruin (Deliciously Dark Fairytales Book 3)(11)

“She has a sword, though,” someone said.

“Why isn’t she using the sword?” another asked.

A deep baritone voice echoed through the space. “Give the whip to me.” The man who’d spoken was behind me, but I didn’t dare tear my eyes away from the minions for long enough to look. The feel of his command whispered over my body. “Let me spare you,” he continued. “Let me take their wrath.”

His power and authority tugged at me. His proposal stopped me short for a moment, the idea of sparing myself a sweet one after the hard journey to get here. But I hadn’t come all this way to shirk my duties. Besides, he was obviously behind bars. How would he actually help me?

Fight, my dragon thought. Let the others see that you have no fear. They’ll respect you more for it. Show them your worth. The dragon is ready to supply us with all the power we need.

As if her words had summoned it, a delicious hum rose through my middle. Heat and love and a soft devotion crept through my tired limbs and aching joints. Pride and strength straightened my back.

My lungs tightened as my heart squeezed.

Nyfain. He was lending me his support through the bond. He was by my side even from all that distance.

I took a deep breath as my eyes filled with tears.

“Fuck it, let’s do this.” I ran-hobbled forward.

The minion with the club stepped around his buddy and lifted the instrument into the air. I punched forward, connecting with his throat and making him bend. I grabbed the club as the other raked my side with his claws.

“Sure would be fucking great if I could use this goddess-damned sword, huh?” I said in a series of grunts as I slapped the club against Mr. Claws’s head. I went back to the first and knocked him in the head too.

“Incoming,” one of the prisoners yelled.

The other two minions ran forward, and I grabbed one of them and ripped him closer. Mr. Claws raked forward, scoring the front of the demon I’d grabbed. I looped my arms around my demon shield, pulling the club against his neck. Mr. Claws tried to get at me around the one I held, and I turned, blocking the way again.

“He’s dead,” a prisoner called.

Helpful.

I dropped him, grabbed Mr. Claws, and pulled him close while spearing forward with my will, a physical manifestation of my power. It sliced right through his gut, opening a gash and making him scream.

Feet thudded against stone. A stream of red descended the stairs, whips and clubs in hand. They’d brought in reinforcements.

Fuck, my dragon thought.

I had to agree.

The demon horde reached me. A whip crack shot blinding pain through me as a club crashed down on my shoulder. More came with it, weapons and claws and fists. I could strike out with my will, but against all of this, I wouldn’t get far.

I took what they had to offer without a sound. I did not cry or call out. As blow after blow fell, I wrapped myself in the feeling of Nyfain through the bond—in his strength and power and comfort. In my love for him, which I’d never gotten to express. In my thankfulness for our time together. I ignored all that was happening around me and took solace in the memory of his muscled arms wrapped around me. With him for support, I was strong enough to endure anything.

When the demons were satisfied, they dragged me to a cell at the end of the room. Jedrek was thrown in with me a moment later. Someone said something that was likely a taunt. I couldn’t say. I ignored it. As one, they receded whence they had come, clicking out the light before trekking up the stairs.

Darkness blanketed my dank, dirty new home.

“This is a nightmare,” Jedrek said with a tremor in his voice.

I couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up. I choked on it, on blood maybe, and let more come anyway.

Into the silence I said, “Cheers! Now get me a drink.”





FOUR





HADRIEL





I flexed my fingers and then wiggled them around, adjusting the positioning of my dick in my annoyingly tight black trousers. Fucking Cecil and his shitty work whenever I needed something. He was the worst seamster in the known world. When it came to my stuff, anyway. And he was the only one who worked on my stuff because of some bullshit deal he made with the sweeter, easier-to-work-with seamstress.

“Do you know what I would love?” I whispered to Leala, who was waiting beside me at the closed door to what had been Finley’s tower. I really hoped the master couldn’t hear me. My volume control was honestly the shits at this point in my tenure in the sex-demon-filled castle. “I would love a pair of jeans again. I used to love wearing jeans. I think the master is the only one with some left.”

“I’d rather electricity or proper coffee. But sure, jeans would be great.” She paused for a moment, waiting for me but not pushing. Neither of us wanted to do this. “I never wore jeans.”

“That’s because you’re proper. I wore jeans. Horseshit didn’t stick to jeans like other pants.”

“What about leather?”

“I didn’t get leather, are you kidding? I got jeans, and I got ignored.” I puffed out a breath and thought about turning the door handle. “Fuck, why am I here? I’m a stable handle. I shouldn’t be trying to talk to the fucking prince!”

“Stable handle? Are you still drunk?”