A Kingdom of Ruin (Deliciously Dark Fairytales Book 3)(30)

I returned her stare, not sure how forthcoming I should be.

“It was a gift,” I said.

“A gift? That right?” She laughed, but the women behind her didn’t laugh with her. Their eyes said they’d like to be cracking their knuckles against my face, and the only thing keeping them from me was my interrogator.

“A gift from who?” she asked.

“The prince. Nyfain.”

The faux-smile dripped off her face. Her eyes narrowed. “You’re telling me the crowned prince gave you that sword?”

“Yes.”

“And those clothes you came in here with? Did he gift you those, too?”

“Yes,” I said, and a murmur rippled from the crowd. The women lined up rocked from side to side, clearly wanting action. And now I knew why—they thought I’d stolen the sword.

And yeah, I was pretty clear on how absurd it sounded.

“Honestly, there is a logical explanation for…all of this…” I grimaced because every unbelievable story started along those lines.

She took a small step forward.

Power simmered low in my gut. My dragon started pulling it from Nyfain and storing it. I didn’t stop her. I hadn’t come all this way to get killed because of a misunderstanding.

“I served as the captain of the queen’s guard,” Tamara said in a low tone. “She was kindness and grace, steel and might. She held that kingdom together. We would’ve died for her, all of us would’ve, oath or no. And I will not see her prized possessions parceled off by those disgusting demons and paraded through here to torment us. Give me that sword, and I will leave you to your cell.”

The fire within me started to flicker.

“No.” I meant to say, You have this all wrong, but the look on her face—in her eyes—stole my words. Pain. Loss. Grief. Seeing this sword again, worn by the likes of me, was reminding her of all she’d lost. It was reminding her of a life that had been stolen from her. A monarch that she’d loved.

I was obviously the bearer of bad fucking tidings.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Vemar scratch his nose. He wore a smile.

“No…” he said softly. “No reasons, no explanations, just no.”

I still didn’t know why he was the one who’d come to me first. Maybe he’d volunteered, crazy enough to risk getting skewered for his efforts.

Tamara ignored him. “You have one last chance, and then I will take that sword,” she said.

The fire within me pumped higher. Hotter. Power bristled. Stretched my skin. Still my dragon pulled more from Nyfain. More and more, readying for this. I’d kept my cool with the demons, for the most part. I’d been using my head…as much as I could. But all of that rage had built up, stored within me, until now I just wanted to explode with it. I needed to explain, but something told me she wasn’t interested in hearing far-fetched stories. She was interested in the dragon way of doing things—violence.

Who was I to say boo?

When I finally spoke, my voice was low and mean and filled with the rage they all did so well. “Well…you can certainly try…”

She lunged for me, but I was ready. I made a wedge with my arms, worked inside of her grab, and slapped her hands wide. I darted in and peppered her middle with punches, then ducked under a flailing arm, pushed it over my head to turn her, and launched her to the side.

Yes, with my dragon’s power, I was definitely stronger and faster than these malnourished, suppressed shifters.

The line of women advanced, and I rushed forward to get right into their business, hammering home punches and kicks, careful not to do too much damage. It seemed like they were justifiably angry about the sword, and anyone with allegiance to Nyfain’s mom…

They were my kinda people. I wanted them as allies.

Still, they’d started it, and I wanted to kick a little ass. Needed to. Thankfully, they’d respect me more for it.

I kicked out and then shoved with my foot, sending someone sprawling. Then I swiped the legs out from under another woman and kicked her as she fell.

A fist sailed through the air, and I turned my face to take it in the cheek instead of the eye while I clotheslined a woman and broke through the line to punch a man in the throat. I tossed him and grabbed the next person, hurtling them behind me too.

The problem was that because I wasn’t hurting anyone too badly, and because they were stubborn dragons, they popped back up like they were on springs and rejoined the fight.

End it hard, and then explain yourself, my dragon thought as I hammered my fist into a man’s sternum, then tit-punched a woman. That would hurt. I didn’t envy her.

Okay.

I tossed another man, felt a hand grab the sword and pull, and knew a moment of horror when the sword was yanked halfway out of its sheath.

Without thinking, I sent a shock wave of power all around me, shoving with my will and layering it with a stinging slap that wouldn’t be soon forgotten. Power gushed from me but filled right back up, singing with Nyfain’s essence. Begging to be used. Urging me to unleash more of my rage. He was joining the fight from a distance, and he would have his say.

I smiled. Tears came to my eyes. Fuck, I missed him. I hated being separated.

I pumped out power again, blasting it.

People fell back, stumbling over themselves to get away now. A man fell and then started crawling along the stone, no apparent destination in mind.