Its human face turned paler, yellow eyes widened.
Rayghast swung again as dark magic rushed from his feet, underground, and latched itself onto the ankles of the beast, holding it still. Flesh peeled away as Rayghast’s power consumed it, climbing up its muscular legs. The creature bellowed again in its guttural language.
The King of Tacorn then beheaded the creature while it was distracted.
“Your Grace,” shouted Shaff, coming to his side.
Rayghast’s magic receded back inside him.
“My King, are you injured?” Shaff asked, holding a torch up to the gaping gash in Rayghast’s arm. In the near pitch-darkness, he hadn’t witnessed Rayghast’s use of magic.
Rayghast covered the wound with his other hand. “Burn the body.”
Only one of Shaff’s soldiers remained; the others had been set aflame by the creature’s magic. Their bodies lay crumpled in a heap on the forest floor. Black flame had corroded their armor. Rayghast sneered. Scorched flesh and exposed innards smelled atrocious.
He didn’t bother with the mess. Shaff could clean it up. Rayghast climbed into his horse’s saddle and rode back to Dul Tanen alone in the night. He skulked past the guards, past Cronhold in the hallway who started talking, but was hushed by the aggressive speed of Rayghast’s steps.
Once inside his chambers, Rayghast cleansed the wound, a deep gash straight to the bone. The ripped edges of flesh were charred as crispy as fish skin.
Black tendrils of magic oozed from the gash. It dulled the pain as Rayghast sensed a tingle. His blackened flesh stitched itself back together. Like a needle and thread, the magic healed its vessel. It would not be vulnerable.
“Husband?” came Rhia’s voice from her doorway.
He’d been seeing too much of her lately. Every night, he bedded her, at the council’s urgent requests. It wasn’t pleasurable for either of them, but to keep the hounds off the scent of his cursed seed, Rayghast performed his duty.
“Get out,” he commanded in a cool, lethal tone. He tried to wrap a bandage around the wound with one hand.
The queen ignored him. “My King, Cronhold said you left to fight one of those beasts.” Rhia came closer. “Are you hurt? Shall I call for the healer?”
“I said get out.” He bit the words, shielding his arm from her view.
Rhia’s lips flattened as she bowed her head lower. She turned and made for the door.
Rayghast shifted, too soon. Rhia glanced back over her shoulder. Her almond-shaped eyes widened as she saw black tendrils flickering at the wound.
“What is that?” she asked, paling. She fully faced him now, dropping her usual distant comportment. “Is that—”
“Are you deaf or just stupid?” Rayghast asked with venom. A tsunami of magic rose in him.
Kill her, it called.
Rayghast couldn’t do that. How would he explain such a death without revealing his powers? Magic left physical evidence, scorch marks and dead skin. He’d managed to hide it in the forest with the creature thanks to the cover of darkness.
“Leave my room at once.”
Rhia gaped as the magic coiled itself around his arm. “You . . . you’ve been harboring magic!”
Her eyes narrowed, lips twisted into a disgusted, fearful grimace.
There it was: the same hateful expression his father, King Hershen, had bestowed upon him all his life. Rayghast couldn’t stand that look.
He prowled towards her. Rhia stumbled backwards into the doorframe, tripping over the train of her gown.
“Do you fear me now, Wife?” he asked with vicious calm. He shoved his arm under her nose, allowing Rhia to fully view his horrific devilry. “Do you see now what power I hold?”
Rhia’s throat bobbed as she held her ground, expression clearing of all emotion. “Yes, I see . . .”
He reached out to touch her bare neck, and she flinched delightfully. But his hand hovered above her skin, making no contact. Rhia’s breast heaved.
“One touch from me and I could ruin you,” he said.
This here was the true test of her loyalty.
Rhia lifted her chin, meeting his gaze. “I won’t say a word to anyone about what I’ve seen. You can trust me to keep your secret, Husband.”
She stepped back into her room, then quickly shut the doors. Rayghast locked her in.
I should kill her.
She was a risk. His mind formulated scenarios to dispose of her. He’d never be able to hide the body without someone seeing. Could he ride with her out to the woods and feign an accident? An attack from one of the creatures?
No, his soldiers would never allow both the King and Queen of Tacorn to go anywhere alone. They were watched. Guarded.
He could poison her, but that was a woman’s weapon. Cowardly. He wouldn’t degrade himself to that level of weakness. Beyond that, he couldn’t fuel the rumors further. His soldiers might abandon him, his subjects might rise up if another wife died mysteriously.
Rhia needed to live. For now.
But no more would she be allowed to move about the castle freely. No more stepping into Rayghast’s rooms without permission. No more beddings, trying for an heir. She’d be confined to her quarters, kept away from the public and anyone of importance.
