Page 154 of The Fallen Fae King

Then I clench my hands.

“Better,” I say because I have discovered that with this small ragtag band of broken vampires, who I have taken under my protection, praise is the best reward.

They care more about my approval than the pain of the whip.

The Eternal smiles warmly at me.

A strange sensation rushes through me. I glance to the side.

She is not smiling because I am her King. None of them here see me as one anyway.

I have never felt kinship before. Is this what it’s like?

It’s better than slicing my claws into a dragon’s neck, and I enjoy that.

I am simply another captive Blood to these vampires, but one who is offering them hope.

I am Lazarus’ brother.

And he is loved.

I realize it every time one of them looks at me, and their expression softens, before they remember that I’m not him.

For the first time in my life, no one sees me as different, the outcast freak.

Our skin welts under the silver whip the same. Our blood mingles together in the sawdust.

We all burn under the sun.

I glance up at the domed roof of the giant arena. It is the color of scorched gold. A sun blazes in bronze in its center, looking down at the arena like a monstrous eye.

I scan across the rest of the arena, assessing it for weaknesses like I have every day that I have been brought here, still shackled, with the other Eternals to train.

I imagine Wraith thought that the others would enjoy having someone bound in shackles, who they could take out their frustrations on, and not that I would start drilling them in military discipline.

I scan the Sun Arena for the best way to escape, but it is well designed. There are only two exits. The silver door that the guards enter the circular arena through and the low, silver door that leads back to our cells.

Otherwise, the arena is surrounded by iron braziers that throw amber light across the pillars and black banners embroidered with golden suns.

They would burn. That could be a distraction.

I ignore the clatter of wooden practice swords and the hiss of the guards’ whips.

Instead, I look up into the tiers of black stone seats, which are empty now but are designed for the audience of the Sun Games. I narrow my eyes at the thought of the dragons who have sat there laughing and clapping to my people’s deaths.

I have fought and killed. In my kingdom, death is worshiped. But it is not entertainment.

It’s why the idea that Sobek hunted Blood Lovers sickened me.

Unfortunately, there is too large a gap between the pit and the seats. If I could transform, I would fly up there to freedom. Bound in these shackles, however, it is not an escape route.

“You’re good at this,” Yara comments, watching from my shoulder.

“It’s almost like I trained an entire army.” My lips twitch.

“We’re lucky to have you. The guards don’t know whether to be pleased or angry.” Ahm pats my shoulder, and I flinch.

I’m still not used to someone touching me so easily, or for it not to mean pain.