Page 12 of The Nymph King

A dark look crossed his face. He turned his glare on the soldiers he had frozen, then with a whoosh of his wand, set them free. Several grunts sounded from the men as they regained use of their limbs.

“Tell Ellisar he has something of mine,” he snarled. “I am coming for her. And I will burn his pretty city to the ground to get her back.”

Obsidian scales rippled down his arms and chest, tearing through his skin. He roared as the shift overtook him, a concussive sound that sent several of the newly freed soldiers stumbling farther back.

Imani scrambled to her feet and lifted her bound hands. “You will never have me again!”

“Run while you can, darling.” His voice rolled through the trees, followed by a low, terrible laugh. “I’ve been thinking far too much about what I’ll do when I have you in my arms again.”

He shifted with violent grace, his dragon form unfurling in a thunderous rush of wind and flame. Then, he launched skyward and tore through the darkness, furious yet majestic.

All the roots slowly withdrew into the earth, sealing the soil. The moss brightened faintly, but the thin cracks in the ground remained. Around the cart, Ellisar’s soldiers recovered quickly. Wands returned to hands. One man retrieved the reins while another checked Imani’s restraints, considerably more wary of her than before.

The Draswood had prevented Kiran from taking her, but it had not freed her.

They ushered Imani and Esa into the wooden cart while her heart hammered against her ribs. The thin cracks in the earth remained. She’d been caught, but whatever was hurting the Draswood was still out there.

CHAPTER 4

By morning, the strange arrangement between Esa, Imani, and the men taking them to Vathis had acquired rules none of them bothered to state aloud.

Gavin controlled the cart and the route, although his authority extended only as far as the men willing to follow him. He was a low-ranking Vathis soldier with more ambition than influence, and most of the armed men surrounding the wagon were mercenaries he had hired after the wanted posters began appearing across the eastern settlements. Ellisar had permitted Gavin to join the broader search for her, but that permission had been loose at best. Other soldiers and scouts were looking for her under more official orders. Gavin had simply been the one fortunate enough to stumble across her first.

She had to admit, Gavin finding the woman from the posters and personally delivering her to Ellisar could buy him the respect he lacked. The mercenaries, on the other hand, wanted the payment Gavin had promised them, and any advantage might come from being attached to such a valuable discovery.

During the fight, her emotions had stripped away her glamour, yet none of them seemed particularly interested in whether Imani was truly a queen. A lookalike Crown of Life was not proof merely because people could see one. Tanyl had to be wearing one too, but a powerful glamour could reproduce roots, flowers, even the appearance of living magic. Sight alone settled nothing.

For now, that made Imani and Esa something between prisoners and protected passengers. Gavin wanted Imani delivered alive because the posters demanded it, and after Kiran’s attack, he had no intention of risking whatever reward or prestige awaited him in Vathis by allowing anyone to kill her. Esa remained because Gavin had no reason to separate a dangerous pixie from the woman he was transporting until he could decide what she might also be worth.

Their hands were still bound while the cart moved, but they were given food, water, and space in the wagon rather than treated like condemned captives.

Protection, Imani decided, was an exceedingly generous word for it.

Gavin thought he had captured something valuable but truly had no idea what. Predatory eyes tracked Esa and Imani in the cart all morning. The weight of those stares clung to Imani’s skin like an oily residue, measuring her worth in coin and flesh. Disgust curled her lip as a Norn elf openly leered at her.

“I’ll rip your eyes out if you look at me again,” she snarled.

The man merely chuckled, turning away with a dismissive smirk. He wasn’t afraid of her. To him, she was entertainment, not a threat. But he should have been afraid. He should have sensed the rigid, unyielding power radiating from her. It was a darkness that refused to bend.

When Gavin called a halt for the midday meal, the thin discipline holding his hired men together began to fray. One of the mercenaries pulled Imani away from the cart to behind a massive oak, separating her from Esa without waiting for Gavin’s permission. They tossed her a meager ration of bread and meat. The Norn stood watch. Wind ruffled his short silver hair, but his blue eyes—so jarringly similar to Imani’s—remained fixed on her chest. His gaze should have been idle, yet it was invasive.

“I’ll tell you what I told the other asshole,” Imani warned, her voice dropping to a dangerous register. “I’ll rip your eyes out if you look at me again.”

The fiend just stood there, grinning like a tomcat cornering a mouse. “That look,” he hissed. “I think I love it. Reminds me of your wanted posters. Will you glare at me like that when I rut you, I wonder? Or will you make savory little noises? I do hope it’s both.” He took a lazy pull from his flask.

Imani held his gaze, offering him nothing—no flinch, no shift in posture, no fear. But deep in her chest, a slow coil of tension wound tighter, born of lethal restraint.

“Are you really the queen? You sure don’t seem like one right now.”

“Who do you think took out the Niflheim king’s soldiers with those tree roots, you imbecile?”

He shrugged, unimpressed. “Could’ve just been the Draswood. I think we need to run some tests before taking you to Ellisar as the false queen.” He cupped his mouth and shouted toward the rest of the camp. “Don’t you agree, boys!?”

“Aye!” they hollered back. The chorus was far too eager.

The Norn drew a knife. The blade caught the dappled sunlight in a sharp, cruel flash.

A ragged scream tore through the camp from Esa’s direction.