Lykalis has a new obsession: a bewitching man carrying secrets stained in blood. But is he worth less than the safety of her kingdom? Or is he worth more than she could ever imagine?
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The King...
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Corrupt Crown
LYKALIS was fast.
But Ilioszo was faster.
She let out a sharp breath as her shoulder was pushed. She slammed into the wall as an arm pressed against her collarbone, a serrated blade pressing against her throat.
Forged of white opal and coated with clear cut diamond, the dagger emitted a hiss and blistered against her trachea. Where he found an Isetían blade imbued with heavenly light—Ilangìbí—was beyond her. What she did know, however, was the fact the serrated edge threatening to split her skin promised a cut throat and her blood spilling until death did her soul apart from flesh and bone.
She formed an inexplicit appreciation towards the hand that held the blade with care, every joint of his fingers moving with deliberation and dexterity.
Otherwise she'd be dead.
Under the corridor's dim candle light, Ilioszo looked like an angel from the Underworld, jaw rippling with antipathy. His broad shoulders were drawn tight, feathers propped like the hackles of a wolf, baring its teeth and preparing to strike. His wings were now black—Koltean, except for the silver feathers scattered across his plumage.
She had half the mind to note how strange the coloration of his wings were as his face drew close to her. She could feel his breath against her skin as mismatched eyes bore into her with a burning flame of two juxtaposing temperatures. They consecutively managed to seize her heart with frigid terror yet burn her spirit with sweltering fires, oscillating like two souls at war with each other.
She was unperturbed, remaining pinned underneath her favorite enigma.
And her only chance at escape.
Ilioszo's expression remained stoic as he kept her trapped between his arms.
"You almost had me, didn't you, Heiress?" Ilioszo murmured.
Lykalis scoffed, though she knew it was nothing but a ploy.
"Am I supposed to be honored that you took the time to draw your blade?" She asked, her skin threatening to burn from the blade.
A Kolteans weakness, after all, was light.
"I suppose you should be." Ilioszo replied with an amused expression.
Adrenaline jumped between his eyes, exhilaration of the chase still embedded under his skin. But this would be different– there would be no prey to kill, no prey to destroy and disassemble. No, this was far more enticing, refreshing with a sort of exuberance Ilioszo rarely found the zest in.
