The Ashes and the Star-Cursed King (Crowns of Nyaxia Book 2)

I awoke to soft kisses over my cheek, my ear, my neck.

These last months, waking up always felt like a battle, as if I was being dragged back to the land of the living kicking and screaming.

This was not a battle. This was a gentle summons, sweet and tender.

I felt, for the first time in so long, safe.

Safe, for the first time since…

Since… the last time I had woken up like this. In Raihn’s arms.

It took several seconds for my awareness to come back to me. I was naked, in bed, in Raihn’s arms. I was sore from the battle I’d fought to save his life and then from the fucking we’d done when I refused to leave him.

His kisses trailed to my throat, a tiny stab of pain as they brushed the wounds where I’d let him drink from me.

Mother, I still tasted the tang of his blood on my own tongue.

Every piece of this seemed more outlandish than the last. A month ago—hell, weeks ago—I would have been appalled with myself.

Instead, I felt… strangely at peace.

I opened my eyes and rolled over. Raihn propped himself up on one elbow, watching me. A familiar little smirk clung to his lips.

“Evening, princess.”

Funny, how intimate those two words sounded. Maybe it was just the way his voice sounded rolling over them, seductive and warm and just a little bit shy.

I murmured, “Hello.”

What else was I going to say?

The smirk softened. “Hello,” he whispered.

My gaze trailed down his bare body, taking in the expanse of muscles and scarred skin—pausing, for just a moment, at his cock, partially hardened—before returning to the crisscross of wounds over his abdomen and sides. I questioned my sanity as I took them in. They seemed so much better than yesterday, when Raihn had barely been able to move.

Following my gaze, he said, “The blood helped. A lot.” His lips brushed over my forehead. “Thank you.”

I squirmed a little at the way he said that. So sincerely.

“Of course,” I muttered. Like it was what I’d planned all along. If I’d been thinking logically, it did make sense to let Raihn drink from me—I’d seen before how much it helped him heal, and he’d needed that desperately.

But I couldn’t even lie to myself. I hadn’t offered my blood to him out of a sense of practicality. I’d offered it to him out of blind, maddening desire—desire to have more of him inside me, and more of myself inside him.

And Goddess, it had been—it had been—

I cleared my throat to avoid getting lost in that particular cascade of distracting thoughts.

I twitched as his fingertips traced my abdomen, tickling over my belly button.

“Looks like it helped you, too,” he said.

I blinked down at myself, brow furrowed. The cuts were still there, yes, and still sore, but they no longer bled. They looked as if they’d been healing for several weeks, not for twelve hours. It rivaled the effects of a healing potion.

“Is that… normal?” I asked.

“Not sure if anything about either of us is normal,” he said.

Well. That was true.

“Heir blood, if I had to guess,” he went on. “Maybe combined with your half-human lineage. I don’t know. But I’m not about to question it.”

His touch ran over one of the shallower wounds, tracing a lightning-crack scar of pink flesh. For the briefest moment, his face darkened, before settling again as he turned back to me.

“Oraya,” he said softly, “I—”

I wasn’t prepared for this. For his heartfelt words. I had no regrets about last night, but I couldn’t open myself up for him again today. Touch was one thing. But words… words were complicated.

“We need to go back to the castle,” I said.

I was brisk and businesslike. Just as I had once been with him when we strategized together in the Kejari.

Raihn’s mouth closed. Understanding fell over his face quickly. He was a half-step behind me, but he slipped into the same role just as easily.

“I know,” he said.

That was it. No questions, no hesitation. Anyone might have laughed in my face for even saying it, but I felt a twinge of satisfaction that he had already been thinking the same thing.

Maybe it was a death sentence to go back there. Anyone else would have advised that we flee Sivrinaj, and not come back unless we had an army to bring with us.

I knew what Vincent would have said:

Don’t feed yourself to the wolves, little serpent. Know when your bite isn’t strong enough.

But of course Raihn already accepted it as simple truth that we needed to go back, and immediately. Because his inner circle was still in that castle—Mische was still in that castle. He would not leave her there, especially not in Simon’s clutches.

I wouldn’t, either. It was never even an option.

I knew, even without him saying anything, that Raihn was thinking about Mische, because I could see the pained expression fall over his face—one part fury, one part agony.

My hand fell to his arm, firm and comforting.

“We’ll get her out,” I said. “And in the meantime, you know she’s putting up a hell of a fight.”

A faint hint of a smile, which immediately dimmed.

“That,” he said, “is what I’m afraid of.”

Raihn hated Simon, but I’d come to realize he was also afraid of him. Genuinely afraid, the way I had been afraid my entire life. I wondered if my fear seemed as outlandish to Raihn as his fear did to me. As undeserving of his time.

My fingers tightened around his arm. “You are better than him,” I said, more viciously than I’d intended. “Fuck him. We are going to destroy him, Bloodborn army or no.”

So easily, that we rolled off my lips.

The corner of Raihn’s mouth twitched. “There she is.”

He sat up, face hardening into an expression I’d seen many times before—the same look that would come over him during one of the Kejari’s trials. A kind of bloodthirsty focus, like he’d been presented with a very entertaining puzzle.

“So, princess,” he said, “that leaves us to figure out how to get back into the castle we just barely escaped alive. Now that we’ve established that we’re fucking insane.”

Two of us. A castle full of Rishan and Bloodborn soldiers. Most of whom were probably frantically looking for us. Septimus, presumably, still would want me for my blood. Simon needed to kill Raihn, and quickly, if he wanted to get his own Heir Mark. The nobles would support him due to his history alone—if out of nothing more than distaste for Raihn—but that goodwill would only last so long if Simon never managed to get a Mark of his own.

“Bad odds,” I said. But I found myself suppressing a smile.

“Oh, you look dismayed,” he said wryly.

I shrugged. “Reminds me of old times. It’s been a while since I’ve been underestimated.”

“We know just how much you love that. Going up against impossible odds.”

Despite myself, I smiled. “You loved it too.”

“I’ll admit it.”

He flopped back on the bed, hands behind his head. “So. If I remember right, this is the part where we come up with some kind of brilliant, twisted plan.”

It was indeed. And my mind was blank.

I fell next to him, staring up at the crooked wooden planks above us. A spider swung from beam to beam, crafting a silver-silken web. It was a chaotic thing, near-invisible threads strung messily into the shadows, functional but far from beautiful. Like fate itself, I supposed.

For a few long moments, we thought.

“So what do we have?” Raihn said.

Then, to start answering his own question, he said, “We have us.”

“A human and a usurped king,” I said, flatly.

“No. Two Heirs who won the Mother-damned Kejari.”

Fair point. Raihn and I had individually managed to fight through incredibly unbalanced battles in the Kejari, and done even more together. What’s more, our power had grown exponentially since receiving our Heir Marks. Sure, mine was still difficult to control, but I’d used it to kill Goddess-knew how many soldiers to save Raihn.

Somehow it had seemed… easier then, lost in a frenzy for blood.

All my life, Vincent had admonished my emotional impulsivity, teaching me that stoicism and focus were the only paths to mastering my magic. Yet I’d never felt more powerful than I did in those moments, totally out of control of myself.

I couldn’t let myself think about that too much now. How easily Raihn being in danger had unlocked something primal in me.

Mische in danger, I hoped, might unlock the same viciousness.

The corner of Raihn’s mouth quirked, albeit with a humorless edge that I suspected foreshadowed his own viciousness.

“Honored you have such faith in us, princess,” he said. “And after all this time.”

He got out of bed and crossed the room. I eyed his backside—I couldn’t help it—as he leaned over the bureau and rummaged through it. When he turned around, something sharp and glittering glinted in his hands, nestled in silk.

I recognized it before he returned to the bed. My brows leapt.

Vincent’s mirror.

“You have it,” I breathed.

“I got it out of the castle as soon as I could. You think I was about to let Septimus keep it? Or leave it lying around where you could find it and bring another round of Hiaj soldiers to my doorstep?”

I was almost offended. Almost. It was a totally reasonable concern.

Either way, I was wildly grateful.

I traced the edge of the shard with my fingertips, watching a little sliver of my reflection.

“So this gives us Jesmine,” I said.

Raihn gave me a sidelong glance. “You trust her?”

A valid question to ask, in the wake of a coup. Raihn couldn’t trust his own nobles. And hell, I couldn’t trust many of mine, either—but for better or for worse, Jesmine had been nothing if not loyal. She never had to follow the orders of her king’s human daughter, who she’d never even liked much anyway. And yet, she had, without hesitation. That counted for something.

“I do,” I said.

But whatever Hiaj forces I might have were far away from Sivrinaj, now. And we didn’t have time to raise an army before we moved.

I looked across the room, to the pile of my belongings that had been strewn over the floor yesterday. I slid from the bed and stood. I was endlessly aware of Raihn’s stare running over my naked body. There was a strange kind of satisfaction in that, I had to admit. Strange kind of pleasure, too.

I rummaged around in the pile of bloody silk and pulled out the Taker of Hearts.

Even sheathed, I could feel its magic burrowing under my skin. Not long ago, that had been uncomfortable, almost painful, like my flesh was too weak for it. Now? I could sense power in that discomfort—heady and a little disorienting, like vampire wine.

I could feel, too, my father’s presence in it. Like he was standing right over my shoulder, silently critiquing my grip.

“And we have this,” I said.

A weapon that Vincent had used to kill hundreds—thousands, even—of incredible warriors over the years. A weapon powerful enough to defend a throne for two hundred years.

A weapon powerful enough to destroy one of the last true great Rishan cities.

My stomach turned at that thought. I lifted my gaze to meet Raihn’s. No more joking in it now. Not even desire. No, he was utterly serious, mouth set. I wondered if he was thinking about the same thing I was—the ashes of Salinae, and the role this weapon may have played in making them.

“Nothing to scoff at,” he said quietly.

The pride I’d once felt in being able to wield this weapon soured slightly.

No. Nothing to scoff at. I’d taken down dozens of Simon’s men with this thing—and that had been alone. With Raihn beside me? Hell, we could almost fight our way through that castle by ourselves.

Almost.

As if reading my mind, Raihn said, “If we were taking them by surprise, we might be able to do it by brute force. But not tonight, when we’re the most wanted people in the House of Night.”

I settled back at the edge of the bed. Raihn and I were silent, thinking.

He was right. Brute strength wouldn’t work. But I hadn’t won the Kejari by being the strongest, anyway. I’d won because I had spent my whole life learning how to survive in Obitraes despite what I was or wasn’t. Learning tricks that could get me farther with less.

Tricks like…

My lips curled slowly.

Even before I looked up, I could hear the smile in Raihn’s voice. “I think I recognize that face.”

I said, “We have one more thing. We have me.”