Mikkel said.
Taraeth had discovered that after it happened. He lifted one shoulder. “Isn’t that exactly what you wanted him to do?”
“Not until I give the order. I decide when they fight.”
“My men tell me there were other Kings there.”
Mikkel’s lips flattened in anger as he sat back. “Rhys, Kiril, and Darius. All to protect some stupid mortal.”
“Darius’s mate.”
Mikkel rolled his eyes and snorted. “Mates. That’s the biggest load of shite I’ve heard in eons. Ulrik learned his lesson quick enough with that bitch he took to his bed professing to love her.”
“You won’t take a mate?”
“Me?” Mikkel laughed. “Once I’m King of Kings and you and the Dark rid this planet of every last fucking human, then I’ll be the savior of my race and return the dragons. I’ll find a beautiful Silver to be mine.”
“Because the humans can’t carry a Dragon King’s seed to term?” Taraeth questioned.
Mikkel lifted his glass in a salute. “Precisely.”
“That sounds like a nice plan.” It went unsaid that it hinged on Ulrik challenging and winning against Con, and then Mikkel betraying Ulrik.
“That day is closer than you think.”
Taraeth finished off his whisky and turned the glass in his hand. “I still remember when I stumbled upon this realm. All those mortals throwing themselves at me, begging me to take their bodies. How were we to stay away? Now there are billions of them out there. They would feed every Fae—Light and Dark—for years to come.”
“It’s a wise bargain we struck.”
Taraeth smiled at Mikkel, wondering if Mikkel was plotting against him as he was scheming against Mikkel. “That we did, my friend.”
“Will you help me keep track of Ulrik?”
“That I can’t do.”
Mikkel’s smile was gone. “Can’t? Or won’t?”
“Can’t,” Taraeth said again. “Your race may not have to answer to anyone but Con, but the Fae do.”
“Who?”
“Death.” Taraeth didn’t even like saying the name aloud.
Mikkel chuckled and crossed one leg over the other. “You live thousands of years and die. Why would you fear death?”
“No. Death. Death is our judge. For millions of years there has been no sign of Death’s associates. Until recently. Now all the Fae whisper about is the Reapers.”
“Who are they?”
Taraeth couldn’t quite hide his shiver of apprehension. “The Reapers are the hands of Death. Death might be the judge, but the Reapers are the executioners. They police all Fae.”
“So kill the bastards.”
Taraeth glanced at his glass. “No one knows who the Reapers are. No one has even seen Death. We can’t fight what we don’t see or know.”
“So you’re afraid of some whispers?”
“What do you think has been hunting the Fae besides the Kings? The Reapers.”
Mikkel made a sound at the back of his throat. “Has anyone ever seen one of these Reapers?”
“You see one, you die.”
“Of course you do,” Mikkel scoffed.
“Mock all you want. The Reapers aren’t just a legend. They’re real.”
Mikkel gave a shake of his head, as if to say that Taraeth had lost what little sense he had. “Superstitious is what you are. All of you were told that nonsense to keep you in line. Why would only your race have such beings as judge, jury, and executioner? Wouldn’t the Kings have had it as well?”
“The Fae are different, Mikkel.”
“That’s a pile of shite, and you know it.”
Taraeth held the glass in his hand but set it on the sofa beside him. “You dare to ridicule my people and our beliefs?”
“I’d ask that you not be so narrow minded.”
“You dragons think you’re so much better than everyone else. You came to me for an alliance, but even now you look down your nose at me.”
“Because this Reaper stuff is nonsense,” Mikkel stated in a cold voice.
Taraeth wondered what Ulrik would say if he were sitting across from him instead of Mikkel. Ulrik wouldn’t give a royal fuck, that’s what he
Taraeth had discovered that after it happened. He lifted one shoulder. “Isn’t that exactly what you wanted him to do?”
“Not until I give the order. I decide when they fight.”
“My men tell me there were other Kings there.”
Mikkel’s lips flattened in anger as he sat back. “Rhys, Kiril, and Darius. All to protect some stupid mortal.”
“Darius’s mate.”
Mikkel rolled his eyes and snorted. “Mates. That’s the biggest load of shite I’ve heard in eons. Ulrik learned his lesson quick enough with that bitch he took to his bed professing to love her.”
“You won’t take a mate?”
“Me?” Mikkel laughed. “Once I’m King of Kings and you and the Dark rid this planet of every last fucking human, then I’ll be the savior of my race and return the dragons. I’ll find a beautiful Silver to be mine.”
“Because the humans can’t carry a Dragon King’s seed to term?” Taraeth questioned.
Mikkel lifted his glass in a salute. “Precisely.”
“That sounds like a nice plan.” It went unsaid that it hinged on Ulrik challenging and winning against Con, and then Mikkel betraying Ulrik.
“That day is closer than you think.”
Taraeth finished off his whisky and turned the glass in his hand. “I still remember when I stumbled upon this realm. All those mortals throwing themselves at me, begging me to take their bodies. How were we to stay away? Now there are billions of them out there. They would feed every Fae—Light and Dark—for years to come.”
“It’s a wise bargain we struck.”
Taraeth smiled at Mikkel, wondering if Mikkel was plotting against him as he was scheming against Mikkel. “That we did, my friend.”
“Will you help me keep track of Ulrik?”
“That I can’t do.”
Mikkel’s smile was gone. “Can’t? Or won’t?”
“Can’t,” Taraeth said again. “Your race may not have to answer to anyone but Con, but the Fae do.”
“Who?”
“Death.” Taraeth didn’t even like saying the name aloud.
Mikkel chuckled and crossed one leg over the other. “You live thousands of years and die. Why would you fear death?”
“No. Death. Death is our judge. For millions of years there has been no sign of Death’s associates. Until recently. Now all the Fae whisper about is the Reapers.”
“Who are they?”
Taraeth couldn’t quite hide his shiver of apprehension. “The Reapers are the hands of Death. Death might be the judge, but the Reapers are the executioners. They police all Fae.”
“So kill the bastards.”
Taraeth glanced at his glass. “No one knows who the Reapers are. No one has even seen Death. We can’t fight what we don’t see or know.”
“So you’re afraid of some whispers?”
“What do you think has been hunting the Fae besides the Kings? The Reapers.”
Mikkel made a sound at the back of his throat. “Has anyone ever seen one of these Reapers?”
“You see one, you die.”
“Of course you do,” Mikkel scoffed.
“Mock all you want. The Reapers aren’t just a legend. They’re real.”
Mikkel gave a shake of his head, as if to say that Taraeth had lost what little sense he had. “Superstitious is what you are. All of you were told that nonsense to keep you in line. Why would only your race have such beings as judge, jury, and executioner? Wouldn’t the Kings have had it as well?”
“The Fae are different, Mikkel.”
“That’s a pile of shite, and you know it.”
Taraeth held the glass in his hand but set it on the sofa beside him. “You dare to ridicule my people and our beliefs?”
“I’d ask that you not be so narrow minded.”
“You dragons think you’re so much better than everyone else. You came to me for an alliance, but even now you look down your nose at me.”
“Because this Reaper stuff is nonsense,” Mikkel stated in a cold voice.
Taraeth wondered what Ulrik would say if he were sitting across from him instead of Mikkel. Ulrik wouldn’t give a royal fuck, that’s what he
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