Ruling Sikthand (Clecanian, #7)

by Victoria Aveline

Hair, white and thick, was pulled back from his face and braided in a haphazard way that didn’t align with his tidy armor or brutalist hand tattoos. His skin was ghostly pale, almost as light as his hair, and his hood was the darkest black she’d ever seen. The contrast made his glowing silver eyes and bright fangs so striking that he was difficult to look at.

If I hear you’ve dashed out into the desert in the night, understand that I will be the one to hunt you.”

Sikthand didn’t like things he didn’t understand, especially people he didn’t understand. Over his many long years, assassinations, betrayals, and slimy politicians motivated by self-interest had turned him into what many deemed paranoid. He preferred observant.

Sikthand hadn’t watched her. Suspended in time, he’d beheld her. A goddess carved from the moon itself.

Even if she left tomorrow and he never saw her face again, that vision of her would live with him until the day he joined the sky.

“You keep calling me majestic. It’s not often my looks are so exalted. Tell me, human, which parts of me are most glorious?”

“No. I don’t bend.” Sikthand’s eyes drifted to the mirror. Truth rose like acid in his throat. “But I could break for her.”

“People need something to be upset about for their happiness to be real,” he explained, voice emotionless. “We only notice the day because there is night. We’re only truly quenched by water after thirst sets in. They need the negative, even if they manufacture it. It’s the only way they understand the value of the positive.

“You’re the bleakest person I’ve ever met.” She took a long breath. “But I’m determined to prove you wrong.”

Fuck a duck. Heat seeped through her insides. She was going to get into the king’s pants tonight if it was the last thing she ever did.

He’d fallen in love with his future wife. He was the biggest fool of them all.

She was inevitable. If he’d ever had any power, it was hers now. He was hers now.

“My life has been…wrought. Each day is filled with dread and suspicion and fixation.” He glanced at the floor, his brows knitting. “She brings me silence.” Sikthand swallowed down the tightness in his throat. “The clouds are not so heavy when she’s near.”