OBSIDIAN GUARD BOOK 2

CHAPTER 2 THE HEART OF THE KING

POV Alistair

My balcony offered a view that few in the city of Ironspire would have dared to dream of thirty years ago.

From this height, the city no longer looked like the collection of stone and desperation I had known as a child. Now, it looked like a living, breathing, soul-filled organism. The air, once thick with the sulfurous rot of the soul-crushing factories, was unnervingly clean.

It lacked the grit I had tasted on my tongue for my thirty-five years of life. To the citizens, this new, sweet air was a miracle. To me, it felt thin, almost empty. I found myself craving the smell of smoke, something to remind me where we came from.

Twenty years ago, at fifteen, I gathered the first of my Family, the first five. We would later be known as the Syndicate, expanding until we were twelve in total. I had begun the long, bloody process of snapping Ironspire's old bones and setting them straight.

For eighteen years, I molded this kingdom as its King with cold gears and ruthless efficiency. Two years ago, I would have called my kingdom complete.

I had been wrong. I had provided the iron skeleton, but I hadn't known the city was missing something vital: a completed soul.

It was Mercy who truly completed it. When her weaving power finally manifested, it was as if the fractured soul of Ironspire had found the thread it needed to stitch itself back together. I had provided the iron skeleton, but Mercy had given it a pulse. Now, the morning sun glinted off the bustling marine trade in the harbor, turning the water into a sheet of gold.

The "perfectly oiled machine" no longer just functioned; it sang. The cogs didn't just turn; they thrived. From the way the merchant ships moved with synchronized grace in the docks to the way the people below walked with a lightness that felt foreign to my own heavy step, there was a genuine, terrifying happiness.

The world I grew up in no longer existed. Children were no longer slaves; they were no longer discarded in the gutters to be trafficked or sold. It's how most of my Family members had started, but no more.

I watched a massive crane pivot, lowering a crate of exotic spices with surgical precision, and felt a swell of dark, proprietary joy.

Look at it, I thought, my fingers gripping the cold marble of the railing until my knuckles turned white. My kingdom. Our legacy.

But as I watched the colorful banners flutter in the morning breeze, I felt that familiar, cold disconnect. The Syndicate wasn't just a criminal empire; it was the Twelve. My Family.

For years, we had been a closed circle, a fortress of hearts that beat only for one another, hating the world that had made us into monsters. But one by one, I had watched my siblings open the gates I had spent a lifetime teaching them to lock.

They were adapting. They were becoming the softer versions that this new kingdom needed. Saffron was overjoyed with her school and teaching; Poppy was finding a strange, quiet peace in the gardens she had started all over the city; and Vane, whose mind was finally quiet more often than not, could focus on his architecture projects. They were making room. They were finding people outside the Twelve to care for, to protect, to love.

I was a creature of pain and shadow. I didn't know if a monster like me was ever meant to be "worthy" of a kingdom this bright, even if I was its King. Even the dark titles were fading. No one called Mercy the "Shadow Second" anymore. I hadn't heard the words in over a year. She was the city's heart, its Cupid.

I wasn't the only one feeling the itch. I could see it in Dante's eyes when he walked the quiet streets, his hand twitching for a blade that had no reason to be drawn. I saw it in Sterling, Caspian, and Lucian; they had monsters of their own who weren't sleeping, but pacing behind the bars of this new civility.

We were the predators who had cleared the woods, and now we were bored, watching the sheep play in the clearings we had bled to create.

All this change had started because of that cursed coin Mercy found two years ago. My jaw clenched, the muscles ticking with suppressed tension.

The coin had been the catalyst for the peace I never wanted, but the Family had needed. I took a deep, steadying breath, forcing the clean, floral-scented air into my lungs. I hated it.

My moment of quiet reflection was shattered by a sound, the dry clearing of a throat behind me. I didn't jump. I am not a man who startles.

"Report," I commanded, my voice like grinding stones.

The spy, one of my "Unseen," another one of the monsters who could not change, whispered from the shadows of the velvet curtains.

"It's confirmed, My Lord. Babes, children... they're being taken from the Lower Circle. Vanishing without a trace. It's been going on for months."

I turned slowly, my eyes narrowing into lethal slits. "How was this missed?"

"They were careful, Sire. We only noticed when the teachers signaled the empty desks. The count is at twenty. Possibly more."

The silence that followed was suffocating, but for the first time in months, I felt a spark of something real. Twenty children were stolen under my watch.

My grip on the marble railing tightened until the stone groaned. A dark, lethal thrill raced through my veins. The "perfect" city had a rot in it. A predator had entered my woods.

"Keep looking and get out!" I snarled.

The spy vanished into the shadows. I didn't think. I spun and drove my fist into the stone wall of the balcony. The impact sent a jar of white-hot pain up my arm, but I welcomed it. I craved it.

It was a distraction from the cold fury curdling in my gut and the shameful, soaring relief that I finally had something to kill again. I punched the stone again, the crack of my knuckles echoing over the rooftops. A red smear bloomed on the granite.

I was drawing back for a third strike when a pair of arms slid around my waist. They were strong, steady, and familiar. A body pressed against my back, grounding my frantic energy. A chin rested on my shoulder, and a voice, low and smooth, murmured into my ear.

"Bad news?"

I stopped, my chest heaving, my bloodied fist trembling inches from the stone. I didn't pull away. I let their warmth seep through my silk shirt.

"Someone is messing with my city," I spat, the word dripping with possessive venom. "They are stealing from me."

The person behind me didn't flinch. They simply tightened their hold, a calm, lethal confidence radiating from them. "Then they will learn to regret it. No one takes from the King and keeps their head. I look forward to seeing you do your worst, my love."

I closed my eyes, leaning back into the embrace. This one soul knew my monster better than I did and loved seeing it let loose. They knew that an insult to Ironspire was a strike against me.

This was another being that had grown up with monsters and couldn't fit into this new world of flowers and schools.

"I'll burn them," I whispered. "I'll make an example of them that will be whispered for a century."

"I know you will," they replied. Their hands slid up my chest, feeling the frantic beat of my heart, finally finding its rhythm. "You're so tense, so charged... the look in your eye is wild and chaotic," they purred with delight.

A hand moved to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, pulling my head back slightly to look at the horizon where the gold was breaking the dark.

"How about you f**k me from behind as we watch the sun rise over your city, my King?" they murmured. "Claim what is yours as you desire."

I felt a surge of dark, predatory happiness. The "Shadow Second" might be a dead title, and the city might be full of gardens, but in this room, the monster was still King.

I turned in their arms, my bloody hand cupping their jaw, then sliding to grip their throat firmly, my eyes burning with a renewed, sharpened hunger.

"You always know exactly what your King needs," I growled.

I didn't want the softness of silk or the comfort of pillows; I wanted the cold, unyielding reality of Ironspire. I turned them around, pressing their chest against the cool marble of the railing, overlooking the kingdom that was finally waking up.

My bloodied hand, still aching from the stone, slid into their hair, tilting their head back so they had no choice but to look at the horizon I had conquered for us. I leaned in close, my breath hot against their ear, my body a heavy, looming shadow over theirs.

"You want to see me claim what is mine?" I growled, my voice vibrating deep in my chest.

I didn't wait for an answer. I never did. I was a man of Authority, and in this, my partner was my most willing subject. My hands were not gentle; they were proprietary.

When I took them, it wasn't a soft union. It was domination. I penetrated them how I wanted and needed to. Every thrust after that was a reminder to the city, to the world, and to them that I was still the master of my domain.

I watched the first true rays of the sun hit Ironspire, the light spilling over the harbor, but I didn't feel the warmth of the sun. I felt only the heat of the body beneath me, the way they arched into my touch, and the sharp, grounding sting of my palms against their skin.

They gasped my name, a broken sound that cut through the morning silence, and I felt that surge of dark happiness again.

Let the world have its peace. Let the siblings have their schools and gardens.

I had mine.

In the rhythm of our bodies, I found the friction I had been missing. I wasn't out of place here. I was the King, and as I held them pinned against the edge of my world, the silence of the peace was finally drowned out by the beautiful, violent sound of a monster letting loose.