Lover Unleashed - J. R. Ward [129]
Throe entered what had once been a rather grand parlor room, but was now naught but cold and empty. The fighter was still dressed in leather, except somehow he gave off an elegant appearance. Not a surprise. Unlike the others, his pedigree was as perfect as his golden hair and his sky blue eyes. So too were his body and visage: No defects dwelled upon him or within him.
He was, however, very much one of the bastards.
As the male cleared his throat, Xcor smiled. Even after all these years together, Throe was uncomfortable in his presence. How quaint.
“And . . .” Xcor prompted.
“There are remnants of two families in Caldwell at present. What is left of the other four main bloodlines is scattered around what is classed as New England. So some are mayhap up to five hundred to seven hundred miles away.”
“How many are you related to?”
More with the throat clearing. “Five.”
“Five? That would fill your social calendar rather quickly—planning on dropping by for any visits?”
“You know that I cannot.”
“Oh . . . indeed.” Xcor finished off his coffee. “I had forgotten you’d been denounced. Guess you shall have to tarry with us heathens herein.”
“Yes. I shall.”
“Mmm.” Xcor took a moment to enjoy the awkward silence.
Except then the other male had to ruin it: “You have no grounds to proceed,” Throe said. “We are not of the glymera.”
Xcor flashed his fangs in a smile. “You worry o’ermuch about rules, my friend.”
“You cannot call a meeting of the Council. You do not have standing.”
“True enough. It is, however, another story to present them with a reason to convene. Was it not you yourself who said there were grumbles about the king following the raids.”
“Aye. But I am well aware of what you seek, and the end goal is treason at best, suicide, at worst.”
“Such a narrow thinker you are, Throe. For all of your practical education, you have a gross lack of vision.”
“You cannot depose the king—and surely you are not thinking of trying to kill him.”
“Kill?” Xcor cocked a brow. “I do not wish him a coffin for a bed. Not a’tall. I bid him a long life . . . such that he may stew in the juices of his failure.”
Throe shook his head. “I know not why you hate him so.”
“Please.” Xcor rolled his eyes. “I have nothing against him personally. It is his status that I covet, pure and simple. For him to be alive whilst I sit upon his throne is just an added spice for my meal.”
“Sometimes . . . I fear you are mad.”
Xcor narrowed his eyes. “I assure you . . . I am neither enraged nor insane. And you should walk carefully the line you stand upon with comments like that.”
He was fully capable of killing his old friend. Today. Tonight. Tomorrow. His father had taught him that soldiers were no different from any other weapon—and when they were in danger of misfiring? They had to go.
“Forgive me.” Throe bowed slightly. “My debt to you remains. As does my loyalty.”
Such a sap. Although in truth, Xcor murdering the male who had defiled Throe’s sister had been a very worthwhile investment of time and blade, for it had tied this steadfast and true fighter to him. E’ermore.
Throe had sold himself to Xcor to get the deed done. Back then, the male had been too much of a dandy to commit the murder with his own hand, and so he had forced himself into the shadows to seek what he would never have invited in through even the service entrance of his mansion. He had been shocked when the money offered had been turned down, and had started to walk off when Xcor had made his demand.
A quick jogging of the memory as to the condition his sister had been found in had been enough to get a pledge out of him.
And subsequent training had done wonders. Under Xcor’s tutelage Throe had hardened o’er time, like steel forged in heat. Now he was a killer. Now he was useful for something other than playing social statue at dinner parties and balls.
Such a shame his bloodline hadn’t seen the transformation as an improvement—in spite of the fact that his father had been a Brother, for