Page 113 of Blood of Olympus

It took him a moment to react, but when he realised just how close he’d come to losing a precious digit on his dominant hand, he jerked it back with a loud curse — just as the shadow-woven seat he rested his obtuse ass on dissipated beneath him.

“Do you refute the fact that I can fight, or that I shouldn't?” Aelia asked, prowling over to him. “Or is it that my womb is of more service to our kingdoms than my skills with steel and spear?”

Oh, I really like her.

Caelus snorted.

Velira chose that moment to make her presence known, unleashing a resonant shriek as she dove directly downwards.

Several mortals scattered, reaching for weapons they had no idea would be useless against the might of her violet scales, several others cowered beneath the table, fearful of attack.

Vel’s wings flared with a sharp crack and she circled the isle twice before landing with a thunderous, bone-rattling boom. Her lilac leathered wings flared again, extending the entire width of the temple, then she tucked them in against her spine, extending her neck to its full height.

She was magnificent.

Thank you.

And she was glaring.

The mortal cod-liver king has no idea of the mistake he just made.

He’s just a prince.

Even more the fool for such a statement. Kings I cannot kill… Princes, on the other hand…

Galen trembled as she took one enormous step toward him, dwarfing the table and its remaining occupants.

Do you believe I should refrain from fighting as well? she asked him. I am a female — and the last of my kind. Are my claws not sharp enough for your cause? Is my flame too small to burn your enemies?

I relayed her words, ensuring I conveyed her scathing tone to perfection.

Galen trembled, stuttering an incoherent reply.

I see, she said. You only refer to females of your kind — of which there are many. And being an heir of Poseidon’s land, I’m assuming you’ve already sunk your tiny cock into each of them in your kingdom already. This one is fierce and beautiful, both. She tipped her maw in Aelia’s direction. She is everything you are not — and you are not worthy of her.

“She is to be my wife!” he roared, spittle flying out the corners of his mouth.

Aelia’s gaze darkened. “My father has agreed to no such request.”

“But he will,” Galen seethed, clambering to his feet. “My father will not be refused.”

“And is that how you will be as well? As king? As husband?” I cut in. “Not somebody to be refused? Especially not by a wife who couldn’t possibly possess a mind of her own and make decisions regarding her own body?”

Galen’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click.

“Poseidon has raised you all in his image, hasn’t he? That fucking bastard. Snivelling coward of a fish-dick⁠—”

“Nyss,” Caelus whispered, jolting me out of my tirade before I could really get going.

Aros seemed disappointed at that fact, actually.

“Begone, Galen, son of Pelias. I do not have the time to coddle you, nor tear you off of unwilling participants — in either marriage or body. We have bigger fish to fry.”

Begrudging laughter came from several directions, most hearty of which from the centaur named Orion — the wild people of Lunaris’ chosen representative, and close neighbours of Thaldon, Galen’s kingdom.

Galen flushed, his face contorting in unspoken rage as he turned and stomped down to the dock. His guards rushed to escort him, stumbling after him in haste as he waited for their rowboat to dock.

“You’ve made an enemy there,” Orion warned.