Warriors of Poseidon 01 - Atlantis Rising

power. Poseidon's former high priest lay rotting in the black abyss of the temple oubliette for overstepping his powers.
     
    Poseidon served deadly reminders to those who betrayed him.
     
    Conlan inhaled sharply, the hairs on his arms standing up in response to the nearly invisible currents of elemental energy Alaric crackled through the room. For his power to leak out like that, the priest must be damn near the edge of his self-control. Or else seven years had seen one hell of a surge in his power.
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    Conlan didn't know which option should concern him more.
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    Their friendship had weathered the strain of the demands of politics and power. Conlan trusted Alaric with his life. Didn't he?
     
    It was enough to split a man's skull open.
     
    Clenching the sheets in his fists, he fought for composure. For some semblance of royal countenance to overlay the ragged insanity threatening to eat through his mind.
     
    Through his gut.
     
    To his soul.
     
    His heart was long since gone. Shattered at the end of a whip, while forced to hear silken words whispering of the atrocities they'd heaped upon his lady mother.
     
    Anubisa and her apostates of Algolagnia. They'd murdered his mother an inch at a time, and they'd enjoyed it. Worse, they'd gotten off on it. A deep shudder wracked through him, remembering how Anubisa had pleasured herself to orgasm in front of him while she told him stories of torturing his parents.
     
    Again and again and again.
     
    Anubisa was going to die.
     
    They were all going to die.
     
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    "Conlan?" Alaric's voice almost physically wrenched him out of his memories of death and blood. Alaric. He'd said hours later…
     
    "Hours? And here I am," Conlan said, remembering. "She let me go. She knew, Alaric.
    She knew."
     
    His final day. His final hour.
     
    "Oh, princeling, you have brought me such pleasure," she murmured in his ear. Then she slid down his naked body and delicately licked at the sweat, the blood, and the other, thicker fluids that pooled to drip down his thighs. "But I think you must needs return to your people. You have a delightful surprise waiting for you. And, in your current state, you're no longer any fun."
     
    Standing up, she'd waved one of her attendants over. "Twelve of my personal guard.
    Twelve, you understand? Don't befooled by this temporary weakness. The brat prince of Atlantis has… hidden strengths." She'd run a finger down his cock, laughing as he'd tried to flinch away from her.
     
    Then she'd flicked her gaze back to her attendant. "Throw him out."
     
    Still naked, long, curling hair matted with his blood, she'd stalked toward the doorway of the cell that had served as his prison for seven years. Then she'd stopped and looked back at him over her shoulder. "Your bloodline amuses me, princeling. Tell your brother that I come for him next."
     
    He'd cursed, then, finding his voice again. Called her names that he hadn't even known he knew. Until her guards came, and one of them demonstrated that he'd taken offense by way of a club to Conlan's head.
     
    He shook off the image in his head. He was free of Anubisa's hell.
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    He would never be free of the memories.
     
    He might never be entirely sane again.
     
    But he was Conlan of Atlantis, and he had returned. His people wanted a king, not a broken failure of a prince.
     
    Glancing across at Alaric, he saw the concern reflected on the priest's face. Maybe even Alaric wanted a king, too.
     
    Enough of the self-indulgence of dreams of vengeance—and on to the reality.
     
    "We're not boys causing mischief at the running of the bulls festival anymore, are we?"
    Conlan said, a shadow of remembered freedom crossing his mind. A time before the demands of being his father's son. Before the demands on Alaric as Poseidon's anointed.
     
    Alaric tilted his head, expression wary, and then he slowly shook his head. "Not for many long years, Conlan."
     
    "Too long," Conlan replied. "Far too long." He swung his legs off the healing table and rose to stand.
     
    "Childhood may be outgrown, but loyalty never will be. You are my prince, but—more than that—you are my friend. Never doubt it," Alaric said.
     
    Conlan read the truth in Alaric's eyes and felt better for it. He held out his hand and they clasped arms, an unspoken renewal