The window into the throne room glimmered beneath him. There were only days left before Cronan would come to destroy their world. He needed to ensure there was even a world left to save. He squared his shoulders and did as he always had—he moved forward. Right into the portal.
GRIM
Isla was wearing a gown made of purple silk that looked almost liquid. It cascaded over every curve, leaving nothing to the imagination. Cronan must have sourced the strange fabric from another world completely.
The front of her hair was tied back by two glimmering insects that fluttered like butterflies but were not. The attendants had painted her eyelids a lavender sunset.
Really, what the fuck was wrong with him? He had never evennoticedwhat a woman wore, and he certainly didn’t take inventory like he was a damned painter studying a subject. But that’s how it felt, sometimes. Knowing Cronan would kill her soon, Grim studied her every chance he got, just in case that one glance was his last.
Because she was beautiful. Stupidly, infuriatingly beautiful. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
Even if she was his enemy.
She was frustratingly silent as Grim walked her to the galaxy room, though her mouth was turned in a smile. His hands made fists as he realized he had spent so many days telling her to be quiet...and now, he wished she would speak to him. He was desperate to know what she was thinking.
He felt around her emotions, carefully, parsing out each thread. She was amused...
He frowned. Did she find him amusing? Was she...laughing at him?
“What?” he barked. She was the one held captive, though she didn’t act like it. He remembered what she had said—
You’re the prisoner.
Isla’s lips twitched, and his shadows flared in annoyance as he wondered what she found so comical.
Finally, she put him out of his misery. “It’s funny,” she said.
“What is?” he demanded.
She turned to face him, and he was struck with the totality of her brilliance. “That you keep pretending this isn’t inevitable.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. She was wrong. It was almost pitiful how wrong she was.
The doors flung open to reveal another opulent and ridiculous dinner. Or, more accurately, a chance for Cronan to showcase his all-encompassing power.
Grim didn’t miss how every eye always went to her whenever she entered the room. Tonight was nothing new.
And neither was the fact that Grim had the brief thought he should kill everyone in this room for looking at her the same way he did.
They went to take their seats, Isla moving toward the head, as Cronan had always directed. But today, he lifted his hand. He pulled out the chair Grim normally sat in for Isla, using his powers. There was an extra one next to it, he realized.
“We have another guest of honor joining us today,” Cronan said, his eyes gleaming like liquid metal.
Isla sat, confusion crumpling her brow. Grim resisted the urge to squeeze her hand from the seat next to her.
He was pathetic.
The rest of the rulers of planets were speaking but kept glancing at the door, as if awaiting a grand entrance. Their curiosity spilled around him. Curiosity...and fear.
A few minutes later, it finally happened.
Lark Crown strode into the room. The feather she had asked of him was tied into her hair. While she had been little more than a pile of bones and tissue the last time he saw her, now she looked completely healed. She wore a layered dress in heavy fabrics that glistened with gemstones.
Grim could feel her power. It spilled through the room, radiating off her.
Cronan had allowed her to have it back. But why?
“Behold,” Cronan said, motioning toward Lark. “An old....friend. The key to my regenerative power.”
