Fenris steps back, his expression soft. “We got this, My Queen.”
“I sure hope so.”
When I turn around, my eyes catch on Lutin and Senka, their expressions grim, their frowns deepening with every passingsecond. It’s not just their worry that catches my attention, though. The healers are giving me strange looks, a mix of curiosity and unease flickering across their identical faces.
Chapter fifty-one
Maxon
“What the fuck do you want?” I sneer, my throat dry as sandpaper. Each word grates out of me like broken glass.
The shadows have been gathering for hours—maybe longer. It’s hard to tell anymore. At first, their swirling, restless movement was easy enough to dismiss, blending into the edges of the dim cavern. But now? Now they’re everywhere. Pressing, breathing, suffocating. I can feel them in my head, clawing at the fragile threads of my patience. My fingers twitch with a restless urge. I’m tired. Agitated. Ready to crawl out of these goddamned bones just so I can incinerate every last one of these things.
Then, the shadows move. No—they peel. They unfurl and step forward, becoming her. Yumekui. Her body seems woven from the tendrils of darkness that still ripple and stretch across the cavern, tethered to her. Her lithe form almost glows against the void of her own making.
That damn smirk is on her face, cocky and infuriating as ever. But it doesn’t fool me. Not really. I see the flicker in her eyes—the tight line of worry she’s trying to hide.
“The Master wants to see you.” Her voice coils around me like smoke, insinuating itself where it’s not welcome.
And just like that, I hate her all over again. Not just for her smugness, but for the way her words work their way into my head, dragging my will with them. No matter how much I resist, no matter how much I hate it, I feel myself bending—cracking under the weight of her command.
She sees it too; her blood spells are working.
Yumekui leans over me, her every movement deliberate, calculated to mock and remind me of just how much control she has. The chain around my neck loosens as her slender fingers unhook it from the wall. Her hands move with practiced ease as she frees my wrists, the wyvern cuffs leaving behind raw, angry marks on my skin.
“Now,” she says, her voice mocking, “be a good pet and behave.”
The word pet grates against my nerves like nails on stone. A growl rumbles low in my throat, a primal sound born of anger and frustration. Her smug expression falters for a heartbeat. She pauses, crouching down in front of me with an unsettling elegance, the silk of her white kimono pooling around her like liquid moonlight.
Her hand snaps up, gripping my face with a strength that betrays her delicate frame. Her nails bite into my skin, sharp as daggers, drawing thin lines of blood that drip down my cheeks. I don’t flinch, but the sting only fuels the fire burning inside me.
“Behave.” Her voice is a command, low and venomous, her crimson eyes boring into mine. They flick back and forth, searching, daring me to defy her. “Now stand.”
She lets go with a shove, and I rise, slow and deliberate, towering over her. I could snap her in two if I wanted, and I know she knows it. The smirk that curls her lips is proof enough—she’s daring me to try.
Yumekui doesn’t flinch. Instead, she reaches up, her slim fingers curling around the back of my neck, her nails grazing the base of my skull. She pulls me down, and I let her, though my fists clench at my sides so tightly that my knuckles ache. Her tongue darts out, quick and serpentine, licking the blood from my cheek in one maddening swipe.
My body stiffens, every muscle coiled with the effort of restraint. It takes all of my willpower not to lash out, to slam her against the cold stone walls and remind her that I’m not some broken thing she can toy with.
Yumekui steps back, that infuriating smirk still playing on her lips, as though she knows exactly how close I am to snapping. Maybe that’s what she wants.
With a sharp tug, she pulls me toward the exit by the chain attached to the bones around my neck.
Chapter fifty-two
Everly
The healers depart leaving the scent of herbs hanging faintly in the air, mingling with the quiet tension that has taken their place. Now, everyone is seated around my chambers, their faces lit only by the flickering glow of lanterns and the fire crackling away in the hearth. No one speaks. Tension radiates off them—my companions, my confidants—each grappling with what the next few days will bring. There is unity in our silence, even if it trembles under the strain of what is to come. Outside, the night deepens, cloaking the world in darkness, as if the stars themselves are holding their breath. Time is moving, relentless and indifferent. A creeping reminder that we are mere hours away from departure.
With a deep breath, I shift my attention. “Fenris, can you bring my armor with you to Escalle?”
“Of course,” he replies without hesitation. “I’ll ready the armies to head out in three days.” He scratches his head thoughtfully. “Raiden and I talked it over and decided it would be best to send the troops in small groups leading up to the third day. Less chance of raising suspicion that way.”
“How long will it take to get there from here?”
Fenris considers it, glancing briefly at Raiden before answering. “Depends. If we take the road through Mistyglade, it’s about a twenty- two hour journey. But if we cut through the forest, we can make it in eighteen. The forest is faster, but more dangerous.”
“And depending on where we come out in Ethereal Peaks, we could still be days away from Escalle. The terrain between the two is unpredictable.” Raiden states.
