He wastrapped.
“Executioner,” the king barked, “now.”
His body jerked, wrenched by invisible strings, the blade rising. A sound tore from his throat that made my blood freeze. Not rage—pain.
I shoved harder.
My fingers pierced the rune’s center, and agony lanced up my arm. Thorns of magic bit deep, slicing through skin, scraping me, but I held on.
“Break,” I whispered.
The vines hissed like angry serpents.
“Break.”
The threads binding the executioner strained, fighting with a vicious desperation before they began to snap. One. Then another. The last thread trembled, then it shattered.
A blast rocked the ground. The shockwave smashed into my arm and chest, throwing me backward. My head slammed into the block, pain exploding in my skull.
The earth quaked. Guards shouted as the floor cracked, forking across the marble dais and up the walls. It broke apart the roof. Nobles sprinted for the exit.
I gaped at the fracture in the ceiling. It went all the way down the wall, right to where I sat.
The executioner staggered. His sword wavered as he breathed hard. The gauntlet had cleaved in two. He shook it off him, kicking the pieces away.
I’d done it. I’d freed him.
He stepped in front of me as a red mist swirled around him. His eyes glowed with savage delight as he faced the king and queen.
His lips curved. “Finally.”
The king gestured to his guards. “Stop him!”
Snarling, the executioner whirled. Steel flashed as he cut down the first guard, the blade slicing through the man’s armor. Soldiers fell like wheat before a scythe. Henrik died with a sword through his chest, choking on his blood.
Crimson spilled over the stone floor. The executioner raised his palm. His fingers curled, and blood rolled toward him like pebbles shakingout of sand.
The king and queen backed from the throne.
The executioner lifted his hand, and their bodies froze.
“Vaeron,” the queen shrieked. “I can’t move!”
The executioner’s boot slammed into Vaeron’s ribs. The king tumbled down the marble steps, smashing into each edge—crack, crack, crack—until he sprawled in a heap of velvet.
Then the executioner seized the queen by her long ebony hair.
She screamed as he dragged her down the stairs, her feet kicking. He hauled her like a horse on a lead rope, and when she twisted away, he yanked harder. At the bottom, he shoved her to her knees beside the king. Then he angled the blade along her neck.
“You should’ve killed me decades ago,” he sneered.
The queen opened her mouth.
He slit her throat.
Her eyes went wide. So wide I could see the whites all around. She clutched at her neck, blood spurting between her fingers. She tried to speak but only wet, gurgling sounds came out, bubbling through the gash.
The executioner released her. She buckled sideways, still trying to breathe.
