Oliver leaned heavily on Gideon as they made their way out of the cell, each step sending a jolt through his aching body. He didn’t have the strength to ask where they were going, or if they even had a plan. He simply moved because Gideon needed him to, because his brother’s arm around him was the only thing anchoring him to this world.
Suddenly, a tremor shook the very walls of the dungeon, and Oliver’s head snapped up, the fog of exhaustion momentarily lifting. He heard the explosion of power from Max’s cell, the shockwave sending dust and loose stones raining down. He felt Gideon falter, the force of the blast pushing them back, and for a heartbeat, Oliver thought that perhaps this was it. That whatever power had erupted would be their end.
But then the king’s voice echoed through the chaos, sneering, triumphant.
She didn’t kill him.
Oliver’s heart sank. They had hoped—some part of him had hoped—that Sin could end it. That maybe they wouldn’t have to fight anymore. But it was never that simple.
Before he could fully process the thought, three of the king’s soldiers materialized before them, their bright armor glinting like polished steel against the darkness of the dungeon. Oliver’s eyes widened, dread settling in his gut. He felt Gideon shift beside him, his brother’s body tensing as he prepared to fight.
Gideon had to drop him, and Oliver slumped against the wall, his legs giving out beneath him. He watched, helpless, as Gideon faced the soldiers. The clang of steel echoed violently, each strike reverberating through the narrow corridor.
Oliver clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay conscious, to witness what was happening. He could see the exhaustion in Gideon’s movements, the way his grip slipped, the blood slicking his hands. Every part of Oliver wanted to help, to fight, but he was too weak, too broken.
Gideon parried a blow, then ducked another. Oliver’s vision blurred as he tried to focus, tried to make sense of the chaos around him. He heard the gasp of the soldier as Gideon’s blade found its mark, saw the flash of steel as another enemy fell.
Gideon didn’t hesitate, turning to the next with a fierce determination that Oliver envied. He watched his brother fight, every movement a testament to the strength of will that Oliver no longer had.
With the soldiers defeated, Gideon reached for Oliver again, helping him to his feet. They moved together, painfully slowly, toward Max’s cell. Oliver could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, the fatigue pulling at him like a heavy tide. They approached the door, the earthy smell of magic still thick in the air.
Just as they crossed the threshold, a deadly wave of power came barreling toward them, a force that seemed to warp the very air around them. Oliver’s eyes widened in shock, his instincts kicking in.
He grabbed Gideon’s arm, his voice raw as he shouted, “Gideon, move!”
The roar of power grew deafening as they stumbled, Oliver trying desperately to pull his baby brother out of the way.
Then everything went white.
Max
The sound of Max’s father entering the cell, closing the door shut behind him, didn’t hold a candle to the fear raging in Max’s heart from hearing Sin’s war cry.
He didn’t know how long it had been since he felt the snap, worried she might’ve died, but hearing her voice didn’t fill him with the relief he thought it would. Max couldn’t say a word as his father approached him, devoid of any remorse for the pain he had caused.
“Your mate dragged your whore of a mother here, both stubborn enough to die together. Touching, really.”
Max said nothing, not having to. Let him mistake his faith in their victory for defeat. Let him feel the false confidence, because Max knew that even if everyone in that hall, including his mate, died today, the soldiers slithering in would ensure his fall.
Channeling Sin, he bore his gaze from his one eye into his father’s, willing him to see his end in Max’s eyes. He didn’t relent that hateful stare when the dungeon cell door collapsed, and in walked his mate, not an inch of her wasn’t covered in blood aside from her eyes.
The guards rushed her, their faces twisted in manufactured fury. But they didn’t even make it halfway. Her hand flicked upward, and their bodies erupted—flesh exploding, limbs snapping, innards splattering the stone walls like somegrotesque mural. Blood splashed across her face, her cold eyes staring forward, untouched by the chaos around her.
The King had never fought a day in his life, unlike the other kings and queens across the sea, unlike the training each of the princes went through. He thought he was above it, that his power was enough to make himself a weapon.
His father sneered something at her, but Max didn’t hear it—the sorrow and guilt now etched on her face was all that filled his senses.
She took in his appearance, barely acknowledged his father’s threat to kill her in front of him. Her irises shook while her hair floated above her head. Max felt his heart sink at their shared gaze.
Her power whipped through the room, a storm barely contained. She saw the damage to Max but missed the glow of his father’s shield as she hurled her last bit of strength.
Max clawed at the bond.‘Run, my love. Please run!’His thoughts vanished into the void, leaving a hollow ache.
He could feel the silent scream of his heart, each beat louder than words could ever be. And the look on her face when she realized she had emptied her power for nothing, devastated him.
He panicked, trying to force his thoughts into her mind—screaming for her to run—but nothing happened.
Whatever enchantment his father placed was powerful, but their love was stronger. He forced himself into her mind, seeing the hatred in his father’s eyes as she destroyed his ego.
