Darkness was rushing in when one of the soldiers lunged, grasped the Crown with both hands and yanked. I raised my sword, slicing a streak of black across his throat, seconds before he ripped the Crown from my grasp, him and the relic vanishing in a burst of shimmering light.
Nothing left behind except a splatter of black, reeking blood on the dusty floor.
“Godsdamn it!” I ripped myself away from Varian and threw myself at that empty spot, the Mirror still tucked beneath my coat, the remaining soldier coming at me with shadowy magic coating his hands, blood coating his armor, a mad glint in his eyes.
Varian yanked me backwards and the world twisted, dark and light smearing into a nauseating gray. Cold stole the air from my lungs, my thought vanished in a rush of motion, then we were back on the island, sprawled on the rocky shore under a storm-tossed sky.
I groaned, clutching my side, discovering a deep gash I didn’t even remember getting. “I lost the Crown,” I groaned, the words swept away by the wind.
“At least we have the Mirror, and this.” A flushed Varian wildly brandished the Thorn like a harmless branch of wood and I reared out of the way of that deadly tip, my heart thundering.
“We have to get inside. Help Lyrae.” I swallowed and faced the castle, silent as the grave. “She’s alone, Var, and…”
I clamped my mouth together, both of us already racing for those still-open doors, following the muddy tracks of more soldiers than I could count.
The female I loved was inside, with a host of deadly Fae guards and the Butcher of Evernight and I couldn’t get inside that fucking castle fast enough.
26
LYRAE
Istill tasted Ryland on my lips as I crept along the darkened balcony overlooking the study-slash-library, where Rooke lounged gracefully in his cracked leather chair like it was a solid gold throne.
He truly was a pompous asshole, but right now, I was enjoying the effects of that cold arrogance as I watched the Butcher of Evernight’s composure slowly unravel like a ball of yarn.
“Tell me where you’re hiding them, and I will go easy on you,” he snapped. “There’s no sense in lying, since you and I both know how this will end, should you defy me.”
Surrounded by Fae soldiers bigger than any I’d seen before, Lord Gravelock loomed over the captive prince, yet somehow, Rooke made it seem like he was looking down his nose at Lord Butcher, the subject of childhood nightmares and scary campfire stories.
“You’re an asshole with a plethora of enemies,” Rooke inspected his perfect nails with the sort of practiced boredom only the wealthy can truly achieve. “How am I supposed to know who snuck into the Shadowlands undetected? Do you see anyone here but me? If I were you, I’d look somewhere else for your trespassers, Lord Butcher.”
Kaden lifted his eyebrow at a seething Gravelock. “Oh,do you need me to define plethora?” He sighed, rolling his eyes. “Fine, it means a lot—like a lot of people hate your guts because you’re a megalomaniac tyrant with a tiny cock.”
I closed my eyes.Don’t say it, Rooke, don’t…
“Would you like me to define megalomaniac, because I’d be more than happy…”
“I’m going to make you suffer, Rooke,” the Butcher hissed between clenched teeth, the leather of his gloves squeaking as he bunched his hands into fists. “And how I will enjoy your screams.”
While Gravelock postured, I was scanning every inch of the room, heart thumping painfully against my ribs. There was absolutely no sign we’d eaten breakfast here only an hour ago. No coffee cups strewn on tables, no broken plates or crumbs on the floor.
No clothes or footprints, like the entire castle had been wiped clean of our presence in a matter of seconds.
Just a cheery, crackling fire outlining the Prince of Darkness, a mocking smile lifting his lips enough to show off perfect, white teeth.
“And if you’re insinuating I granted said trespassers access to my prison, your ward must be for shit.” Rooke, who must have a death wish, raised his other eyebrow in mock outrage. “Is your magic for shit, Venmir? Because if that’s true, you should really pay more attention to your dying kingdom and stop fucking around with your…pet projects.”
Lord Venmir Gravelock looked exactly as I remembered him from four years ago, a tall, rail-thin Fae male with cruel, dark eyes and black diamond-tipped ears curving up from straight white hair. He was too thin, like his hate had hollowed him out, the epitome of cold-hearted violence, especially with that ugly smile twisting his angular face.
The gloves were a new addition, though—black, edged with silver.
The Fae King had worn similar gauntlets—to hide his dark little secret—and I tipped my head, wondering.
I’d been there the day Gravelock came to buy Anaria, and I well-remembered the part I’d played in the proceedings that day. Back then, cruelty had come just as easily to me as it had to Gravelock, but no more.
Now the memory turned my stomach.
Made my cheeks heat with shame.
