Lykor’s breath hitched, confusion thrashing through him. Jassyn hadn’t been on the beach before—he would have noticed.
Suspicion boiling through his skull, Lykor sliced a glare toward the prince. Vesryn had fetched him from the jungle. But why? Certainly not to challenge the lone shaman roosted above.
Vesryn’s voice cut through the ringing in his ears. “Stop!”
Shoving damp strands of hair from his face, Lykor sneered at the command, the futility of it flaying his nerves. What could the prince possibly want?
But it wasn’t Vesryn’s useless order that grated at him. It was Jassyn—his infuriating, silent presence.
Those amber eyes were fixed on him, brimming with something Lykor couldn’t quite pin down. Judgment, perhaps. Or disapproval.
And Lykor loathed how that gaze wormed under his skin. Jassyn had no right to look at him that way—no right tocondemn him. Not when he understood nothing of the cost. Vesryn dragging him here only fanned the flames of Lykor’s fury.
This was war, and he’d do what the others couldn’t—what they wouldn’t. Every life he claimed was another blow against the king, another step closer to ending Galaeryn’s reign. And if Jassyn couldn’t stomach it, then he could stay hidden in the jungle.
His presence was a distraction. Orchestrated by the prince. Nothing more.
With a growl, Lykor tore his focus back up the cliffs, locking onto the defiant shaman spawn. Essence hummed through his veins, a storm barely leashed, promising ruin with every pulse.
He could rip that castle apart stone by stone, scatter its bones into the sea, and revel as the hungry tide devoured its dust. Nothing could oppose him—not while he wielded the might of the stars.
Thrusting his gauntlet skyward, Lykor unleashed a rope of force. He lashed his magic around the elf, yanking them off their perch.
Any screams were lost to the wind as he hauled the body down the cliffside. Just before impact, Lykor arrested their fall, the elf’s throat slamming into his outstretched claw.
“Lykor, stop!” Serenna’s shrill voice rose with panic.
He ignored her and tightened his grip, the cold bite of metal crushing against warm flesh. Kicking futilely, the elf writhed as Lykor’s gaze burned through him.
A golden circlet glimmered in the moonlight. The question of why this boy was tethered flickered and died. It didn’t matter, he could still wring out every ounce of power.
“Stop!” Serenna shrieked again. She had the gall to grab his arm, her fingers scrabbling against his gauntlet as though she could halt the inevitable.
Lykor didn’t spare her a glance and didn’t bother acknowledging the prince, shadows whipping around him as he rushed to her side. Let Vesryn try.
He focused on the elf choking in his grip, delving into his Well, hunting for talents to strip away.
“Please!” Serenna’s voice cracked, her hands trembling against him. Wild desperation shone in her eyes as she cried, “That’s my brother!”
Lykor stilled, his eyes cutting to her, then to the prince. He bared his teeth—no longer the threat of fangs. They had the audacity to deny him this?
“He’s one of the king’s thralls,” Lykor snarled as the elf gasped in his claw, feet kicking feebly against the sand. “You expect me to spare him?”
“If he’s coerced, I can help him.”
The quiet words struck Lykor like lightning lancing between his ribs. His wrath stalled, his grip loosening against his will as Jassyn’s steady gaze pierced through the cracks of his control.
“You’re done,” Vesryn said. His voice was no louder than a whisper, yet it carried the bite of a blade pressing against Lykor’s throat. He stepped closer, fingers twitching at his sides, but he halted, hovering on the brink of action. “We can make you stop.”
Understanding crept over Lykor’s skin like hoarfrost, an insidious cold swiftly lifting his hairs in alarm. His gaze snapped to Jassyn’s. Breaths coming shallow, Lykor searched his face.
Jassyn would do it, wouldn’t he? That was why he was here—to force his compliance. Unravel him with barely a thought. Spin compulsion around his brain until he bent, cracked, and shattered.
Blistering rage scorched through Lykor like wildfire. All this boundless power at his fingertips and his mind was still defenseless. Vulnerable. Exposed. Anyone could slip in. Manipulate him. Strip him of his will.
It was too much. Lykor ground his teeth, detesting his own inescapable fragility.
Whispers slithered through his mind, urging him to drain them all. Drain the prince. Drain the girl. And Jassyn—especially Jassyn—before they struck. Hollow them out. Reduce them to wraith. Silence their meddling forever.
