His hand tightens on my shoulder, trembling with barely restrained fury.
“Watch your tone, Kiernan. It was a strategic move. The General suggested having someone on the inside was the only way we would get the information we need.”
“A strategic—” Kiernan’s voice cracks. “She’s mywife. You left her there to be—” He can’t finish the sentence.
The King’s expression doesn’t change. “And she returned, didn’t she? Alive and well.”
Kiernan’s rage floods through our Bond, hot and violent. I reach up and place my hand over his, trying to ground him.
Anger flames to my cheeks, and my head throbs. Once again, I was used as a pawn, with no care for my wellbeing. And he expected me to betray the Equitae like they asked me to betray Kiernan? I never broke then, and I’m not about to break now.
That defiance cultured in the face of Reth’s punishments rises. My fists clench in my lap, and my heart pounds. Evenwithin Heartwood, when I felt at my most vulnerable, I never felt as afraid as I do now, knowing what I must do.
“I’m not going to betray the Equitae, Your Majesty. I won’t help you destroy them.” I stare right into those fathomless eyes, defiance flaring, taunting.
Kiernan’s hand clenches my shoulder. The King holds my gaze as he rises to his feet, palms flat on his desk. He leans towards me.
“It seems you may need more persuasion. You will provide me answers to everything I need. You want to see your brother again, am I correct?”
“Your brother?” Kiernan asks behind me, his voice quizzical. “Alaya, what is he talking about?”
My throat tightens. “Quinn. He has Quinn.”
“Your—” Kiernan’s confusion bleeds through the Bond. “Since when do you have a brother?”
“Leave Quinn out of this,” I say to the King, my voice shaking. “This is between you and me.”
“Very well. I only need your compliance.”
His power surges; it has an earthy smell like that of the Pit—dead and rotting.
His hand whips out and grabs my arm, slamming it down to the desk with such force that every thought of rebellion is instantly crushed, replaced by the terrifying reality of his absolute strength.
“Father, NO!” Kiernan shouts, lunging towards him.
But he’s too late.
Spidery black veins of thorns spread out from the King’s grip over my skin. Agony explodes through my body—not just pain, but a wrongness, a corruption that feels like it’s rewriting every nerve, every cell.
I scream.
Kiernan roars.
Through my blurring vision, I see him collapse, dropping to his hands and knees beside my chair. His back heaves. Black tendrils crawl up his left arm, mirroring my own, pulsing in perfect synchronisation.
He’s feeling it. All of it.
Through our Bond, his agony crashes into mine, doubling, amplifying until I can’t tell where my pain ends and his begins.
King Malaxor’s eyes widen. He releases my arm with a gasp.
The agony cuts off like a severed rope, leaving me gasping and shaking. But the veiny black threads remain, pulsing on my skin like a second heartbeat.
“No! That can’t be.” The King stares down at Kiernan, where he is still on all fours, chest heaving.
Slowly, Kiernan raises his head. His face is pale, slick with sweat. “What the fuck was that?” He pushes himself up, using the arm of my chair for support. His voice is raw, shredded. “You tried to turn her into a Thorn Guard? And nearly me too.”
I look down at his left arm. The thin black veins are still there, identical to mine, etched into his skin like a brand.
