He knew exactly what came after.
So why was he watching this happen again?
Rune’s claws sank into the stone beneath him. His chains groaned as he heaved against them so hard the air hummed with his fracturing power. The symbols burned against his wrists, but he didn’t care. He was breathing too fast. Thinking too much.
Time did not bend for mortals.
It did not repeat.
There were no second chances. So what was this?
Unless… this was another divine retribution his father added to his eternal sentence. Would he now be forced to watch her die again?
A growl rumbled deep in Rune’s throat, his tail lashing against the wall with his fury. Dust and debris rained down, crackling on the ground.
His gaze returned to Alora. She was still seated at the dining table, her dress too fine, her shoulders too stiff. Her face pallid with horror.
Rune braced for the same quiet surrender he had witnessed before, that obedient collapse that had made him want to tear the world in half because she always bent and no one ever bled for it but her.
But Alora lifted her gaze.
“I won’t marry a prince I don’t know,” she said.
Rune froze.
The sound of her defiance echoed through the cave in Karag Dûr as though the Veil had carried it straight into his marrow.
It didn’t happen this way…
“I refuse to marry a man I don’t love,” she continued, her face flushing with anger. “I don’t even know him!”
The candlelight flickered.
King Laurent’s eyes hardened, his reply cold and final. “You are a princess. You do not marry for love. You marry forduty.”
She shook her head, her eyes welling with tears. “No?—”
Her father grabbed her shoulders, startling her.
Rune snarled.
“You will marry him, Alora!”
She recoiled at his shout.
The airshifted.
A sharp ray of wind-forged light tore through the hall, rattling the tall windows until the glass sang in its frames. Rune reared back. Candles flared, flames bending sideways as if fleeing an unseen force. The banners along the walls snapped violently like whips.
Laurent’s eyes widened and he yanked Alora against him as if to shield her from the sudden gale. The wind died at once.
Quiet fell, thick and stunned.
Gasping for air, Alora stared toward the windows. “Was that Calveron?” she whispered. “Their magic?”
The king stilled, then his anger and fear faded beneath weary resignation. “You must do this, Alora,” he said softly now. “Or our kingdom will fall.”
And that had been the end of it.
