Looking toward the throne not as a burden... but a birthright.
As the chains finish binding Morrathys in shadow-light, Maldrak doesn’t even look back at what he’s done. Instead, he turns to his soldiers—those branded with the Mark of Morrathys, eyes void of will—and says coldly, “Take him to the Temple of Endings. Seal it. No one opens it unless I command it.”
And just like that, the God of Death vanishes from the world—not exiled to some distant realm like the others, but buried right here in Zerynthia. Slumbering.Waiting.
The scene before me fades, and I am falling through the night sky again.
I let myself fall this time. The visions race through me, crashing through my mind as I drift through starlight.
My mother. The marriage cuff. Thalmyr. Aurius. Maldrak. The blood spell. Nyrielle. Morrathys. The Mark.
My chest rises too fast. Falls too hard.
Nothing is as it seems.
The air around me rumbles, sending a ripple through my body.
I gasp at the sudden jolt.
The crown releases me.
I collapse to my knees, heaving, body trembling.
I look up, and Kael’s eyes meet mine from across The Grove.
Suddenly, I’m not sure which part of the vision scares me more—what’s been done, who I am, or what I’m destined to do.
The air thins. The Grove tilts.
I drop to the ground, limbs shaking.
My chest burns bright, searing pain dragging across my skin. Points of the Eye of Lireal carving into my skin, branding, claiming, permanent.
And then—darkness swallows me whole.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
KAEL
I don’t knowwhat she saw in those visions, but she looked haunted.Tormented.
I’ve nestled her limp frame against my body for the ride back to Thornewood, and she hasn’t stirred at all. Her breathing is steady, though I keep attempting to access her through the tether, and she feels vacant.
With the setting sun dropping below the treeline, we pull into Thornewood and are greeted by Rubi, Seren, Daelen, and Rowan. They surround us, looking expectant and eager.
I nod curtly.
“We’ll rest,” I announce. “And convene in Council Hollow when the moon reaches its highest point.” My words are commanding.
Zak’s brother, Rhyven, approaches the group. He’s not part of the council, but he’s been a good and loyal man over the years. While Therion and I have been searching for Elyssara, Rhyven has stepped up to track and hunt for the people of Thornewood. He has his father’s head and heart, which unfortunately didn’t extend to Zak—heis only skilled with the mind.
“I hope your return signals another relic secured, Your Highness,” he says sincerely, bowing slightly in deference. No matter howmany years go by or how many times he’s heard everyone else call me Kael, his preference for propriety wins. Zak rolls his eyes, and the tight exhale he lets out doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Elyssara was judged as worthy and valid by The Groveandthe crown, yes,” I choose my words wisely, directing them to Zak. “She is a rightful Queen of this realm,” I add, my words precise and cutting.
“What brilliant news, my prince. We’ve hunted wild boar in your absence in hopes of celebration. Tonight, we feast.” Rhyven’s smile is genuine and warm. His loyalty to Zerynthia—and the crown—is steadfast.
“Good,” I say, nodding in approval. “Rest, eat, drink, and tonight, we convene under the moon’s peak,” I spin on my heel, Elyssara heavy in my arms, desperate to get her to my room. She needs rest.
