He doesn’t realize that his power is exactly what I came here to destroy.
I push the doors open with a burst of white fire. They swing inward with a groan of ancient hinges, revealing the chamber beyond.
The throne room is massive. Dark. The ceiling lost in shadow so complete it might stretch to infinity, the floor a single slab of obsidian polished to mirror-brightness. Standing here feels like floating in a void—darkness above, darkness reflected below, nothing to anchor the senses except the distant walls and the throne that dominates the far end.
The throne itself is carved from black stone, shapes worked into its surface. It’s not beautiful. It’s not meant to be. It’s meant to terrify.
Ulrik rises from that throne as we enter.
He’s in human form—tall, broad-shouldered, silver hair swept back from a face carved from granite. His eyes are chips of obsidian that show nothing, reflect nothing, absorb my light the way his entire domain absorbs it. Power radiates from him in waves that press against my skin.
“The little witch princess.” His voice echoes through the chamber, deep and cold. “Come to die in my throne room. How considerate.”
I step forward, releasing Auren’s hand. The Crown blazes brighter as I move, white light pushing back the shadows—but I feel the cost of that brightness now. The Relic is hungry, and I’m what it’s feeding on.
“I came to end this.” My voice doesn’t waver, even as something warm trickles from my nose. Blood. I wipe it away before Auren can see. “You destroyed my kingdom. Killed my parents. Allied with my sister to claim what was never meant for you.”
“You think that trinket can destroy me?” Ulrik takes a step forward, and the shadows in the room surge toward him, gathering around his form. “I am the Shadow King. I created the curse that’s been consuming your dragon’s brother for three hundred years. I destroyed your kingdom. I will destroy you.”
“You destroyed Valdoria,” I agree. Another step forward. Another surge of power from the Crown that costs me more than I want to admit. “You killed my parents. You tried to claim the Crown through my sister’s betrayal.”
White flames kindle around my hands. The fire feels different now—thinner, somehow. Less substantial. The Crown is burning through my reserves faster than I anticipated.
I have to end this quickly. Before there’s nothing left of me to end it with.
“But you forgot something important.”
Ulrik’s expression doesn’t change. “And what’s that?”
“The Crown wasn’t meant to be taken.” I raise my hands, and the Relic’s full power answers—blazing, devastating, tearing through me as much as it tears through the air. “It was meant to be inherited.”
I step forward again, and the shadows recoil.
“And I am its rightful heir.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
TAMSIN
Ulrik shifts.
The transformation is instant—human form exploding into something massive, terrible. He’s nearly as large as Drayke, void-black and ancient, and his fire isn’t fire at all. It’s absence. Shadow made weapon.
He launches that void-fire at me in a torrent.
I meet it with the Crown’s power.
White fire collides with shadow—light against darkness, existence against erasure. The impact sends shockwaves through the throne room, cracking the obsidian floor, shattering the carved faces on Ulrik’s throne. For one eternal moment, we’re locked in stalemate.
Then I feel my knees buckle.
Not from the force of his attack. From the Crown draining me dry.
I catch myself. Force my legs to hold. Pour more power into the assault, white fire burning through shadow, light consuming darkness. But every second costs me. I can feel my life force bleeding away, feeding the Relic’s endless hunger. My vision is starting to blur at the edges. My heartbeat feels wrong—too fast, then too slow, then skipping entirely.
“Tamsin!” Auren’s voice is sharp with fear.
He’s seen the blood. It’s not just my nose anymore—I can feel it trickling from my ears, from the corners of my eyes. The Crown is killing me. Burning through my body to fuel power that was never meant to be wielded this long.
