Malzaun and Daemon exchanged a brief, puzzled look, but we moved forward anyway.
Malzaun gestured his veterans ahead as we made our way toward the throne room. They moved as one, checking corners, weapons ready but controlled. We followed in their wake, stepping carefully past servants who registered our presence with less awareness than furniture.
Kael’s eyes scanned the corridor. "Something’s off. We should reassess."
"We can’t," Daemon said quietly. "We’ve run out of time."
The stairwell spiraled upward, leading to the chamber before the throne room. Our footsteps should have echoed. Instead, the stone swallowed sound, muting everything except my own heartbeat.
We emerged into the chamber, and found it empty.
Since entering the castle, we hadn’t seen a single soul.
"The throne room's ahead," Daemon said.
Malzaun held up a hand. We stopped again. He directed his men into formation with silent signals. One turn was all that separated us from the throne, and the Devourer.
We crouched low and moved along the wall.
When we finally made the turn, we found something wrong.
The door was open.
Not ajar. Not partially revealed. Wide open, both panels pushed back against the walls as if welcoming guests to a feast.
Daemon went still in the way that meant his mind was racing. "That's never open."
"A trap," Kael finished. "He knows we’re coming."
I reached for the Veil carefully, just enough to sense beyond normal perception. The world fractured at the edges. Reality felt paper-thin here, stretched over something vast and hungry that pressed against it like a face against glass.
The Devourer was close.
So close I could taste its anticipation.
"We go forward," I said.
Daemon looked at me. "Seris, "
"It knows we’re here. It’s been waiting." My hand found his. "There’s no sneaking past this."
His fingers tightened around mine. Then he nodded once and released me, shadows already gathering at his shoulders.
Malzaun moved his veterans into an advance formation. They flowed through the open doors, weapons ready, covering angles with practiced precision.
The air thickened.
The pressure that had been building since the cellar suddenly snapped like a rope pulled too tight.
Behind us, boots struck stone.
I spun.
Soldiers poured from doorways we’d passed, sealing off our retreat, forming a wall of shields and spears between us and escape.
"Forward!" Malzaun roared. "Get her to the throne!"
His veterans surged into defensive positions, creating a barrier between us and the ambush. Twenty elites against the full force of the castle guard.
