The cut along his wing had already sealed shut, the flesh stitching itself together without a scar.
He dragged in one breath, tightening the rising break inside him into purpose. Shadow lashed out, a spiral of smoke wrapping around the guard’s throat like a leash, dragging the man forward as Ronan shoved the doors open with both hands.
The body hit the floor with a dull thud when Ronan flung him aside, discarded like scrap cloth as the throne room fell silent.
Obrann lounged on his reforged throne, ivory and iron twisted into a ridicule of power. A goblet shone in his palm, wine dripping from his fingers in a crimson trail.
A stocky advisor hissed in his ear, voice frantic, until Obrann dismissed him with a flick. The man swallowed his scowl, bowing and retreating into the shadows.
Ronan’s stare didn’t hover long on Obrann. Not when another figure sat beside him on a second throne, mirroring the king’s. His skin was pallid, eyes rimmed in grey, black dulled to a lifeless matte. Not alive, but not quite dead.
Prince Perseus. Resurrected.
But even that wasn’t what turned the ground beneath Ronan to ice. Two steps behind Obrann’s right hand stood a man Ronan knew. After all these years, it was a face he would remember, even in the pitch.
The man swallowed as he met Ronan’s eyes, a tiny motion, almost nothing. But Ronan’s stare promised everything.
I remember you. And I’m coming.
Obrann’s voice droned somewhere behind it all, false welcomes, talk of alliances, feigned civility, but the sound hardly registered.
Not when Perseus lifted his goblet, grin splitting across his bloodless lips. “Prince Ronan,” he crooned. He drank deep, only to choke, once, twice, dark liquid dribbling down his chin like oil.
Murmurs rose, whispers rising and dying.
Obrann leaned forward, peering past the span of Ronan’s wings still unfurled in the doorway. “Might I ask,” he drawled. “What possessed you to turn my guards into grit?”
Every eye in the chamber glared with expectation, waiting for the dragon prince to bend. To bow.
Ronan stepped fully into the room, hauling the guard forward as he kicked and thrashed uselessly. “Because ash,” he said, “is all your kingdom deserves.” He tossed the man forward in offering. “My sword, for your guard.”
Obrann snorted, sinking back into the cushioned throne. “That one has proved useless. Eat him, for all I care.”
Black surged down Ronan’s arm, tendrils sinking into the guard’s skin. The scream tore desperately through the chamber before it collapsed into silence. A heartbeat later, the body disintegrated, scattering through his grip.
Lifting his palm to his lips, Ronan exhaled a slow breath. Ash drifted free, onyx snow falling across the marble.
Perseus howled, an ugly, barking sound, slapping his knee as he hunched forward. “Father, that was very amusing.” He waved for his goblet to be refilled. “Bring in another! Perhaps he can roast one like a pig—”
The air snapped.
Black smoke coiled from the floor, rising like a living snare before anyone could blink. It wrapped Perseus mid-sentence, binding his torso, yanking him upright in one brutal jerk. His legs kicked, goblet bleeding wine as it toppled to the floor.
The laughter died, stillness falling absolute.
Ronan moved through it like wraith, wings spread behind him, eclipsing the stained-glass sun. “What did it cost you,” he rumbled, “to cheat death?”
Perseus gagged, the darkness forcing his jaw wide with no sound breaking free.
Obrann lurched from his throne, face blotched red, fist trembling in impotent rage. “How dare you threaten royalty. Release my son at once!”
None of his court moved. Not a single guard stepped forward.
Power flared, the smoke tightening around Perseus’s ribs until one cracked. “The life clinging to him now,” Ronan moved toward the dais, “it doesn’t come without a price. It stains. It corrupts. Someone always pays.”
Perseus thrashed harder, the dark sliding down his throat like a second, choking spine.
“Did you forget?” Ronan’s voice dropped. “I hold a crown of my own.”
