Her head cocked, studying him, letting the eerie stillness stretch until it nearly snapped. “No,” she sang. “Sheis the means to our downfall.”
Letting out a single exhale, he warned, “If you refer to her as an object again, I will show you exactly what ruin looks like.”
She smiled, all teeth, water resonating in drips like a countdown.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Her eyes glowed, a twisted fondness warping her beauty into something unholy as she drifted toward her throne. “The Viper was created as an object for vengeance.”
Ronan’s voice cut through the dark, above the whispers now threading through it. “The same devotion that drives you to kill her.”
They weaved through the stone, too soft to catch, too many to count. A torch guttered, the flame bowing, though no wind touched it.
She turned and grinned, a wickedness flashing behind it. “Has the stone where your heart lay been wilted to dust, prince? She is a beauty; I couldn’t blame you.” Her voice dropped, purring with malice. “There have been rumors...”
Ronan stiffened. He knew what she was implying. Spies. Or worse, that she could feel the tether herself, through some vile extension of her own magic.
“I will not kill her just to soothe your jealousy.”
“Jealousy?” Her shadow wavered as she launched toward him across the cave chamber. “You think this is petty, that she is innocent?” Her nails clicked in fury as she closed the space between them. “The prophecy calls for a curse to be slain. I did not weave it, but I can see it fulfilled.” Her voice slipped tender when she said, “With you, Ronan. Because you need me as much as I need you.”
She straightened her spine, locking it into place, every inch an unspoken reminder.You are chained to me.
“She is venom, festering in this continent, in your kingdom. A sickness. And sicknesses must be cured.Thatis the only means to your freedom.”
A dark shroud clung to him as he offered a soundless chuckle. “You’re just a snake hissing at another for having fangs.”
Isolde only clicked her tongue, like she’d expected his defiance. “Do you remember the bodies along Luamis’ coast, their blood boiled black as ink? What else can do that, except the venom of a Viper?” She moved closer, until the light along the wall revealed the black lurking dormant in her eyes. Her voice slid soft, corrupting as she vowed, “I am not your enemy.”
He only gave her a thin smile. “They said your eyes were once the color of scarlet. Now they’re nothing at all. Why?”
For the briefest heartbeat, her mask cracked. A ravenous strain behind it shattering against her skin, searching for release.
Ronan knew that presence. He had felt it before.
It smoothed back into place as she said, “Your Kaida have proved disappointing. A pity, really. We’ve had to drain quite a few.”
His hands curled into claws, pupils shrinking to pinpricks as fire burned in the red-rim of the white. “Careful,” he warned, “Or you might eradicate another breed.”
She dragged her nails down the length of her arm, stopping at the oath branded to her wrist. “Why fight so hard for the Viper’s life, yet spill the blood of your own kind so easily?”
Ronan said nothing. Silence was his shield, his refusal.
“You break your vow,” she drove a nail into the mark until blood welled and oozed down her hand. “And you will suffer.”
She went to lurch toward him, darkness pooling at her feet as if eager, but she stopped herself, thinking better of it.
“But first,” she added, clenching the fistful of blood, “shewill suffer.” Her voice changed then, cold and haunting. “And you will watch. You will drink from her misery until it drowns you. Then I will take whatever remains and destroy anything you have left.”
A territorial haze curled at his ribs, wanting to scorch, wanting to protect. Honest fear flashed at the thought of Verena, and he buried it beneath his own mask. He would not give Isolde the sight of it.
The smoke moved, restless, itching to lurch down Isolde’s throat and choke the breath from her.
“Maybe they’re so black,” he finally replied, “because your soul itself has been tarnished.”
Her brows flicked together. “Excuse me?”
“Your eyes—” He lifted his chin. “It's hard to radiate color when your soul is already rotted through.” Her face twisted. “What carved you out?” His steps were slow, a prowl more than a stride. “Was it the slaughter of a hundred thousand, being denied the throne you’re so pathetic for? Or did your heart go black long before the first war touched this land?”
