My breath snagged hard in my chest. Because, gods, this place...this place wasfamiliar.
The raven statues flanking the shattered path watched with their hollow eyes, carved in some shallow mourning. Direwolves crouched at the gate, not living, not dead, but stone predators caught mid-snarl, as fierce in memory as they must have been in flesh. And above, a balcony etched with curling moons, the archway catching what little light the sky still gave.
I’d been here before. I know I had.
And everything about that realization felt colder than the curse running through my veins.
We were hauled through its entrance, through corridors stripped of their might. I tried to scream, to claw free, but Reve’s hold was manacled, his touch securing me to a body that no longer felt like mine.
The throne room opened before us like a grave split wide, once a place of command and constellations. Now its vaulted ceilings arched above like the ribs of a fallen titan, the broken skylights above letting the moon leak through in fragmented streams, unnatural silver pooling across the stone.
At the far end, the throne waited empty, its once-proud spires contorted and broken. Around it, the stone was ringed with a stain, black as tar, burned deep into the floor.
This was where it had begun. When kingdom turned on kingdom, and the massacre bled into prophecy. The Bale had spilled from this very room, crawling through walls and veins, devouring every hint of life and magic.
Here was where Selvarra had begun to starve and death took its first breath.
I flinched when they dropped Wells’ body. The sound split the room, leaving cracks you could almost see. Elva lunged forward, unbound but barely contained. A masked soldier held her back, his arms straining against her newly found strength as Elysian’s stare stayed locked on her. The rest of us were shackled. Nix metal bound around our wrists, drinking every flicker of power before it could rise.
Ronan stood unnervingly still, the kind of stillness that warned, as his eyes moved over the room, the doors, the guards. Killian and Callum strained against their binds, muscles taut, as Ford stood hunched and pale, his breath hitching in short bursts as he tried to reach for Nezra.
She lay crumpled near the dais, looking weakly at Audra, who stood unmoved beside Isolde. Whatever warmth Nezra swore had once lived in her eyes was gone.
The corner of Obrann’s mouth tilted. “Isolde, you may have the floor. After all, you were clever enough to find them.”
She stepped forward, and when she reached me, I could smell the power on her, sweet rot and dying lilies. Her hold was still there, but lessened, a small taste of freedom as my body regained some control. Her fingers caught my chin, tilting it upward, studying the mark crawling along my skin—the Viper sigil, dark and spreading like a sickness.
“Beautiful,” she murmured, almost to herself. “How easily corruption wears your face.”
Instinct woke, and I lunged, teeth flashing, ready to tear, to strike, but she only clicked her tongue, her whistle rendering me powerless. “Naughty girl,” she chuckled, fingers dragging down my throat.
“Touch her again,” Ronan snarled. “I dare you.”
With a movement so fluid it was almost elegant, she turned to him, catching his wrist where the mating mark pressed against his skin. A nail traced slow and cruel down the line of it, pain flaring through my chest.
I buckled, the connection twisting tight until I could hardly breathe. Ronan’s growl tore through the hall, but the chains bound him in place.
When she turned to meet his face, her lips parted in a delighted sigh as her stare glanced between us. “So,that’swhat this is about.” She gave a soft laugh. “Mates. How quaint.”
Ronan tensed beside me, the muscle in his cheek jumping once, then going still again.
Isolde smiled. Not kindly. “Love,” she said, voice sweet as venom, “is the softest kind of death. A fever you mistake for warmth, until it hollows you out from the inside.”
I forced a grin. “Were you bred this pathetic, or did eternity make you bitter?”
“Oh, my darling—” She laughed, releasing his arm. “We villains…we are not born. We’re created. By the same hands that feared us first.”
And with that, the room seemed to tilt, a high, keening hum filling my ears.Weare created?
“Well,” she continued, “that explains why you broke our bargain. The terrifying Prince of Ryuu, falling to instinct like all the rest.”
Shetskedsoftly, circling behind him, deciding where to break him open next. Imagine my surprise when she set her sights on me instead.
“Look at him. He bonded himself to you…but he doesn’t even know what you are.”
The Viper raked against my mind as a vague pull yanked down the bond—Ronan reaching for me. But without reason, I shoved it away. It felt too much like he was reaching to spy, not to reassure.
“What are you talking about?” Ronan demanded. “Verena is—”
