Horns blared in the background, distant but loud. One, then another. The sound shredding through my thoughts, through the village. My lips pressed together and we both turned, looking toward the square center.
Amid Wells’ collapse, amid my guilt, the town had all finally gathered. Their noise a clamorous confusion, bodies pressed tightly. That chaos, at least, had turned their eyes away from Wells.
Except for one—
A single man, clad in black leather from head to heel, standing beside the platform. The only visible part of him were his eyes.
And they were watching me.
Even from fifty yards away, I felt it, the stare, the weight, kindled with curiosity.
I didn’t blink, just glared back, tugging my hood lower down my face.
He watched still, eyes upturned, calm. The mask over his mouth twitched. Maybe into a smile, or at least the threat of one.
There was a stir in my belly from that, an annoying flutter.
The horns changed then, softer. The signal of the king’s arrival. Only that freed me from his stare.
Navy and gold flags snapped in the breeze while armored soldiers weaved between spectators, rushing to carve a pathway. A carriage followed, wheels lavished in gold, leaving specks of dust in their wake. Villagers shouted as it passed, some pleaded, dropping to their knees in desperation.
Guards broke formation, shields crashing into thin-clothed bodies. Mortals collapsed, Fae dropped, fingers clawing into the soil, hoping to spark enough magic to fight back.
They must have forgotten the rules.
King Obrann was clever, cautious. He didn’t take chances. He knew that with enough power, we would rise and rebel.
So, he bled us first, quietly and consistently. Until resistance became nothing but a state of mind.
The golden wheels turned across the dirt, gaudy with polish and dust that hid their secret.
He lounged against his carriage as he passed, rot under a crown, wearing misery as a second skin, dragging it everywhere he went and staining Luamis in mold.
Dark hair was slicked back with an oil-sheen, his eyes were even worse, flat silver, like metal. There was no light in them. No depth.
A Fae man pressed his hand to the soil, desperate to reach toward the core that fed us all. But the vessel of the realm didn’t answer. His magic didn’t replenish, it withered.
The harder he begged, the more Obrann’s secret coated his skin, ripping his magic away.
Obrann didn’t even turn as the man convulsed in the mud. He only leaned back, the crown sliding askew as he whispered to his second hand.
It sat atop his head like a prisoner, gold plated with light radiating off its centered sunstone.
The last of the man’s magic bled from him until his pale and hollow body sagged. And as the carriage rolled on, my stomach sank with the truth of it— the moment Obrann found those stones and crowned himself over all three kingdoms, he would drain us dry. Replace us with loyal husks who would kneel and call it mercy.
I turned back, searching for the man in black, the crush of bodies thickening, swallowing my line of sight.
Cursing under my breath, I caught Wells by the hand, shoving us forward where more guards prowled the edges of the square, pacing, sniffing for defiance.
A lion-headed helmet passed before me, polished, smug. A sentry moving with all the arrogance of borrowed power.
I gathered spit, holding it on my tongue. My lips parted and I waited, then let it fly—
It smacked against the glossy toe of his boot. It was satisfying and petty, and so damn perfect.
A grin cracked across my face as he halted, tilting his head down. And laughed. Damn it. I knew that laugh. Even muffled through steel.
“Seriously?” Callum’s voice snorted out.
