“There is only you getting the fuck out,” he adds, as if it is nothing more than an instruction. “I have somewhere to be.”
She studies him for a moment longer, taking him in with a quiet that feels almost unnatural, as though she is committing the entirety of this moment to memory, every detail, every fracture, every piece of him that no longer belongs to her.
Then she smiles. The expression unfolds with careful control, unhurried, stripped of anything that might resemble warmth, leaving behind something far colder.
“I hope this was worth it.” She turns before he can respond, the movement fluid, untouched by the tension that lingers in the room, and she leaves without looking back, carrying that control with her as though nothing inside her has shifted at all.
The ship is ready when she reaches it. Larkin meets her at the ramp, already reading what she does not need to say. She boards without slowing and he falls into step beside her. She gives him one word.
“Morrath.”
The orders move instantly across the deck as the ship pulls free from the dock, the shoreline already slipping away behind them.
Nox stands at the edge, her hands resting lightly against the railing, her expression composed once more.
He lied. The thought remains, but it no longer burns. Yet his words stay with her.
You won’t give him heirs.
She hadn’t expected those words from him. Teorin had never treated succession as something worth discussing before. Then again, he had never treated the bond as anything less than a necessary means to an end. It doesn’t matter, though, because underneath all of it, the motive remains the same.
This is about power. And she has always been far better at taking it.
Fuck him. None of it made sense, but it didn’t need to. He had betrayed her. In the end, the answer is simple. Revenge.
She watches the water stretch ahead, dark and endless, her thoughts coming into alignment one after another like something clicking into place.
The plan does not need him. It never did.
A hard pain hits her chest. Years spent planning a life together. But she will not cry. She will not scream. The plan will remain.
Veynar. Morrath. Both will be hers. She will kill the king of Yorali. She will remove this golden nuisance of a queen. And her shitspawns.
Once she is queen, Sevrin will name an heir, and when he does, Teorin will be full of pain. And regret.
The ship cuts forward through the dark as Morrath rises in the distance, something ancient waiting beneath it, something that has always answered to strength alone.
Nox’s eyes deepen as she looks ahead.
Gates. Children. Feeders. Threns. Golden fucking queens. Her father.
Soon.
All of them will belong to her.
CHAPTER 78
Especially This
Ihave decided I do not like Colsar’s chambers. They are large and open, with plenty of room for us and our household, but something in them sits cold and overly masculine, a remnant of the man he was before we married. My chambers are softer, more welcoming, but far too small for what we are now.
"I cannot wait until the Moon Chambers are ready," I say, turning slowly. "Last time we were in Veynar we were waiting for them to be prepared, and then you had to leave."
Colsar smiles faintly, something quieter in it now than the expression he wore in the council. “Yes,” he says. “And now they have collected enough dust that I do not want my children inhaling it, so we must wait a little longer.”
I sigh and let myself fall back onto the bed, the soft weight of it catching me as I stretch out beside him. “So it is official?” I ask, tilting my head toward him.
“It is almost official,” he replies. “She is not yet six months old. Once she is, it will be recorded formally. For now, it has been signed and witnessed.”
