His words wavered as a tear began to form. Rhazien straightened as the sentence finished, his chest expanding, and I wondered if everyone in the room could see the thin stream of dark smoke that stretched and wound across the space between us, reaching for me.
The room held their breath as Orla turned to me.
“I, Lady Reyva Bergmont, accept your shadow and offer my soul.”
My turn.
“I, Lady Reyva Bergmont...” The remaining predetermined words were stuck beneath a boulder in my throat. I swallowed hard, setting them free. “…accept your shadow, and offer my soul.”
White wisps matching the smoke swirling from Rhazien’s chest drifted from my body. The two misty rivers met and softly began to turn over, intertwining with each other.
His shadow. My soul.
I gasped at the connection. Rhazien’s darkness intertwined with my light. His pupils flared as he saw me, really saw me. All that we’d been, all that we could be melded together. Transforming from a wish, a dream, to a tangible truth.
This was it.
Orla opened her mouth to recite my next line, but her eyes went wide and the sentence came out as a struggled gurgle. A blade protruded from her open mouth. She coughed and black liquid poured down her chin, covering the runes and staining her white robes.
Rhazien’s roar shook the ballroom. The mist between us, like two skittish fawns, dissipated immediately. Guests screamed at the scene. I looked for the assailant.
Where were the guards?
A familiar, gaunt, ghostly pale face stared back at me as Orla fell forward to her knees and down the stairs.
Before Rhazien could say his name, the assailant’s malevolent onyx eyes shot to the furious regent and his sword swung with deadly aim.
Vaspar. Commander to the Northern Hive smiled, sharpened fangs glinting in the candlelight, before his long sword met the flesh of Rhazien’s neck, sending the regent’s stunned expression tumbling to the marble floor. A scream caught in my throat and my heart stuttered as I stared at his blank eyes.
“It’s nice, being above ground,” Eryx said with a malicious grin as he ascended the steps. The towering blonde regent stepped over the bodies of Vaspar’s victims like they were pieces of garbage. “I think we’ll stay a while. But it does seem…a bit crowded, does it not?”
I couldn’t focus on his words. The peaks and valleys of their cadence all blended together. My body, mind, heart, and soul were reeling from the abandoned bond.
Eryx rubbed his chin as he unabashedly took in my outfit. “Lady Reyva.” Lust-filled eyes darted across my features. My chest, lips, and neck. “You look absolutely delectable this evening.”
I ground my teeth in silent response. My body felt heavy, filled with iron, and empty from the broken bond all at once.
“I can’t believe Rhazien allowed so many to live in such proximity to you. I think we’re overdue for a population cleanse. Don’t you?” He tipped his head to his pale, serpentine servant.
With his haunting hiss, Vaspar snarled, “Oh yes, Majesty.”
“Unbitten…still?” the regent mused into the space just behind my ear. Fresh tears began to fall. “Fascinating.”
Cova was putting up a fight against a Northern Hive guard. She clawed and kicked, trying to get to Lydia, who didn’t resist her restraints.
Eryx turned to the stunned audience below. “Tonight marks the eve of a resurrected age! An age where we—the masters of the night—ruled over this land. Without fear, without hesitation, without shame of what we are, without bowing and begging to those lower than us on the food chain.”
He looked at me. No, not at me. Down at me. Because that’s where I belonged according to Eryx. Beneath him.
Murmurs and cheers leapt from the onlookers.
“HislateMajesty stifled your true nature, limited your pleasures, and harbored a great deal of disdain for himself and his people. But no more! As of this night you’ve been liberated from his radical progressive tyranny!”
More voices rose in agreement. Guards began to move around the room, distributing red fabric.
“On this Long Night, we celebrate our liberation by bearing the color of our only master—the blood. Take this token and wear it with pride as we celebrate your liberation not just this night, but for the millennia to follow.”
Few spectators took the cloth willingly, hastily fastening it to an article of their clothing. Others were more timid, but obliged. A majority of Rhazien’s court was too stunned to comply. They put up a hand or shook their heads, rejecting the token.
