We stop in front of two double-wide doors. Little does the guard know that Wyman is inviting darkness and decay into this very kingdom. That Wyman is the very man I came here to destroy.
Adrian rolls his shoulders and reaches for the door handles. He pauses for a split second to glance at me over his shoulder.
My stomach twists; I have no idea what he’s thinking. If he’s fully on our side or if he’s going to crack and give us up. Moros is still his uncle, and I’m still the person who left him behind. Graylen is still the man who betrayed him.
Even after our conversation in the tavern in Lyland, I don’t know if it was enough to convince him we aren’t his enemy. More than that, I don’t know at what point he stopped beingmyenemy.
Without any indication of where he stands, Adrian pushes open the double doors, flinging them wide.
The guard shuffles past him into the throne room, whileGraylen and I come up to flank either side of him, and Soren trails behind us. Adrian stiffens at the same moment my gaze lands on the throne opposite us.
I never saw the throne room when I was here, so it has no bittersweet memories attached to it; I have nobeforeto compare it to. But there’s one thing I’m certain is wrong.
My face drains of blood as a low growl rumbles through Soren’s throat. He crouches low at my feet.
Seated upon Adrian’s throne is Duke Wyman.Moros. Not standing at the foot, not waiting for us at the U-shaped cherry oak tables to our left. He’s sitting where thekingsits.
The only sound is the guard’s armor clinking as his head shifts from Moros to Adrian—as if he can’t decide who he answers to. He opts for standing in the middle, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Moros’s gaze finds me immediately, a wry smile on his face.
He’s just as I last saw him, salt-peppered hair with faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, finely stitched tunic, and soft abdomen. The image he’s crafted would be near perfect if it weren’t for one distinct change.
The scar across his eye—the one that showed in my trials but not when I was in the castle—mars his face. I glance at Graylen to see if he notices it, but his gaze is neutral per usual. Adrian just stands between us, silent and rigid, not showing any surprise about the scar either.
Maybe they can’t see it—maybeonly I can.
The piece of Nightfall tucked safely in my vest burns as if it can feel the mark it made on him. Like it’s begging to consume his darkness the way it drained pieces of my magic.
No shadows billow off of him; no monsters crawl at his feet; no threatening darkness surrounds him. No Opal, either.
It’s just him in Adrian’s throne, staring down at us.
Fifty-Five
Tigris Oculus
Moros relaxesin the plush seat, his feet kicked out and ankles crossed while his hands rest lazily on the cushioned armrests. His head is tilted back against the tall winged-back seat as he looks down on us.
“Welcome home,” Moros drawls. Instead of directing this at Adrian, he holds my gaze.
Fire curls in my stomach; even with thisthingaround my neck, it begs to be set free. Like it wants to make him pay. For aiding Reichardt in stealing me from Penyth, for sparking the rebellion and cursing the realm, and for Opal’s screams that still haunt me.
Adrian takes a stiff step forward, shifting Moros’s attention off me and over to him.
“Uncle,” Adrian bites out.
Moros leans forward, propping his chin on his fist, lips pursed like a parent waiting for their pouting child to finishtheir tantrum. My nostrils flare—Reichardt directed that exact expression toward me foryears.
Graylen’s pinky briefly loops in mine, giving it a quick squeeze before anyone notices. Even without looking at him, I can picture his serenely calm expression—his unfazed, loose posture that screams of privilege and confidence.
The posture of the Prince’s Snake. Or, rather…the King’s Snake now.
But Adrian isn’t like Graylen—he wears his heart on his sleeve with his emotions written clearly across his face. So instead of thinking through his words and hiding his feelings, heexplodes.
Which was very muchnotpart of the plan.
“First, you convince me to go to Penyth—woefully unprepared, I might add,” Adrian half-shouts. It’s the first time he’s saidPenythwithout spitting it out like a bad taste in his mouth. “Then, you sendmyguards to treat me like a runaway child and sit onmythrone?”
