Page 120 of Fallen Nocturne

“Your Majesty,” I say carefully, keeping my voice steady. “I came because you summoned me. I came to understand why you ordered my death.”

“Death?” Eirik blinks slowly like he’s waking from a dream. “I ordered your death?”

“You did.” My jaw clenches. “You sent us to slaughter at Aelfheim’s western borders. You abandoned an entire legion.”

The king stares at me. For a heartbeat, confusion flickers across his face, followed by something that looks almost like grief. His grip tightens on the arms of his throne. He parts his lips to speak, but the shadows behind him curl over his shoulders first. The emotion vanishes from his face.

“Tell us, Herald,” Morgaine says softly. “How does it feel to be mated to our enemy?”

I go still.

My hand drops to the hilt of my sword. “How do you know about that?”

“Oh yes,” she continues, gliding closer. “We know it. Didn’t we, my love?”

She places one hand upon the king’s shoulder. Eirik flinches beneath her touch.

I have watched the king face armies without blinking. I have seen him laugh while giants battered at the gates and stand alone before a wyvern driven mad by orkan mages.

Nothing frightened Eirik Bloodhound.

Yet now his breath catches, and fear flashes through his eyes before they empty once more. The distant look returns to his face.

“We’ve always known,” he echoes hollowly.

I take a step back.

No. Morgaine could charm a room with a smile. She could make the king adore her, flatter him, and turn his attention wherever she pleased. But she could never control him like this.

This is not Morgaine. Not anymore.

Something ancient is wearing the human witch’s skin.

“What have you done to him?” I demand, dropping all pretense of courtesy. “What are you?”

The thing wearing Morgaine’s skin laughs and I see palace guards moving into position, their eyes glazed. More puppets on invisible strings.

“I am the hunger beneath the first winter,” she says. “The mother of the hollow dark. The voice that whispered before your gods learned how to speak. I am the queen who was cast down, the prisoner who outlived her chains, and the rightful owner of everything your mate stole from me.”

Her black eyes fix upon mine. The shadows rise around her like a dark crown.

“And you, Herald of the Wild Hunt, you are in our way.”

The enchantress flicks her wrist. The shadows around her shoot across the throne room.

I draw my sword and cut through the first tendril before it can reach my throat. It bursts apart like smoke, only to reform behind me. I turn and slash again. A second shadow coils around a pillar, striking from my blind side. I duck beneath it and drive my blade toward the witch’s heart.

She retreats, surprise flickering across Morgaine’s stolen face.

I press the advantage. My sword slices through the sleeve of her gown and opens the skin beneath. Black blood beads along the wound. She hisses, the sound layered with voices that do not belong to any living creature.

“You bleed,” I say.

Her expression twists.

I attack again, forcing her backward toward the throne. She throws a wall of darkness between us, but I tear through it with a sweep of my blade. The shadows recoil from the runes engraved into the steel. For the first time since I entered the chamber, fear enters those bottomless eyes.

The king rises from his throne. He draws his sword, the Dragonslayer. I’ve seen him wield the blade with masterful grace a thousand times. I never thought it would be used against me one day.