Page 148 of Fallen Nocturne

“Landon!” Rhianelle’s scream tears from her throat, raw and agonized.

She starts running toward him, but Ruthven moves to block her path. “Ah ah ah, little queen. You’ll have to get through us first.”

Rhianelle’s eyes never leave Landon’s broken form. “I’ll get you down,” she calls to him. “I’ll heal you. I promise.”

Landon remains unresponsive.

Rhianelle turns on Lilith. Light gathers around her hands, bright enough to push back the green glow of the chamber. “If he dies, there will be nowhere in any world you can hide from me. I will end you myself.”

“No, you won’t.” Lilith smiles. “Because the moment you move against me, I will have my pets tear your beloved Herald apart. What remains of him, anyway.”

She gestures toward the table. The Fae King raises his head, his vacant eyes fixing on Rhianelle. Bas rises beside him with visible effort, his body obeying even as horror fills his face.

“A king and a Strigon,” Lilith says. “Both prepared to fight the moment I command it. Do you truly believe you can reach Landon before they reach you?”

“Let him go,” Rhianelle says. “Release him now, or I swear there will not be enough left of you for Hel to claim.”

I have never heard my queen deliver a threat before. She does not raise her voice or bare her teeth, yet every hair on my arms rises. For a heartbeat, true fear flashes across Lilith’s face.

Then it is gone.

Lilith knows what I know. Rhianelle is stretched thin. She summoned eighteen creatures from Astefar onto the battlefield, and whatever power that required has left its mark upon her.

“Careful, little queen,” Lilith says, her gaze moving to Svenn. “I need not command Eirik or Bas to kill your friends. I could have Arescaine do it himself.”

My mouth falls open. She can command Svenn too?

“Do not look so surprised.” Lilith smiles. “I created the Strigons. They obey me. You are trapped here, in my palace, surrounded by my servants. You came to rescue your mate, but all you have done is deliver yourself to me.”

Rhianelle glares at her.

Cedwyn suddenly steps out from among us. The young fae squire usually avoids direct confrontation whenever he can. He once abandoned his ambition to become a knight, choosing instead to serve as Rhianelle’s scribe. I have seen him frightened by far less than this, yet now he walks toward Lilith without the slightest hesitation.

“Cedwyn, be careful,” Rhianelle says. “Come back.”

“I’m not Cedwyn.” The young squire’s eyes glow with an ancient light. “Though I’ve enjoyed wearing that disguise.”

For a moment, no one moves.

Rainer goes very still. Shade’s hand tightens around his blade. Even the wolf stops growling.

“You’re one of the corrupted elders,” Svenn growls, darkness pooling around his feet.

What? Cedwyn is Thormein?

“Cedwyn Niemroht,” the being says with a mocking bow. “Though you might know me better by my true name, Thormein. Such a simple play on words, really. I’m almost disappointed none of you worked it out sooner.”

He is one of the Aeonians, the ancient elven elders who were supposed to protect our people but instead became twisted by dark magic, seeking immortality and power at any cost.

“You’ve been in our court this whole time,” I say, my grip tightening around my sword. “Training with us and learning our defenses. Reporting everything to—”

“To his new mistress, yes.” Lilith smiles wider. “And I’ve been so pleased with the information. I know your battle strategies.”

Thormein’s glowing eyes slide toward Lilith, and for an instant I see resentment. He does not like being spoken of as her servant. Whatever alliance binds them, it has not erased his pride. Yet he remains at her side. His betrayal is no less complete.

Anger surges through me. Cedwyn ate at our tables. He trained beside our soldiers. Rhianelle trusted him. All the while, this creature has been feeding on our people like a fucking parasite.

Hidden doors open throughout the throne room. Guards pour from every passage and descend the stairways above us, all wearing the same vacant expressions as the Fae King. Their movements are stiff, their faces utterly empty. They are not soldiers anymore. They are puppets.