Page 151 of Fallen Nocturne

“Why did you interfere?” he demands. “He was mine.”

Lilith laughs. “You were taking too long.”

Eirik crosses the distance between them in three strides and strikes her across the face. The force of the blow sends her stumbling into the table.

Everyone freezes.

Lilith slowly straightens. Blood shines at the corner of Morgaine’s mouth. For one terrible moment, the enchantress’s expression disappears, and I see the woman trapped beneath her. Morgaine’s eyes fill with tears. Her lips tremble as though she is trying to speak.

Then Lilith takes control again. Instead of stabbing the Fae King, she lifts the dagger and presses its edge against her own throat.

“Strike me again, and I will open your precious witch from ear to ear,” she says softly.

Eirik’s fury vanishes beneath pure terror. His sword slips from his hand and clatters to the floor.

“Good,” Lilith says. “Now stay where I put you.”

I barely notice their confrontation. All I can see is Wolf standing naked in the center of the throne room without a stitch of clothing to cover him.

I tear the red cape from my shoulders and throw it toward him. It lands beside his feet, something he could wrap around himself.

Wolf does not take it.

He does not even look at me.

Lilith’s gaze turns toward Rhianelle. “Ruthven, kill the queen.”

Ruthven moves at once.

My former Grimsbane guard snatches a fallen sword from the floor and steps between him and Rhianelle. Wolf has no armor and nothing to protect him, but he raises the blade without hesitation.

Ruthven attacks.

Within the first exchange between them, I see the truth. Ruthven is a poor swordsman. His grip is wrong, his balance worse, and he relies almost entirely on his speed. Against an ordinary opponent, it would not matter. His strength alone could crush through any defense.

Wolf is not ordinary. He turns Ruthven’s blade aside and cuts across his arm, but the vampire barely reacts. Ruthven swings again with enough force to shatter Wolf’s guard.

Thormein raises both hands. Ancient words pour from his mouth, and the dead tree behind the throne begins to move. Its branches tear free from the wall and spread throughout the chamber. Roots burst through the floor beneath us, wrapping around ankles and wrists before anyone can escape.

One catches my sword arm and wrenches it behind my back. Another coils around my chest. Shade draws his sword and hacks at the roots closing around him, but a branch catches his wrist and tears the weapon from his hand.

Wolf tries to cut himself free. A root seizes his wrist, another his waist, and the sword is torn from his hand. Rhianelle throws herself over Landon, shielding him as the branches close around them both.

The tree pulls us together. Thick limbs weave around us, forming the curved walls of a vast wooden cage like one built for some monstrous bird. Thorns grow between the gaps, their points turned inward.

“Good work, Cedwyn,” Lilith says.

Thormein’s mouth tightens at the false name, but he bows.

Ruthven hurries to Lilith. “Let me see.”

She ignores him and touches the side of her face where Eirik struck her. Tears of pain and humiliation shine in her eyes.

Lilith summons a small mirror and studies the bruise darkening across her cheek. Her fingers pass over it, and the swelling slowly fades.

Then she looks at Eirik.

“Kneel.”