Page 117 of The Serpent Prince

His carefree attitude only fed his father’s frustration and rage. The wyvern roared at him from above.

Pushing up off the ground, Kiran followed his father into the air, causing the great hall to rumble. With the throne room deep underground in the center of the palace, it likely remained untouched.

The walls and floor shook, and Imani scrambled for balance as dust and debris plummeted from the dark skies. Kiran circled once, dropping low and bellowing a roar that unleashed fire on the trees and burned through them in a glorious blaze. It ate through everything in its path in an instant.

All it did for her was meld terror and wonder into one monstrous entity.

They wrestled in the air for several minutes, but then Kiran lashed out, quick as a lightning strike, and tore through his father’s neck with razor-sharp teeth that dripped enemy blood.

The wyvern fell to the ground, and Magnus shifted just in time to land unsteadily on his feet. Holding his bleeding neck, he crumpled to the ground. His only sounds were choked gasps.

The beast—Kiran—breathed in and out, smoke puffing from his massive nostrils. He roared a blast of fire into the air then fell from the sky in one swoop.

The prince slammed gracefully onto the stone. A massive beast turned into a man, as if he’d shifted into that unholy creature a thousand times. His cloak whipped behind him as he stood in one smooth motion, brushing his black hair back off his face, eyes narrowed at Magnus. Kiran then grabbed a knife strapped to his thigh.

“We’re going to finish this the old-fashioned way, Father.” He curled his lip in disgust.

When Kiran stuck the tip into the back of his father’s neck, Imani had to squeeze her eyes tight. She did not need to see to know what kind of horror the Mad Prince was unleashing. She could hear it just fine.

Even though the burning fires were still raging above and around her, the sound of skin being removed from muscle was unmistakable. It was a wet, thick, ripping sound.

Imani doubled over and dry heaved since nothing was left in her stomach. At some point, Magnus stopped screaming. She knew why and lifted her eyes up once more.

A vicious kind of grin pulled at Kiran’s lips, as if the pain his father had just endured ignited some dark fire in him.

He was fucking beautiful.

Imani didn’t feel an ounce of regret, remembering the king’s face and the torture that he had put his people through in his quest for power.

Relief flooded her, hot and heavy, now that this tyrant was dead.

Thank you, she thought to Kiran, breathing deep and shutting her eyes.

A hand tangled in her hair, one that was too deft to be the heavy fists of the monsters around her. Her head was yanked back sharply, and she looked up at the demon himself. This horde king did not grin like he had earlier. Spattered in blood, he stared down at her with an unreadable expression.

Imani looked into his eyes, those mismatched, glossy irises. They were emptier than they’d ever been. Imani no longer saw him deep inside. In fact, she didn’t see him at all.

His hands dripped with his father’s blood, but something else was in his hand with the knife. It was …

She felt ill again.

“But … but why? He was already dead.”

“Why?” He chuckled. “Still so naïve, my darling.” He held up the item in his hand, bloody and raw, draping like fabric. “Allow me to demonstrate.” He released her, and she could smell the coppery tang of blood that he had left staining her hair.

She tried not to look at the previous king’s body as Kiran removed his father’s scalp that he’d cut from his head then ripped the crown from the skin and placed it on his head.

The horde and death angels dropped around him, protecting him, and gods, he was beautiful. Awful. A monster. He’d burned all those people alive without a thought. It didn’t sit well with her as she remembered the bodies smacking onto the ground.

She could at least admit his sharp jaw, broad shoulders, and arresting gaze, rich with more magic than she’d ever felt, was something to behold.

Rubbing the tension in his neck, he rolled his eyes and sighed before pointing his wand to murder five guards coming at him, ripping them into pieces like the savage he was.

He was a marvel.

Perhaps her scorn was misplaced. Did the ends justify the means? He’d saved them all from Magnus, and there was collateral damage. That she could understand. A sacrifice of the few for the survival of the many was no choice at all, and given the choice, Imani would have made the same one. Perhaps they could finally be honest with each other now—with her own plans. She would not stand for this to happen to her own people, but if she could convince him to take Essenheim with her another way, they might stand a chance.

Imani bit her lip in approval at his victory, though practically drooling watching his powerful body move effortlessly through everyone in his path with that stupid arrogance he had. He deserved retribution, to be sure.