“Fae they may be, but if all they have done these long years is torment the fruit vendors and fishermen of this shithole, I doubt they will be much of a match for what awaits them across the Untold Sea.”
Marlayna’s lips press into a thin line, but I see the crack in her poise, the way her nails dig into the silk of her robe.
“Donotunderestimate me, Daedalus,” she hisses. “Rourke underestimated me to his peril. You will do as I command.”
And that is her fatal mistake.
“Youdarespit orders atme?” The words leave me in a low, rumbling growl, curling through the stale air like a storm on the verge of breaking.
“Youdarethink yourself worthy to stand at my side?” I step forward, and the shadows at my feet slither in response.
“Youdarebelieve you are beautiful enough to capture my eye?” My voice darkens, and so does the room.
“Youdarethink yourselfstrong enoughto tame my heart?”
The last sliver of light is swallowed as the darkness rushes in.
I can taste their fear, sharp, metallic, intoxicating. The air hums with it, thick and suffocating, pressing in from all sides. I hear the hard swallows, see the way their skin prickles beneath the weight of what dwells inside me. It surges hot and feral through my veins, something I have fought to keep buried for so long. Too long. The darkness of the void, the immeasurable power, the sheer exhilaration of walking hand in hand with death. Of being its master.
Smoke unfurls from my fingertips, shadows curling, waiting, pleading for release.
“You are not her,” I breathe, my vision laced with darkness. “You will never be her.”
“Daedalus.” Solena's voice reaches me as if from a great distance, though she stands just behind me. A beat. A sharp inhale. Then firmer, more urgent. “Rook.” A snap of my name, meant to pull me back. “Don’t. He will find you.”
I know what she means. I know what she fears. But the hunger, the need, is too strong. The power sings to me, calls me home. For the briefest of moments, I consider giving in. Consider letting it consume me. The freedom of it. The raw, unrelenting force of what I am.
Across the room, Marlayna rises from her chaise, every movement controlled, every inch of her fighting to maintain composure. But I see the flicker in her eyes, the swallow that betrays her fear.
“Very well then,” she murmurs, voice carefully measured even as her throat bobs. “If you will not see reason, then I will take your head back to the Sundered Kingdoms instead and claim your throne for myself.”
My chin dips, and a low, mocking chuckle spills from my lips.
“No, Lady Marlayna,” I murmur. “The only thing claimed today will be your soul.”
Marlayna’s cry rings out like a bell of war. “Kill them!”
Steel glints in the dim light as Reon’s captors move to sever his throat, but they are far too slow.
Darkness uncoils from my fingers like serpents, striking with ruthless precision. One Fae is ripped from his feet, sent crashing into the wall with a sickening crack, his body crumpling like discarded parchment. The other barely has time to blink before the tendrils latch onto his wrist. A sharp pull, a wet, tearing sound. His sword arm is severed at the elbow, the blade clattering uselessly to the floor as a spray of crimson arcs through the air.
The blood splashes across Marlayna’s face, staining her silk robe in violent reds. She gasps, stumbling back, her perfect features twisted in a grotesque mask of horror. But she doesn’t remain still for long.
I watch, frozen, as the blood splattered across Marlayna’s chest writhes unnaturally, like it has a life of its own. It hardens into jagged crimson needles, and with a deafening scream, they rip through the air toward me, faster than I can conjure a shield of smoke to protect myself. The deadly projectiles are mere inches away when time suddenly shudders to a halt.
My gaze locks onto Reon, still kneeling on the floor, his captor’s blood staining his freckled face. His hands tremble as he molds a golden orb of glittering light, and as his power warps time, everything around us slows, becomes a blur, while we remain untouched by the suspension of reality.
Zyphoro and Solena slip from their captors’ reach. The soldiers stand paralyzed, reduced to trembling, sluggish statues. Blades droop uselessly from their hands as Reon’s power drags them down, turning flesh and bone to stone.
“Disarm them, Orios,” I command, my eyes still fixed on Marlayna, frozen in the moments before the needle-thin blood can pierce me.
This is what it feels like to be at the mercy of time itself. To know what is coming, to feel its inevitability, but to be powerless to change it. I imagine this is what it is like for Emranth, how he can play with me, slow me, make me feel like a toy in his hands. But Reon’s is not as powerful. His power is specific, localized, and fleeting. It won’t last long. I can already see the strain in his jaw, his muscles taut as he holds the orb, exerting every ounce of his strength.
I step closer to Marlayna, watching as her eyes water, her breath ragged, each inhale a struggle against the invisible force pressing against her chest. The hunger within me stirs, dark and insatiable. The beast of the void whispers, urging me to take control, to feed.
Orios moves swiftly, peeling back the numb fingers of the Taramethos guards and disarming them.
I tower over Marlayna, watching as her mouth twists with words she cannot speak.
