“I was just speaking with Vasquez about the girl,” the king said. “We’ve been watching her progress with great interest.”
Vasquez turned his head, smiling like a man who enjoyed breaking things. “I took the liberty of observing her training with Phoenix. Is it true she can now shape shadow into armour? Project force?”
I narrowed my eyes. “When did you watch her?”
He shrugged, smug. “I have my ways.”
I turned my attention to Ashton. “Yes. It’s true. But there’s more beneath the surface. We’re working with her to unlock it—carefully.”
The king and Vasquez exchanged a glance. Something passed between them. Something I didn’t like.
“The recent surge in attacks from my brother has me... concerned,” Ashton said. “And then there are whispers—something is brewing in the north. I’ve called a summit. I want Elira at my side.”
I stiffened. “Sir—she’s not ready. She’s barely begun to control her power.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t need control. I need spectacle.”
Vasquez stepped forward, all false politeness. “We’ve discussed methods to accelerate her compliance.”
I felt my magic coil in my chest.
“No,” I said flatly.
“The mirror room has... proven useful,” Vasquez continued, his voice syrupy. “It worked wonders for Allison.”
Something snapped in me.
Power surged from my hand before I could stop it. Vasquez flew back, slammed against the far wall, blood pouring from his nose.
“Youwill notspeak her name to me again,” I snarled, locking him down with raw will.
He staggered to his feet, blade half-drawn. “You little punk—”
“Gentlemen,” Ashton sighed, amused. “Not in my presence, thank you. Save your venom for Vael and his monsters.”
I kept the pressure on Vasquez’s mind. He fought back—hard. The room crackled with restrained violence.
“Thorne,” Ashton said quietly.
And I felt it.
The brand on my chest flared—searing and absolute, forcing my body to obey. I let go. Stumbled a step back.
“Excellent,” Ashton said smoothly. “So. The timeline has shifted. I want Elira ready for hermarkby the end of the month.”
I froze. “Sire—the mark requires a willing participant. If she resists—”
“You dare explain my own magic to me?” Ashton’s voice dropped to a whisper, more terrifying than a shout.
I swallowed my fury. My pride.
“No, sire.”
“Good,” he said. “She will be marked. And she will be loyal to me—andonlyme—by the end of the month.”
And now, here I sat alone, wondering how in all Gods names would I be able to convince my little shadow to take the brand.
I had seen what happened to those who refused. I never wanted to see that again.
