I raise a single finger, and his pleas cease. The hall falls silent, servants nearby quicken their pace, eyes cast downward as they pretend not to hear the pathetic display of a betrayer.
I stand slowly before descending the steps of the throne. “You swore your loyalty the day you took up that armor. That oath meant nothing to you, it seems.”
“Your Imperial Majesty, I beg you! I never meant for this to happen! Mercy—please—mercy!” Barric grovels, his trembling hands clasped in front of him.
“Mercy?” I’m close enough that my shadow swallows him. “Mercy is for the strong, for the loyal. Tell me, Barric, what strength have you shown? What loyalty?”
His sobs grow louder.
“Take him to the dungeons. I will deal with him myself.”
Larn bows again. “Shall I prepare for his execution?”
“Not yet.” I glance at Barric, who is being dragged away. “Keep him alive. His suffering is far from over.”
As the heavy doors to the dungeons close with a loud echo, I turn and make my way toward my private study. The corridors, lined with relics of my family’s unbroken legacy, reverberate with my footsteps. My robe drags behind me as servants bow low with their faces turned away.
The fire in my study smolders, and its faint warmth does little to dispel the chill of the stone walls. Shadows dance across the shelves of ancient tomes and scrolls, over a map of Vathéria spread across the wall.
But no map, no power, eases the void inside me. Only one presence ever did.
If only she were still alive.
I move to the far corner of the study and push the map aside. Brushing against the cold stone, I descend the narrow spiral staircase. It is always cold and dark in my private part of the dungeons, and now, the scent of decay threatens to overtake the space.
At the base of the stairs, two stoic guards bow at the waist. I step inside, and the heavy door groans as it closes behind me.
The chamber is freezing, so cold it seeps into my bones. But it is what must be done to keep her whole. There, lying on the stone table, is Eyleen.
My beloved.
Her body, preserved in frost and time, is as beautiful as the day she defied me. Her skin, tinged blue, gleams under thetorchlight like a sacred relic. I step closer, my breath visible in the chilled air, my heart both heavy and aflame.
I run my fingers along her frozen cheek, marveling at the icy smoothness of her skin. How beautiful can one be? A true blue rose before my eyes.
The touch sends a thrill through me, the same sense of possession I’ve felt since I first brought her here. My hand tightens in her hair, the strands stiff with frost, and I yank her head back, leaning down until my lips hover near her ear.
“Your daughter thinks she can escape me, as you have. She will learn, as you did, that there is no escape from my reach. She will walk the pathIchoose for her.”
The rage boiling inside me softens as I look upon her lifeless eyes. The satisfaction of having Eyleen here soothes the storm that has consumed me for years. She was always the one thing I could never truly control—until now.
I release her hair, and my fingers move down to trace the curve of her jaw. My breathing deepens, the tension in my body growing taut. The sight of her, frozen, belonging to no one but me, fills me with a sense of victory.
The frigid air bites at my skin, but it only heightens the fire within me as my hands drop to my trousers. “You are mine,” I murmur. “Always mine.”
A knock at the door slices through the silence.
Oh, for god’s rose.
“Come in,” I call. Only one man would dare disturb me now.
The door opens, and Bard walks quietly across the chamber. His hood conceals his face, but I know him. My shadow, my ever-loyal instrument of order. As he approaches, he bows deeply. “Your Imperial Majesty,” he begins. “I bring news.”
I wave a hand for him to continue, undoing my trousers with the other. My attention is split, half on Bard, half on my beloved.
I hope you will forgive me. I shall spoil you after so many years.
“Gregor has been positioned in the forest surrounding Ávera, as you instructed,” Bard says. “He is ready.”
