Courtiers screamed as guards scrambled to shield the king, and even Varis rushed out one of the side doors. But Draevyn could only stare.
He could’ve sworn his brother was shouting for him, but everything around him faded as his heart began to crack in his chest.
“You’re trapped in a room full of trained men,” the king spat at her as he stood from his seat, pointing a swollen finger at her.
“No,” Esmyra said sternly, taking a step forward. “You’re trapped in a room withme.”
All the guard’s grips tightened on their weapons.
“Go back to the hellish depths you came from, witch!” Atlas bellowed, and it snapped Draevyn from his trance.
Darkness exploded from Atlas’s outstretched hands, shadows slithering like living vipers through the air, curling and reaching for her.
“Wait, no! Esmyr—” Draevyn’s plea for her halted at the edge of his tongue as he watched.
With a flick of her wrist, water rushed up from the marble floor as if it had seeped through the cracks. The tendrils of both liquid andshadows met midair, hissing as the two forces collided. The impact sent a gust of energy blasting through the chamber, rattling chandeliers and snuffing out several torches.
Guards rushed to the king as he bellowed out nonsense from his throne, their swords drawn. She turned her gaze upon them and smirked. Then the air seemed to ripple with her unspoken command.
Water lashed out, wrapping around their bodies with the speed of a striking serpent. They were yanked back, their feet lifting off the floor as the liquid constricted around their limbs. Some choked, eyes bulging as they were unable to move.
“Holy Irah,” Draevyn whispered, finding himself rooted in place.
Screams continued to echo off the high ceilings.
“Now, now, boys. Let’s not get in my way,” she cooed. Her eyes drifted up the steps of the dais and toward the king.
Draevyn’s stare followed hers.
King Rowe’s face twisted in fury. “Witch?—”
She held up a webbed, taloned finger, halting his insult. “Not quite. You men really need something more original to fear.”
Draevyn’s thoughts became an unrelenting storm.
Itwasher, wasn’t it?
The woman before him had her eyes, her voice, her power. But there was something different—something far colder and somehow more ruthless. The way she moved, wielding her magic with effortless control, and the way she looked at them all like they were nothing.
His throat tightened, and he wasn’t sure if he remembered how to breathe as she held the guards in place, water twisting and tightening around them like living chains. They struggled, their eyes wide with panic, their lips turning blue as the magic stole their breath.
Is she truly going to kill them?
Atlas had acted without hesitation, summoning his shadows, lashing out like this was any other threat.
Draevyn didn’t know what to do. His instincts screamed at him to act, to stop this, to stopher. But another part of him wanted her to destroy this wretched place or drown it in her fury. To take her revenge and consume anything in her path.
The world—the gods—had already taken so much from her. It was only right she took it back.
The sight of her, standing in defiance before the king, made something twist inside him.
Esmyra was magnificent.
She was terrifying.
And everything about her was absolutely fucking lethal.
The king sneered, his lip curling in disgust. “You wretched cunt. Who the fuck do you think you are, coming to my kingdom and wreaking havoc? I’ll have your head for this. It’ll be a pretty little prize atop my mantle. And now you’ll meet Lephyrin’s Phoenix!”
