“It’s a shallow cut,” Kaelypso said, her voice faint. “If the velsinyte isn’t immediately expunged from our body, we cannot fully heal.”
“Youjust did that?!” Esmyra shrieked. “What else are you able to do without me knowing?”
“Never mind that now. We were lucky. We must leave.”
“Not yet.” She needed to finish this.
“You play dirty, princeling.” Esmyra’s voice was a lethal calm as she turned to Atlas, her spine straightening.
Shadows grabbed her by the wrists, holding her in place as if shewere bolted to the floor. Her power felt distant, like trying to grasp smoke with broken fingers, but it was still there. Buried beneath the pain, sluggish and unresponsive.
Draevyn turned his back to her and ran toward his brother.
A ragged growl tore from her throat as she fought against the weight dragging her down like an anchor. Kaelypso’s magic lived inside her, in her bones, her blood, her every breath. It was who she was, and right now, it was the only thing keeping her from dying in this godsforsaken place.
She recalled what she learned in Maerinys: A velsinyte-inflicted wound was fatal to a being of magic, but only to a god if it struck their heart.
If that bullet tore through her chest, she would’ve dropped dead right here.
Panic gripped her by the throat as Atlas lifted the gun. “Say goodbye, you bitch.”
Esmyra tried to summon all the power she could, uncaring if she took herself out along with them, but she went unanswered. And then she could’ve sworn she heard Draevyn’s voice screaming for her, but everything around her fizzled away.
There was an odd sensation in her mind, like talons dragging down the edges of it.
She attempted to send a bolt of her power through Lephyrin’s heir, but motion caught her eye on the dais.
Her stomach dropped at the sight.
No longer was King Rowe’s body there, slumped over in his own drool and waste.
Draevyn now sat upon his father’s throne, a golden crown entangled in his dark hair. But that wasn’t what had bile crawling up her throat.
Syrena sat in his lap, wearing the same ethereal, see-through dress Esmyra had when she arrived in Lephyrin. Both Syrena and Draevyn’s eyes were locked on her. Her sister’s legs were spread wide by Draevyn’s knees, his arm curling over her thigh as his fingers slid into her.
Syrena’s back arched, and she leaned into his chest, her legs somehow spreading wider as his fingers glistened in the low light every time they pulled out of her. She let out a moan, her head falling back against his shoulder.
Draevyn’s lips turned upward in a feral grin, his eyesstilllocked on Esmyra. “How could you have ever thought it would be you? The only thing you’re good for is ruin.” His voice was edged with a cruelty she’d never heard from him before, and it seemed to echo all around her.
Esmyra was going to vomit. Her heart slammed against her ribs, pulse thundering in her ears so loudly she thought she would go deaf. The entire room was spinning; everything around her was nothing but a blur aside from the scene of them on the throne.
She thought her body would burst into flames as unrelenting wrath seared her from the inside out.
“You motherfucker!” Esmyra bellowed.
She moved to take a step forward, ready to force every ounce of magic she had left at him, hoping it was enough to kill him.
But her step was cut short, her eyes flaring.
Standing before her now, blood seeping through his fingers as he clutched his chest, was Cyrus Blackwood. Her father stood in the middle of the throne room with a blade protruding from his heart.
Her lips parted in disbelief, a single tear slipping from her lower lashes. “Father?” The word was a whisper. A choked breath left her lips at the sight of him.
“My Esmi.”
Her blood turned to ice.
“You let me die.” His words were labored as crimson continued to pour onto the floor at his feet. “How could you?”
