Something about the way he says the words makes me think he’s implying I’m hiding something. But I have no secrets. At least, not ones that seem to do me any good. Everyone around me learns what they are before I do.
Cyan continues the path ahead, the weight of darkness looming heavily over him. He’s the opposite of his air-wielding son.
“Where is Callum?” I look around, not recognizing any of the guards.
It’s not unusual with the sheer number of them and the fact that the king seems to keep them constantly on rotation. But tonight, there isn’t one face I recognize.
“On task with the Guard for dinner,” Cyan answers, pausing when we reach a familiar door at the end of the hall.
My heart drops as the guard opens it.
Did the king hear about my magic fluttering today, so he’s decided to see how far he can push it?
I take the stone stairs, clinging to the sides of my dress so it doesn’t drag as we descend.
At the bottom of the staircase, Cyan finallysteps aside, allowing the guards to continue back up the stairs. I hadn’t realized the ones behind me didn’t follow, but they leave quickly. And when they do, it’s not Alasdair standing waiting for me.
It’s not even a room filled with corpses.
At the center is the king with Isolde standing beside him.
My eyebrows scrunch as my heart begins to race. After bringing me my dress for tonight, she left to fetch a tonic that would help settle my nerves. But she never returned. I hadn’t kept track of the passing time when Cyan came to my room. Too lost in thought to consider anyone but myself.
How am I always so selfish?
“Your Majesty.” My voice shakes as I fan my dress and bow my head.
My grip quivers as I look up at him. He’s smiling, but there’s nothing easy or reassuring about it.
King Malachi has many smiles, and I’m still learning what each one means. There are the practiced, polished grins he offers his guests. His lustful smirk he lends to Selia and other beautiful Fae who hang on him. Then there’s something darker—truer. A smile that is no more comforting than a dagger to the heart.
“Cyan tells me you had a bit of a breakthrough today.” King Malachi brushes Isolde’s blonde hair off her shoulder, and for the first time since stepping off the stairs, I meet her eyes.
There’s nothing to indicate what he might have said to her about why she’s here. Her gaze is unflinching, and her back is perfectly straight.
“It was nothing really.” I glance at the king. “A flicker. But it’s still unpredictable.”
“Yes.” King Malachi circles Isolde, not taking his eyes off me. “It’s interesting that both times theseflickershave occurred, it’s been for him. How does King Riven draw out such a strong reaction?”
My throat closes in as I try to swallow. “It wasn’t him. Greer’s training?—”
The king waves a hand, cutting me off. “Your lies benefit no one, Elorie. And I do not care to hear them. What matters is that I think I’ve figured it out. Your emotion is strong for Wilder, for whatever reason. I’d like to think it’s hate, when he’ll crush every last one of your people painfully and brutally, but I sense it’s not. Either way, your magic needs a trigger. A reason to wake up.”
He pauses with his hand on the peak of Isolde’s shoulder, and my stomach starts to sink. I’m already shaking my head, not yet knowing what he plans to do, but understanding in the pit of my stomach that it can’t be anything good.
My stare is fixed on Isolde, who holds my gaze. Her face is calm. Too calm.
Acceptance.
Her mouth forms a silent whisper I only recognize because I’ve said something like it a thousand times myself while facing the heat of a pyre.“May Sarrow see me to you.”
“Please don’t.” The words are hanging on my lips when the king grips the orb around his neck. A surge of something that burns like fire fills the room. It bursts in light, stealing the glow from Isolde’s eyes. “No!”
She falls to the ground, and I rush forward, too slow to catch her before her head cracks against the stone. Her expression is unchanged and empty as her limp body hangs in my arms.
“It’s good to see you making friends.” The king stands over me. Tears stream down my cheeks. “Friends are good for motivation. I wonder if this will do the trick.”
“I can’t.” My voice shakes worse than my hands as I brush them over Isolde’s already paling cheeks, her throat.
