TWENTY-THREE
The words hung in the air.
A death sentence.
Raziel’s grip on the silver sword tightened until his knuckles went white. The blade that had just claimed his brother’s life, his sister’s life, suddenly felt impossibly heavy in his hands. Around them, the ballroom was silent save for the soft drip of blood pooling beneath the headless corpses of Mael, Lana, and Zabriel.
“Nadi must die.”
Lilivra repeated the words as if they were simply a minor inconvenience—a small task to be completed before moving on to more important matters. Her starlight eyes held no malice, no cruelty. Just the patient certainty of someone who had watched civilizations rise and fall and knew that individual lives meant nothing in the grand sweep of history.
“No.” The word left Raziel’s lips before he could stop it. Before he could calculate the risks or weigh the consequences or do any of the things that had kept him alive for centuries. Just?—
No.
The refusal surprised even him, if he were honest with himself.
His entire life had been built on ruthless pragmatism, on the willingness to sacrifice anything and anyone for the sake of power. Forthisexact moment.
Raziel Nostrom had gone into the ocean. But the Serpent had been the one to emerge.
He had ordered deaths without flinching. Had watched houses burn without a flicker of remorse. Had carved his way through the world like a blade through flesh, leaving nothing but destruction in his wake.
And now, faced with the opportunity to have everything he’d ever wanted—the throne, the power, the absolute dominion over all of Runne—he was refusing. Because ofher. Because of one fae assassin who had wormed her way into his blackened heart and refused to leave.
Lilivra tilted her head, her white hair cascading over one shoulder like spilled moonlight. The gesture was almost innocent. “No?”
“I won’t do it.” He stepped closer to Nadi, placing himself between her and his grandmother. His wife and his grandmother. The sword was still in his hand, still dripping with his sibling’s blood, and he raised it now—not in threat, exactly, but in warning. “She’s mine.”
“Yours.” Lilivra’s smile didn’t waver. “Yes. She is. And that is precisely the problem, my grandson.”
She began to circle them slowly, her bare feet making no sound on the blood-slicked marble. The white gown she wore should have been stained crimson by now—she’d walked through pools of it—but the fabric remained pristine. Impossible. Perfect.
“You were always meant to rule alone, Raziel. That was the prophecy I gave you. That was the destiny I’ve been cultivating in you since you were a frightened child who came to me seeking answers.” Her voice was gentle. Maternal. Terrible.“One sovereign. One throne. One absolute ruler over vampires, humans, and fae alike. There is no room for weakness in that vision.”
“She’s not a weakness.” Even as he said it, Raziel knew it was a lie. Knew that Mael had been right all along. Nadiwashis weakness. The one vulnerability he’d never been able to eliminate, no matter how hard he’d tried. The one person in the world who could make him hesitate, make him doubt, make himfeel.
And he loved her for it.
Moons help him, he loved her.
“You know she is. She is the only weakness you have left,” Lilivra said, as if reading his thoughts. Perhaps she could. Perhaps that was another gift the ancient fae possessed—the ability to peer into the minds of lesser creatures and see all the soft, vulnerable places they tried so desperately to hide. “And it is a weakness that will destroy you if you let it fester. I’ve seen it before. I’ve watched stronger vampires than you fall because they couldn’t bear to cut away the parts of themselves that held them back. Like your father.”
She stopped circling, coming to rest directly in front of them. Her opal eyes found Raziel’s, and he felt the weight of centuries pressing down on him—the weight of all her expectations, all her plans, all the careful manipulation that had led him to this exact moment.
“Kill her,” Lilivra said softly, “and you will have everything you’ve ever wanted. The throne. The power. The chance to tear down this broken world and build something new from its ashes. Everything I promised you, grandson. Everything you’ve sacrificed for. You can build it in her honor, if you wish.”
“And if I refuse?”
The ancient fae’s smile finally faded. What replaced it was something cold. Something patient. Something that had waited millennium and could wait millennium more.
“If you refuse,” she said, “then I will kill you both. And I will wait for the next opportunity to arise. The next broken child with enough hatred in their heart and power in their blood to be molded into what I need.” A soft laugh escaped her. “You weren’t the first, Raziel. Did you think you were? I’ve cultivated dozens like you over the centuries. You’ve come closer than any of them—but if you falter now, at the final step…” She shrugged elegantly. “I’ll simply try again.”
The words hit Raziel hard. All his life, he’d believed he was special. Unique. But to Lilivra, he was just another tool. Another experiment. Anotherattempt.
Replaceable.
He should have known.
