He has it now. But he has something else, too. A secret. A wicked, evil thing curling through his veins.
He may rule Zerynthia—but can he rule himself?
The rot pulses again, answering the question with a creeping, hungry heat. And Kael realizes, with a cold clarity that cuts deeper than any blade, that the battle for his kingdom is over.But the battle for his soul has only just begun.
A brightness scratches at the edges of his mind—a light so radiant and captivating it steals the breath from his lungs. A light he’d know anywhere. In any time, space, or plane. He’d know it. A light that dances in his darkness. A heartbeat that thrums in time with his own.
It pulses toward him, both persistent and tentative.
A question.
My love?
But he shuts it out, closing his mind to it. Because this decaying, rotting thing inside him will be no one else’s burden buthis.
Footsteps echo through the halls, frantic and urgent, snapping Kael from his thoughts. For reasons he can’t explain, his pulse quickens at the sound. As if his senses know what his mind doesn’t.
One of the maids pokes her head around the door frame, eyes wide and terrified.
“Your Highness?” she asks, voice shaky but not fragile. Pressing, grave, edged.
“Come in,” he says, already pushing himself to stand, not waiting for her to move.
The old woman steps through the doors, lips pursed, fingers entwined against the apron at her waist in a way that makes her look composed. But the way she moves… is anything but.
She drops into a low bow.
“What is it?” Kael snaps, firmer than he intended, taking another step forward.
The woman doesn’t hesitate. “It’s Princess Nalya, Your Majesty. Come. Quickly,” she rushes out, already spinning on her heel.
Panic lances through his chest.
Horror grips his throat, strangling the breath from his lungs.
And he runs. Before thought has caught up with movement, he runs like he’s charging into battle.
Through the halls.
Up the stairs.
Until the doors to Nalya’s chambers are the only thing between him and his little sister. Him and the battle.
He doesn’t wait.
Doesn’t ask for permission.
He slams his boot into the door like he isn’t the King of Zerynthia, but like he’s a brother entrusted to protect his sister.
The door gives way with a single kick.
And he knows something is wrong before he sees her. Not the room. Not the silence. But the absence of her. Like whatever made NalyaNalyahas already begun to slip somewhere he cannot follow. Like the broken pieces of her have finally given up trying to mend. Like she held on for as long as she could,until the last part of her finally let go. Like the world took her apart piece by piece, and never thought to put her back together again.
But nothing can prepare him for what he sees.
His mind rejects it.
Refuses to understand what his eyes are trying to tell him.
