Page 110 of She Who Holds My Wrath

He’s back. He’s here. He’s home.

But as much as those things are true, they couldn’t be farther from the truth for him. Because whatever came back with him, whatever followed him out of death… It isn’t finished taking pieces of him yet.

Chapter 38

DAISY

Korithax has barely been back forty-eight hours, but I’m already heading to the council chambers, my spine straight, and my expression carved from stone.

Whatever fractures are ripping through my chest—whatever fear, confusion, and longing still clings to me from last night—I lock it all away. Queens don’t bleed out their emotions in public. They don’t unravel. They don’t get the luxury of softness when war is circling like a vulture overhead.

The door swings open at my approach, the iron hinges groaning as is if even the castle itself feels the weight of what’s to come. Warm torchlight spills across the stone, catching in the veins of soulstone threaded through the floor.

Everyone is already there.

Lucifer’s lounging against the far wall like all of this is nothing more than a mildly interesting inconvenience, wings folded sleekly against a sharply tailored shirt stitched with crimson thread. The open collar reveals ivory skin and the flash of an expensive chain at his throat. His blood-red eyes sweep the room with lazy judgement, every inch of him beautiful, dangerous, and offensively self-aware of both.

Maelkar stands near the table with his arms crossed, dressed in fitted black leathers that cling to broad shoulders and a lean, lethal frame. His dark hair falls artfully dishevelled around his face, as though he and Lucifer have just finished doing something I don’t wish to think about. Shadows write around his boots in restless coils. I’ve come to notice the more people he’s around, the more erratic they become. I don’t know if they were always like that, but it’s definitely been worse since Aurora’s Veil.

Sariya and Elyistria stand side by side, light and sunshine woven so tightly together, they’ve almost become one presence. Sariya wears flowing gold silks that move like sunlit water, her deep bronze skin flecked with gold glowing warmly beneath the chamber lights, and amber eyes bright with ancient foresight. Elyistria is draped in layered white and pale silver, the fabric shimmering faintly with every breath. Her pale hair tumbles in soft waves down her back, and power glimmers beneath her skin like moonlight trapped in ice.

Vor’Khar looms near the maps, both massive arms braced against the stone table. He wears dark armour scarred by countless battles, plates etched with storm symbols and old runes. Sparks occasionally crackle along his knuckles as though violence itself lives beneath his flesh.

Virena is sat rigidly in a high-backed chair, elegant in layered blue-grey chiffon robes that drift like the mist around her body. Silver embroidery curls along the hems like frost patterns. Wisps of fog cling to her shoulders and lap, never fully settling. Her mis-matched pale eyes are distant today, the storm-grey one darker than usual, like thunderclouds gathering behind glass.

And standing at the far end of the table, is Aran. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. His white shirt is half-buttoned beneath a dark jacket he clearly threw on without care, the collar crooked, sleeves rolled roughly to his veined forearms. His jaw is tight, emerald eyes bruised by grief and fury. He doesn’t look at me when I enter, and the absence of even the smallest welcome has my stomach twisting so hard, I almost falter in my steps, tears burning instantly behind my eyes.

Our newest member, Danika, stands beside him, the newly crowned ruler of Aurora’s Veil. Her posture is immaculate with a ruthless expression that’s composed in a way that tells me she has learned very quickly what kind of world she rules. She wears structured midnight-blue silks threaded with silver constellations, the gown cut sharp enough to resemble armour. Her dark hair is pinned elegantly away from her face, exposing pointed ears adorned with delicate chains of moonstone. She doesn’t wear a crown. Instead, a circlet rests just above her brow—a crescent moon at its centre, filled with captured aurora light that shifts and glows in vibrant colours.

I take my place at the head of the table, the silk of my blood-red gown whispering over the stone as I sit. The colour is deliberate—warfare dressed as elegance. The fitted bodice cinches tight enough to keep my posture perfect, while the long sleeves drip to my wrists in dark crimson folds like fresh-spilled wine. Gold stitching traces flames along the neckline and down the seams.

My hands are folded neatly in my lap beneath the table, purposely hiding the way they shake and are damp with sweat. “We’re here to prepare,” I say calmly, despite the emotions warring within me. “Updates?”

Danika inclines her head, every inch the newly forged monarch, and all attention goes straight to her. “Aurora’s Veil is secure—for now.”

Lucifer whistles low and I have to physically stop myself from rolling my eyes. “Strong start, sweetheart.”

Danika doesn’t even glance at him. Her profile remains sharp and regal, chin high, hands clasped before her. The dismissal is so clean, Virena lets out a soft snicker behind a veil of mist.

“I executed every confirmed traitor tied to the Divine Six,” Danika continues, her starlit eyes devoid of the warmth I saw back in Aurora’s Veil. “Several were embedded within Kaelith’s former information channels.”

At the mention of the Duskwalker’s name, Maelkar’s shadows bristle violently around him. My own power recoils beneath my skin in instinctive disgust.

“Their heads are displayed at the palace gates,” she adds cooly. “As a warning.”

Lucifer grins sadistically. “If I wasn’t already a taken man⁠—”

Maelkar moves so quick it’s startling, punching Lucifer so hard in the stomach the crack of the impact echoes off the chamber walls. He doubles over with a pained groan, wings jerking wide.

“Well, you are,” Maelkar snaps. “So shut the fuck up.”

Virena laughs softly, silver mist curling in amusement. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Shadowtongue.”

“I’m not jealous,” Maelkar mutters darkly. “I’m territorial.”

“Same thing,” Lucifer wheezes, clutching his abdomen and winking anyway.

I can’t bring myself to join in and smile. “Maelkar,” I say, forcing focus back to the table. “You went back to Noxthrallia?”