Page 156 of She Who Holds My Wrath

Korithax’s hand closes around Graille’s throat, lifting him from the chair as though he weighs nothing at all. The restraints snap under the sudden force, leather tearing, metal screeching. Graille’s feet dangle uselessly, kicking as he claws at Korithax’s wrist.

I expect to feel sick. To flinch and look away. But I don’t.

Smoke pours from Korithax’s shoulders, thick and alive, crawling down his arms like something sentient. His black fire ignites in a slow, deliberate burn. Not wild, not explosive. It’s controlled. Focused. A punishment.

Graille’s face purples, his eyes bulging as he chokes. Korithax leans in close, close enough that I know his words are meant only for him.

“You don’t get a quick death,” he says quietly. “You do not get mercy.”

He slams Graille back into the chair with enough force that not only does the chair snap, the stone floor cracks beneath it. The boy screams as bone crunches—his arm bending at an angle it was never meant to. The sound echoes through the dungeon.

Still, I don’t move.

Korithax’s Void Shadow manifests into claws sliding out from the tips of his fingers—obsidian, black, and almost gleaming. He drags them slowly down Graille’s chest, not deep enough to kill, just enough to split skin and draw a ribbon of blood. The boy sobs, high and broke. He’s begging now, apologies tumbling out between gasps.

I feel… nothing. No nausea. No twist of guilt. No whisper in the back of my head telling me this is wrong, that he’s still just a child. The absence settles in my chest like ice.

Korithax works methodically. He burns, then uses a salve to heal it just enough to keep Graille conscious. Peels skin from muscle with terrifying precision. Lets the pain linger before taking it away and giving it back again. Graille’s voice shreds itself raw, screams collapsing into wet, desperate whimpers.

I watch every second.

This boy tried to turn my husband into a weapon against himself. Tried to fracture the fragile trust we’re still rebuilding. Tried to make me a symbol of fear instead of a queen. And I feel no remorse. That should horrify me. Instead, a colder thought slips in, uninvited. This is what war does.

Korithax pauses, smoke flaring violently as Graille finally breaks, thinking it will save him. Words spill out in a flood—names, whispers, fragments of plans. Cells hidden in Fjellheim Heights. Messengers passing through the mist paths. Commands delivered through dreams, through voices that never show their faces.

Lucifer moves first, calm and efficient, noting the information as if this were just any normal interrogation. Maelkar’s shadows shift, his Vyreshades stirring in the depths of the basement, absorbing every word and storing it away for later. I hear it all. I absorb it, catalogue it.

When Graille has nothing left to give, Korithax straightens slowly. The dungeon is silent now, save for the ragged, wet sound of Graille’s breathing.

Korithax doesn’t look at me when he ends it. There’s no spectacle. No roar. Just a sharp, brutal snap of his neck, and Graille goes still. Smoke retracts and fire dies. And all that remains is a lifeless, broken body on the dungeon floor, surrounded by pale-blue blood.

That’s it. Done. I wait for something to hit me. A wave of delayed horror. A sickening drop in my stomach. But nothing comes.

But what does come is fear. Not of Korithax. It’s fear of myself. Because as I stand there, staring at the corpse of a boy barely old enough to shave, I realise something fundamental has shifted inside me. I used to grieve. I used to ache for the innocent casualties of divine games. I used to believe that surviving meant hanging onto the softness and sunshine no matter what. Now? Now I feel myself hardening, layer by layer, like ice forming over a deep, dark lake. And I don’t know how thick it’s going to get before this war is over.

Korithax finally turns to me. The rage is gone from his face, replaced with something akin to hunger.

“Everybody out. Now,” he growls, never taking his eyes from me.

I hold his intense gaze as I hear the muffled footsteps of everyone leaving, until the only sound is the sharp click of the door as the last person exits.

He prowls towards me, pure heat blazing in his eyes, backing me against the table where Lucifer’s notes lie scattered. The backs of my thighs hit the cold metal surface and I gasp softly, looking up at him through dark lashes.

Before I even get a chance to speak, his mouth crashes onto mine, devouring me like a starved man. I moan into his mouth, the sound only making him more ravenous as he lifts me effortlessly and sits me on the edge of the table, his lips never leaving mine.

Both of our hands move at once, clawing and ripping at each other’s clothes until they’re discarded in a heap on the cold stone floor.

Using one hand, he pushes my thighs apart, his fingers grazing my heat. He dips two fingers inside me before pulling back, dragging my arousal up to rub slow, deliberate circles over my sensitive clit. I gasp into his mouth, biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. The last of his restraint breaks, a snarl tearing from his throat as he shoves my chest back, so I’m laid flat against the cold metal.

He drops to his knees between my legs, and I push up on my elbows to watch as he wastes no time dragging his tongue from my hole to my clit, his elongated canines grazing the sensitive flesh.

“Korithax,” I gasp, pushing up further to wrap my fingers around one of his gleaming onyx horns.

He hums against me, the vibration against my clit making me whimper as he continues to devour me. Sliding a finger inside me with one hand, he uses the other to softly push on my lower abdomen, just above my mound. His finger and tongue move in perfect synchronisation as he applies pressure.

The pleasure builds fast, too fast, my pussy clenching tighter and tighter around his digit until I’m screaming through my climax. A soft, wet gushing sound fills the space, and I jerk up in shock as Korithax chuckles darkly between my thighs, still licking me through the aftershock of my orgasm.

“Did I just⁠—”