Page 73 of She Who Holds My Wrath

I don’t recognise the coldness in my voice. I don’t recognise any part of me at the moment, if I’m being truthful.

He visibly swallows, throat bobbing hard, his grip faltering before the sword slips from his hand and clatters against the stone. The sound rings out far louder than it should.

“Good.” That’s all I give him. No praise, no mercy beyond what I’ve already decided.

I brush past him, close enough to feel the tremor in his body, the way he flinches as if he’s expecting me to strike anyway. He doesn’t move as I stride to the double doors. I don’t bother to see if he runs. Right now, I don’t care. All that matters is what’s ahead. The doors. The throne room.

I draw in a slow breath, gathering every ounce of rage, grief, and fury into myself until it fills every hollow space. Marta. Theodus. Selunea. Korithax. Talia. Every loss, every scream, every moment of helplessness—I take it all and let it sharpen me.

I think of every heroine I’ve ever read about, every girl who kicked her way to freedom, who refused to stay broken, who rose no matter how many times the world tried to crush her, and I move.

My boot slams forwards and the doors explode open, slamming against the stone with a thunderous crack. The sound echoes throughout the vast room causing conversations to die mid-sentence. Silence follows for one long, suspended second. And then the chaos erupts. Dozens of heads snap towards me, faces twisting from confusion to horror in an instant. Then the screaming starts. It’s high-pitched and raw and all consuming. Because it isn’t their king who has entered. No. Striding down the centre of the throne room is something else entirely. A vengeful queen. A mad woman. A monster made from grief and fire, with their king’s head hanging from her grip.

I stride up the centre of the room in perfect silence, the soft click of my boots the only sound. On either side, nobles, regular folk, and soldiers shrink back, their expressions a mix of fear and disbelief. The air tastes thick of fear and adrenaline. I can feel it in them, the shift, the understanding settling in. Something has irreversibly changed.

Step by step, I climb the dais until I stand before the throne--his gaudy, gilded monstrosity of a chair. A seat built for a man who thought himself untouchable. I stop before it for just a moment, standing there, breathing, feeling the weight in my hand and the heat in my veins. With one final steadying breath, I turn to face the hall with my head held high, unadulterated fury in my eyes.

“This,” I announce, my voice cutting clean through the chaos as I raise Kaelith’s head high for all to see, “was your leader.”

I let them look. Let it sink in. Let the truth rot whatever loyalty they still cling to. Then I drop it. The head hits the marble with a wet, heavy thud. It rolls once, twice, before coming to rest at the edge of the dais. His lifeless eyes stare at the people who once bowed to him.

“Your king,” I spit, the words laced with venom, my voice ringing through the silence, “was conspiring with the Six.”

A collective gasp ripples through the room. It spreads like a shockwave, whispers breaking, bodies shifting, disbelief cracking open across every face that stares up at me. Good. Let them feel it. Let them understand who they followed.

“He was working with them,” I continue, my voice rising, “lusting for power that was never his to claim. He kidnapped me days ago. Drugged me. Tried to make me into something he could control.”

The memory flashes, and rage ignites.

“He tried to make me his bride.” My voice sharpens to a deadly rage. “I am the Queen of Hell. Korithax’s wife. The rightful heir to the throne of Zeriavoss.”

I take a step forwards, the sound of my boot echoing in the silence. “I am the reborn Goddess, Dasmyrin.” The name lands heavy, the pulsing heartbeats within the room raising with every word I speak.

“And I will never,” I bite out, “belong to another man.”

I let my gaze drag across the hall, taking in every face. Old and young, nobles and soldiers, serving girls in the same revealing silks Selunea once wore.

“Kaelith wasn’t a ruler,” I continue, voice steady. “He was a tyrant. He wanted to use me, to rule everything. Even the Six themselves.”

I raise my hand and point to the severed head at my feet. “This,” I snarl, the word tearing free from something furious, “is what happens to traitors,”

My voice rises, carrying to every corner in the room. “This is what happens to those who side with the Six.”

Chapter 29

MAELKAR

Three days ago.

I’ve never had an issue with being naked.

In fact, I usually prefer it. But there’s being naked without clothes, and then there’s being naked without my power. And without my shadows curling at my heels, without the pulse of corruption humming under my skin—I feel wrong. So very fucking wrong. I feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with bare flesh.

I cannot believe I was drugged by that absolute shit eater. I checked the drink. I sifted through it with my magic, scraped every layer of it apart with dark energy, and there was nothing. Not a whisper of poison. Not a hint of enchantment. Which means Kaelith somehow found a way to hide a drug even from me—someone who can sense shady shit from another realm away.

I don’t know how he pulled it off, but I’m willing to bet it involves the celestial cunts he’s been cosying up to. The last thing I remember is the corridors tilting beneath my feet, my magic lagging behind like it was stuck in tar. Then… nothing.

I roll my neck with a slow, aching groan and peel my eyes open. I’m strung up in a massive stone chamber carved directly into the mountain—an open, exposed space that feels like a landing pad for some ancient beast. The entire front wall is gone, replaced by nothing but open air and a frigid wind that knifes straight through my bones. Towering columns of dark, crystal-veined rock ring the space, catching the shifting colours of the sky. Only one door sits behind me, leading deeper into the palace. My arms are hoisted high above me, my wrists shackled, feet barely touching the icy floor. It’s fucking freezing. No surprise there, given the endless wasteland of snow and jagged cliffs that make up this realm.