Page 49 of Three Dark Kings and the Gilded Serpent

He banks sharply in that direction, diving down toward the side of the nearest steep cliff.

I’m on my feet in seconds, leaping from his back and throwing myself onto the edge of the mountain range as he passes by.

From the corner of my eye, I register the way he jolts and begins flying back to me.

Too fucking loyal.

I don’t plan on running the rest of the way on foot, but I can’t risk the energy within this tornado striking out at us even if we try to fly around it.

My arms pumping, fire gathering in my palms, I race straight for the base of the whirlwind at its central point, my bare feet pounding on the sharp stones. I pay no attention to the pain as I leap as high as I can and into the tornado.

Streams of icy power cut across my arms and legs as I soar through the outer layer.

An instant before I’d be torn to shreds, fire explodes from my palms, burning through the streaking energy and striking through the whirling shards of ice.

Heat bursts around me.

But my eyes are widening.

As I sail through the tornado’s outer layer, I find myself in clear air.

An open space now filling with my heat waves.

I land at a crouch, my right fist hitting the blackened ground, and there I freeze.

Directly ahead of me, not ten paces away, a snarling white wolf has pulled to a stop, its claws gouging the rocks, its lips pulled back from its teeth.

On the wolf’s back is the fucking Frost King.

His face is splattered with blood. So is pretty much every other part of him that I can see. He carries his pearly swords at his back but doesn’t draw them. Probably because he’s holding someone in his arms.

I can’t see who that fae is because they’re wrapped up in a thick, white cloak, only the top of their head visible. Brown hair, also clumped with blood.

Fire bursts around my hands again. I’m ready to strike first and ask questions later.

Stellen extricates one of his arms fast enough to cast his hand forward in a flash, ice crackling over his palm.

“Stop,” he roars, “or I’ll cut your fucking head off.”

His voice is clear and loud, the sound colliding with my mind like a physical shove that compels me to plant my feet. Stop.

Fuck-damn.

Not his voice. His Voice.

The compulsion to obey him vanishes a heartbeat later, a comfortingly short time, but it’s unsettling that his Lethian power worked on me at all.

Before I can retaliate, he shouts again. “Cage your flames, Ember King. Unless you want to kill the Oracle.”

That’s Thyra?

I lurch forward before I can stop myself, a fresh burst of fire growing around my hands. The amount of blood clumping her hair is an alarming sight. “What the fuck have you done to her?”

The Frost King grits his teeth, appearing as feral as his wolf, but he doesn’t try to stop me again. No burst of ice as he threatened. No more shouted commands.

Only a quiet statement that stops me in my tracks. “She needs your help.”

Fuck. Me.