Page 150
“How did you find me?” I ask, willing my voice not to shake as I hold her angered gaze.
“That,” croons another voice—male, smug—“would be because of me.”
Lord Devlin steps into the lantern light, twirling a single stem of mystglove between his fingers. He lifts it to his nose and inhales.
“I told you to keep that away from me,” the matron snaps, taking three sharp steps away from him.
He laughs, crushing the mystglove in his fist. “You witches and your superstitions.”
“Why?” I ask. “Why are you doing this to Riven? You’re his family, for Dagny’s sake.”
“The throne never should’ve gone to Godrick,” he spits. “It was meant for me. I followed in Father’s footsteps. I remained pure, untouched by otherworlders. I did what had to be done to keep the throne clean—”
“By convincing a heartbroken female to curse her own son?” I cut in, rage crackling through me. “You are a fucking fool, Lord Devlin.”
The coven matron flicks her wrist. Magic slams into me, lifting me from the floor. An invisible noose coils around my throat, tightening around the very scar she gave me.
“You still don’t know how to keep your mouth shut,” she hisses.
I’m yanked toward the bars, my body weightless.
“Are you finished with your little speech, Devlin?” she asks, voice cold. “I’m growing bored, and you have a wedding to ruin.”
His grin is pure evil.
“I wonder if you’ll feel it,” he whispers to me, drawing closer to the cell. “It’s unbearable. Like something inside you tears itself apart the moment your mate dies.”
Mate?
My eyes widen.
“You didn’t know?” He whistles. “Eliana’s curse truly is something extraordinary.” He flicks a mystglove petal at me and fixes his attention on the coven matron. “Wait here until sundown, then make your move.”
“Isn’t that delightful, Gwynnevere?” she coos, blackened gaze locked on me. “We’ve got plenty of time to play.”
Lord Devlin’s laugh echoes as his footsteps retreat into the dark.
“Look at you,” she murmurs, reaching through the iron to stroke my cheek. Her touch is almost tender. But I know better. I know what comes next. “You haven’t changed at all.”
That careful caress turns sharp. Nails slicing through skin, and I’m flung backward, skull connecting with the wall behind me.
I crumple to the ground with a whimper.
“You should be grateful I found you,” she says, voice sickeningly sweet. “Your sister witches have missed you dearly.”
“I don’t care,” I spit. “You’re all horrible—”
I’m thrust into the air and launched into the stone, into utter darkness.
Wherever you are, I’m with you.
I wake, slow to sit up.
Riven’s voice is a distant echo, beating against my weary bones.
Riven.
My… mate.
