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“You didn’t come here just to tell me this,” Kaladeir surmised,watchingIsak now, seeing the monster just under the surface.

“No, I came for a box. When I was in the military—a military working for Vassal under the Eversky’s orders, by the way—my superiors were desperate to find a box. All I know is it’s covered in carvings, made of gold, and important to the saints, so it’s no doubt powerful as shit. We need to find it before they do, or it’s game over. They’ll rule this entire world. And if we get the box, we can use whatever power is inside to take them out long enough to get Maia and everyone else they’ve taken captive to safety. The box is here, in Sainsa. Give it to me, and I’ll get out of your hair asap.”

Kaladeir glanced at the spilled ink on his desk. “I’ve never heard of a box like that here, but if it’s been in Sainsa since thefirst war, there’ll be records. You can search the library. Harth will help you.”

“And oversee us with his sword as a lingering threat, no doubt,” Isak replied with a vicious smile.

“You’re strangers in my kingdom,” the king consort replied, matching Isak’s sharpness. “Family or not, I don’t trust you even if Harth does.”

“I’m curious,” Isak purred, leaning forward in his chair. “Have you ever once referred to him as your son? Or does your shitty parenting extend to him, too?”

“Get out,” Kaladeir barked, his voice hitting Isak with force.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Isak laughed, gripping the handle of his stick so hard the wood might warp, standing abruptly. “You’re a piece of shit. If she dies, it will be your fault. And if she does perish,” he breathed, leaning closer, his voice a whisper, “I will end you and your entire family line.”

Kaladeir began to stand, but Isak was already turning, flexing his hand on his stick, swallowing back the darkness that rose like hot, burning poison. He didn’t look at either Nysavion as he strode for the door, his canines sharp, eyes no doubt pitch black, and power roiling through him like a curse.

“That was badass,” Sunny whispered, squeezing Isak’s arm as he passed.

“Thanks, Sunny,” he murmured.

He opened the door, stalking out into the palace without waiting to be dismissed.

Isak fucking hated royals.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Bryon had just tucked his shoulder and angled himself towards the door, meaning to drive himself into the old, gilded wood like a battering ram, when it swung open. He shot back upright with a growl that came from deep in his throat, but he strangled the sound into silence when a little whimper came from the half-open door.

“Princess?” he demanded, storming across the pretty prison he’d been moved into and ripping the door wider. He dragged air into his lungs, letting her scent settle there, justbarelytaking the edge off his murderous mood. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Don’t,” she muttered, stalking inside and giving the middle finger over her shoulder to the walking corpses who’d escorted her. Bryon stared at them a little too long and his stomach roiled, but the door was open, and here was their chance to escape. He lunged for the gap in the door—and shuddered in revulsion when a slimy, cold hand closed around his throat, choking off his air. These things were stronger than they looked. He’d assumed one swipe and they’d collapse into broken bones and a bag of mottled flesh, but he choked under their grip.

“Hey!” Maia snarled, racing back across the room and grabbing at thecorpse’swrist, throwing all her weight on it. The scent of her intensified, bringing with it the smell of sex and Azrail. Bryon raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t give me that look,” she muttered.

“I thought you were dead, and you were off screwing your mate?”

“Jealous, old man?” Maia asked with a strained breath, heaving on the rotting hand gripping his throat. Whatever these things were, they were oozing, looked like the dead dug up from their graves, and theystank.

Bryon threw his head back at the same moment Maia pulled on the thing’s wrist, and their combined effort managed to get him free. The next moment, she dragged him back inside and slammed the door shut.

“So,” she panted, sweat on her brow. “Escape attempt number one went well.”

“What makes you think it was my first try?” he grumbled, trying not to breathe too deeply. He could smell Azrail all over her, but there were the scents of Marszton there too, and right beneath, still there—him. The remnants of last night. That scent of him on her had been driving Bryon insane all fucking day.

“Great, you’re every bit as shit at escaping as you are at being friendly,” Maia grumbled, stalking across the room to the double glass doors that functioned as a window—locked—and then to the adjoining room—a surprisingly large bathroom with a sunken tub and tarnished fixtures. It had clearly been grand before going to shit. It was definitely a step up from their last cell.An upgrade for good behaviour,the bastard who dumped Bryon here said.

“What was that corpse out there?” he demanded, glaring at the door and picturing the rotting person-shaped thing that had grabbed him.

“Not a clue. They turned up to haul Azrail off, and then two more came for me,” she replied, testing the water from the bathtub and startling when it gushed out like a waterfall. It was beige-ish in colour; Bryon chuckled at the expression on Maia’s face. “What’s with the fancier prison?”

“A reward,” Bryon explained with a dose of bitter venom. “For the information we retrieved in Marszton.”

Maia gave him a steady look, assessing, her eyes brighter than they’d been this morning. Azrail had given her that hope. Bryon tried to be grateful instead of begrudging. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, princess,” he sighed.