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I tore apart the sofa. Then the bed. I ripped through the vines I’d created days before, my massive, beastly body shattering the clay pots that held them until the floor was covered in the wreckage.

More footsteps—these ones almost feline.

I paused in my destruction, the growl starting low in my throat. Growing, growing, until it vibrated through the entire room.

But she nudged the door open anyway.

She stood there and surveyed the destruction, her golden eyes heavy. There were worry lines around her eyes and mouth. She looked tired, despite the perfectly polished gleam of her Goldstones uniform.

I allowed her the grace of one minute to look at me, to take the measure of the situation, and to get the hell out.

But Guinevere thought she knew what was best for everyone. She always had.

I snarled in warning. The only one she would get.

She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.

Time’s up.

I lunged for her, my powerful haunches launching me across the room while my jaw hung open, fangs eager to tear into something meatier.

My jaws closed not around a delicate, deep brown neck, but a thick black mane. Wickedly curved feline claws dug into my skin, flipping me to the ground.

Our beasts battled, snarling and scratching in a blur even my fae-honed beastly eyes could not make out. What was left of the room shattered beneath the swing of paws, the lashing of powerful tails. Gwen’s lion threw back her head and roared; my beast bellowed in response.

We tore at each other until there was not a single unbroken piece of furniture. Until the walls dripped with blood and gore, our fur matted with it.

When unconsciousness came, I welcomed it.

64

VEYKA

The room was small. So small—smaller than the cell I’d called home for twenty years. How hadn’t I realized it before? I’d laid in the bed for weeks, while Cyara slept in mine, awaiting an assassin whose origin was still unknown.

It was unforgivable, that I’d ever been willing to trade her life for mine.

She lay on that narrow bed, her body unmoving. Her beautiful, shining white wings were shredded away to nothing but delicate, light bones.

Broken bones.

So many of them—broken, splintered.

Because of me.

Make it stop.

The healers came. Magically gifted elementals who could use delicate wind to set bones. Highly trained terrestrials who could coax the healing power from medicinal plants. But it was slow. Brutal.

Eventually, there was nothing to do but wait and watch. To stare at the carnage my quest for revenge had wrought. Carly and Charis couldn’t stay and watch, their tears and worry too heavy. Which left me, sitting in a hard chair at the bedside.

Knowing that every tremor of pain, every low moan, every fracture was my fault.

This is what it means to be a queen.

I didn’t want it. I’d never wanted it. All I’d ever wanted, my entire life, was freedom. But I’d gone from one cage to another. From the torture of the water gardens, to the agony of watching those I cared about suffer for my sake. First Arthur. Now Cyara.

It was only a matter of time before the rest were taken as well.