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The ugly beast inside of me is prowling around my heart. Its thundering steps match my heartbeat. It takes flight, dipping down into my belly, and then tries to exit my throat. The beast is agitated by how long the walk is, incensed that it must wait longer still.

I see the cave entrance, and I take a deep breath. I have one chance. One moment. One?—

“Hello dear, I thought we could do things differently this time,” King Stol’s slippery voice interrupts my thoughts as we round the corner into the cave. The chair is nowhere to be seen, only a set of manacles hanging from the ceiling.

Improvisation it is, then.

Fire Hands releases me to reach for the manacles while the other guard holds me. The imposter king is at the back of the cave, furthest from the entrance. It’s now or never.

My heartbeat or rage thundering, I’m not sure which, I grab my spoon blade and slice the lifeblood artery of the Patron still holding me. He lets me go to grab his throat. I swing my body and my weapon around, aiming for Fire Hands. He jumps back a step to face me, lifting his hands as a blue hue colors his palms.

Using all the force I can muster, I deliver a front kick to his groin. He flies back with a sickening crack of his head into the stone. Still, he tries to throw his fire at me, and I dodge, smelling burning hair. The nail end of my weapon slams into his eye as deep as it can go—I’m aiming for his brain. The light in his hands extinguishes.

I don’t have time to see if it works, I can only hope he’s incapacitated enough. I launch myself around and back at the other man, who tries to use his Gift to throw the manacles chained to the ceiling. They’re too short to reach me, the metal clashing together echoes as I stab him in the kidney. His body facing me from the force of the blow, I stab his other lifeblood artery and shove him. He won’t live long.

With both men incapacitated in less than a minute, I turn for the imposter king. He tries to flee, an opportunity arising now I am not directly in front of the cave opening. But I trip him, stabbing him once in the calf as he goes down with a pained scream.

I’m holding the slick blade at the imposter king's throat on the ground, sitting on his chest, not unlike the way I met Eryn for the first time. I press the point of the spoon blade into his throat so that a gem of his blood surfaces. He hisses and is satisfactorily terrified-looking.

I want to torture him, smash his knees, and break his fingers. But the allure of slowly watching him bleed out is winning. He’s not struggling, almost as though he’s frozen or hypnotized by the way I’m staring into his eyes. He doesn’t speak. Neither do I.

Pressing harder still, I look deeper into the imposter king’s violet eyes. I’ll watch the life drain out of him. I want to watch his life slowly fade as I press deeper and deeper.

Take. I want to take everything from him. I’m going to take it all.

I can’t look away. I’ve pushed through the uncomfortable strain, and now it’s taken hold of me. A scream is in my ears along with a pull.

I pull harder. My vision fills with the violet of our eyes. I cannot tell where his end and mine begin. Greed overwhelms me. I keep pulling until the greed is satiated.

My eyes snap shut as a pain explodes through my entire body. One of the men must not have been dead. I cry out as my joints flame. Every bone feels like it is only moments from breaking. My skin is stretched so thin I might pop. Then, as quickly as it started, the pain stops. I whirl around, looking for an attacker.

No one is there. Both guards are in the prone positions I left them in to die.

Underneath me is an unconscious body. Not the imposter king. Or at least, not as he was only moments before.

His clothes hang off him awkwardly as if he has shrunk inside of them. Pale skin and pointy features against a mass of wavy, light brown hair. I lift one of his eyelids. Brown eyes Oferdu, not the violet of a Patron. He’s unconscious but still alive. I didn’t kill him, and he’s shifted into a different form. A form where I cannot see his violet eyes. My assumptions were wrong, at least in part.

Getting up causes a surge of dizziness and I pause, eyes closed, as it passes. I remove one of the dead men’s belts as I keep an eye on the imposter king for any movement, then use it to restrain him. I’ll think about what to do with him later. He currently doesn’t look like the king. I should still kill him, but my bloodlust has calmed along with my rage as if both are satisfied. We could torture him for information. I need to tell the others, and they can help decide.

I stumble down the passage toward the main cave as my short sleeve gets caught, and I finger the rip at my shoulder as I continue walking awkwardly, as if my feet are too big. The rip is in a black shirt. I was wearing a filthy cream-colored shirt. This is when I notice my hands. They’re large and veiny…and not my hands.

Lyss is walking toward me, her chain allowing her some distance into the entrance of the passage. “Your Majesty, is everything alright?” Lyss’ voice comes, and I whip my head around to see if he’s behind me.

She looks behind me and then back to me with great concern. “Sir?”

“Who do you see?” comes the deep voice of a man, causing me to stupidly slap a hand over my mouth. That’s not my voice.

Fuck fuck fuck.

I walk slowly toward Lyss, and she shrinks back, my presence looming above her. Her panicked eyes are aimed at the ground, and I repeat myself in a whisper. I know the other prisoners cannot see us here, but they can hear us. Causing chaos is the last thing we need right now.

Refusing to look at me, and with a quiver in her voice, she whispers, “Your Majesty, I only see you.”

Key. I need the key that releases the manacles. One of the dead guards will have it, so I turn and jog back down the passage, leaving Lyss with no explanation.

Running with legs that are far too long, feet far too big, and muscles much stronger than mine, I trip and crash as I go, faltering like a newly born foal. Checking the pockets of the dead men reveals the key I need. I quickly check the still unconscious king for anything on his person, and pocket his keys as well.

Jogging back to Lyss, who stands exactly where I left her, her eyes begin to brim with tears. “Has something happened, sir?” she asks.