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They were the cries of witches who had been murdered here. They were not always so loud, most whispered in the language of magic, not spells but prayers for peace. Today, they wailed—a keen and haunting refrain.

Something was wrong, something beyond the traitors who roamed my country.

I was not unfamiliar with the feeling, the constant gnawing in my gut. It was a restlessness I felt deep, an ache that had not gone away even with Isolde’s return.

I had never thrived on peace. I was a creature forged by violence, honed by hate.

I wanted blood.

I had always thought that finding my lover—the one who had spurred my desire to conquer the world—would ease this rage. It had proven to be a fire that not even she could quell.

She had only made it worse.

It did not matter that she had returned to me, soft and full and smelling of jasmine. The nightmare of her death clung to me, my constant companion, my greatest fear. It did not matter how many years passed or how much time separated me from the night she died; it would always feel like yesterday. My mouth always tasted of her ashes. The scent of her burning flesh and singed hair undercut every smell I inhaled.

Leaving her behind today only fueled the anger in my blood.

I had no trust that anyone would guard her as I did, but I knew just as well that Isolde would dislike having her freedom impeded. I could not bar her from leaving her room, the castle, or Cel Ceredi without consequences. I had to grant her space and hope her trust extended to no one save me.

Wehad no one.

Nothing had been more obvious after Ravena’s attack when two of my noblesse and another yet unknown individual among my inner circle betrayed me—betrayedus.

My fingers tightened on Shadow’s reins as I waited, impatient for Sorin and Dracul’s return. They had flown ahead to scout once more. I was certain the traitor noblesse were intent on reaching another kingdom, but escaping the boundaries of Revekka was not so easy with our armies scouting and marching across the land.

“The queen is safe with Tanaka,” Daroc said, guessing my thoughts as he rode beside me.

“My queen would take up a blade before Tanaka could draw enough breath to tell her to hide.”

Tanaka was not a warrior. He never had been. He was a statesman; his eternal love was politics. If anything, Isolde would ensurehissafety.

“Miha and Isac are there,” said Daroc. “Gavriel too.”

I clenched my jaw, uncomfortable at the thought of anything happening in my absence, but Isolde had survived despite the odds, fighting vampires, the crimson mist, a witch, even her father.

She was resilient. She was my queen.

I would not fail to protect her again.

“Isolde is not safe until Gesalac and Julian are dead,” I said.

“Even with their deaths, she is not safe. She will always be in danger as long as she is mortal.” Daroc paused.

I knew what he would say next. I could feel it in the air between us where hostility built.

“As are—”

“I am well aware, General,” I cut him off. I was never eager to be reminded of my weakness, but I was even less eager to hear Isolde continuously targeted as one.

Daroc had never been fond of my fixation with Yesenia’s return.

In some ways, he was no different than Gesalac and Julian, who seemed to think she was a distraction.

“If you did not deem emotions outside disfavor and anger as weaknesses, perhaps you’d have an easier time with Sorin.”

Daroc worked his jaw, and his frustration only fueled my need to fight. Since I’d found Isolde atop my palace, injured and exhausted, the desire had vibrated my very bones. I wanted to level kingdoms and end bloodlines. I could feel it in my blood, rushing through my veins, a demand, a vicious need to expend my rage.

It was a demon that had clung to me, even two hundred years later. It had even been there at my birth, and it had been coddled by neglect and abuse.