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The essence twisted and tightened inside me as I placed my hands on the railing while she sat on the throne, her head tilting as she basked in the reception. It took everything in me not to tap into the roaring power filling my veins and lash out at her, right here, right now. My fingers curled into the stone, pressing into the golden scrollwork that swirled over the railings, the columns, across the floor, and along the visible sections of the walls.

“Son of a bitch,” Kieran snarled from my other side.

I tore my attention from the Blood Queen to the dark man who’d joined her, standing to her left. My breath scorched my lungs. Golden-bronze skin. Brown hair touched by streaks of sun and pulled back from uncannily familiar features. High cheekbones. Full mouth. A hard jawline.

“Malik,” I whispered.

The bitterness of anger grew in the back of my throat, tinged by tangy anguish. I lifted a hand, placing it on the one beside mine. Kieran gripped the stone just as tightly as I had. I closed down my sorrow and fury, channeling a bit of warmth and…and happiness. A tremor went through him, and under my palm, the tendons of his hand relaxed.

“Prince Malik,” Millicent corrected softly. “Your brother-in-law.”

My head cut to her. She was looking at Malik. As close as we stood, I saw tiny spots across her cheeks beneath the painted mask. Freckles. I squeezed Kieran’s hand. She watched the Prince much like he’d watched her in Oak Ambler, jaw tight and motionless.

Reaver passed behind her, the muscles in his biceps and forearm taut. He didn’t appear to be bothered by those in the alcove—the Ascended in their fancy silk gowns and glittering jewels. Though they were definitely looking at us with curious, midnight eyes.

No, it was the massive statue of the Primal of Life that had garnered the draken’s attention.

It stood in the center of the Great Hall, chiseled from the palest marble. Like the other statues in the Hall of Gods, nothing but smooth stone appeared where the face should be, but the detail elsewhere was striking and hadn’t faded in the years since I’d last seen it—not from the heavy-soled caligae or the armored plating shielding the legs and chest. He held a spear in one hand and a shield in the other.

The mortals gave the statue and the black petals, pulled from night-blooming roses and scattered around his stone feet, a wide berth.

“I doubt Nyktos would be pleased to know his statue remains here,” I murmured.

“That is not a statue of Nyktos.” Reaver’s words were a low rumble.

“He’s right,” Millicent added.

The crowd quieted before I could ask what they’d meant, and then she spoke. “My people, how you honor me.”

Her voice.

My insides went cold at the soft, warm tone that was so at odds with her special brand of cruelty.

“How you humble me,” she said, and my fingers returned to pressing into the railing. Humble? I almost scream-laughed. “Even in times of such uncertainty and fear, your faith in me has never wavered.”

Kieran slowly turned his head to me.

“I know,” I muttered.

“And for that, I will not waver. And neither will the gods. Not in the face of a godless kingdom or the Harbinger.”

Chapter 24

The low sound of hissing rolled across the Great Hall’s floor and through the alcove, coming from mortals and Ascended alike. The back of my neck tensed as Kieran and Reaver stiffened.

“‘The Harbinger and the Bringer of Death and Destruction to the lands gifted by the gods,’ has awakened,” the Blood Queen said, and the hissing ceased. Silence greeted her words—silence and my rising disbelief. “It is true, the rumors you’ve heard about our cities to the north and east. They have fallen. Their Rises torn down. The innocent raped and slaughtered, fed from and cursed.”

I…I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Stunned, my gaze swept out over the crowd—over the pale faces as bitter fear scraped against my shields. What I dreaded was true. The prophecy was no longer a barely known cluster of words but a weapon.

An expertly wielded one that was nothing but horrific lies. Lies that were sold and bought without hesitation or question. Lies that had already become truth.

Eather burned from the center of my chest as my grip tightened on the railing. Anger pumped through my veins.

“And those left alive, now captives to barbaric rulers who have spent centuries plotting against us. The gods weep for us.” She leaned forward on the throne, spine straight as more lies spilled from her berry-hued lips. “Our enemy wants to end the glorious Rite—our honorable service to the gods.”

The hissing came again, as did cries of denial.

“I know. I know,” the Blood Queen cooed. “But do not fear. We will not cave to them. We will not submit to the horror they have awakened, will we?”