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You are wrong.Garrik was electrified. Even her reasoning could not break through the rage he felt. The mask he had donned was affixed to his face now, immovable as it had melded to his flesh. Her words would not release the darkness that held it there.

An impenetrable wall of Smokeshadows burst into her mind, shutting her out completely. Metal slid from his leather sheath. The Savage Prince would have killed for much less in the Blood Years. If he was anything but today, if news reached Galdheir…

The male’s throat pinched against the blade’s edge. Garrik rattled a snarl, almost tasting the iron in the air.

The male would suffer … but not before he would make him beg.

“Please! Please don’t! I?—”

Pleasing, gurgling sounds bubbled from the male as Smokeshadows constricted around his throat.

“Silence.” Garrik narrowed his eyes and felt a ripple of his power branch out in an invisible wave, extending over the captive masses, over his Dragons. “I did not grant permission to beg. There will be time for that …soon.” His eyesight shifted into a haze as he spoke to his powers, raking his eyes over each Alynthian…

Embedding a delicious lie.

If he was to conduct himself as executioner for the pleasure of the High King, his manipulation would be illusioned lies of brutality.

“Bring her out!” Garrik’s thunderous voice rippled, stirring the Smokeshadows that whorled around him.

To the horror and shock of the Alynthians, a young female, slender, pale, with long raven-colored hair and black clothing, was dragged on her feet from the gate by two soldiers. Garrik stiffened at the illusion he created, heart thundering as he raked his eyes over her and felt bile surfacing to the back of his tongue. A face he pictured countless times. A face he imagined flaying slowly—painfully—until every last drop of her was spilled. But this was not her. This was the lie. His powers made them believe they knew her, that she was one of them, someone important, someone they all cared for.

Garrik stifled a tremble in his grip. His Dragons would know she was an illusion. But Alora …

He pivoted back to her. Jade had settled her horse only feet away. They were exchanging whispers. He focused, his mind drawing on their words.

It’s not real, but you mustn’t look away, no matter what he does. They will see.

Alora nodded and turned worried eyes to him, catching his uneasy stare.

But he said nothing and turned to the female likeness of one he truly hated. She would die today. And every time he needed an illusion such as this. Garrik ran his tongue along sharpened teeth and spots of blood surfaced as he allowed them to cut into it, plastering his teeth in crimson hues.

Tightening his blade against the male’s neck, who was sobbing, fearfully pleading at his newest family member, Garrik manifested the male’s personalized torture. A sister would do.

Garrik crouched lower, his leather armor groaning as he growled in the shell of his ear, “Beg.”

It did not matter what the male said. Garrik could not care to listen. He only imagined running his sword through her heart, over and over, until his body would give out. And when the male’s voice was hoarse with unrelenting sobs, Garrik stood. His expression dismissive and uncaring as the male’s shrieks chased his every bloodthirsty step.

The female’s legs lost all function as iron ripped into her body, sagging down onto the sharp edge of the blade, splitting her open slowly. With little effort, Garrik carelessly wrenched his sword from her body, cursing her name under his breath as she slammed knees first to the dirt.

Wide-eyed, tears dripped from her black, serpent-like eyes, and raven-colored hair fanned around her face when it slammed into the dirt, where she remained lifeless. Dead.

“You are next.”

“No! I have faelings! Please!”

“Do you now?” But he already knew that. Another illusion by his own trickery. Smokeshadows burst in a funnel cloud in front of them before coasting away. Three faelings stood, the illusioned likeness of their father, gripped on their shoulders and held into place by one Dragon each. It was the perfect lesson. If they wished to use younglings as a line of defense, then what came next should stop them from using them as soldiers.

Garrik’s face was a thing of nightmares as he snarled, “You should have thought of that before you threatened me.”

“I’m begging you! Not my family!” Snot and tears flooded his face.

Something tore in Garrik’s chest. How bittersweet to hear a father who cared so much. To care about the faelings he only met today. Not even real, and this male loved them more than his own father ever loved him.

Garrik instantly twisted his wrist, bending stiffened fingers into a fist in the air. Neck bones twisted at odd angles. A distinctive snap resounded like the popping of firewood.

Crack.The first male faeling dropped.

“No!” the male’s voice viciously wailed in agony while nails gashed lines down his face.