Page 1 of A Monarch's Fall

Chapter one

Hit Harder.

Selene Borealis

Why would Percy enter the maze?

Desperation.

She was terrified and likely didn’t consider the danger as she scrambled to escape.

The maze at least gave me time. The unnatural beast of a thing liked to take its time with victims. I had read reports of executions by the maze, and on occasion, it made apparently no effort to subdue its victims but rather waited until they were exhausted before striking.

This was better.

The maze.

Better than watching her be captured and immediately abused and torn apart by the cankerous, traitorous, no better than mercenaries: True North.

At least the maze did not mutilate postmortem. It didn’t hang guts from flagpoles, heads from gates, or send its victims home piece by piece; butchered and wrapped like a gift-wrapped ham, a new portion for special occasions — weddings and Amphidromia.

Oskar’s cousin was to be married soon, and my gift was on its way.

“Find Rylan,” I demanded, forcing myself to turn away from the window.

Percy was within the maze now. I would achieve nothing from anxiously refusing to look away from where I had last seen her.

“Last comms, he was toward the east wing,” one of my guards informed me.

The four nodded to one another, silently communicating the way soldiers who had worked together for many years did.

“Two split,” one suggested, splitting into two groups of two, unable to leave me undefended while tracking down Rylan. I needed him now, needed him to help me plan how to extract Percy safely from the maze, whether the estate was lost or not. It looked very much like it would be lost this day.

The heavy beat of boots heading towards us interrupted the planning.

We all turned to face the new potential threat.

A True North rebel, in boots a size too big and laces half-undone, barely a man, a boy dressed up for a fight he doesn’t understand and would never benefit from, rounded the corner, eyes wide with fear, he seemed not to see us even as he ran as fast as his legs could carry him towards us.

I wasn’t sure what happened first.

The discharging of my guard’s standard-issue firearm that seemed to stop the boy mid-motion as his chest was pierced, or the steel-stone-combination javelin that impaled him through the back of his head and speared him like a fish to theold, polished wood flooring, which now desperately needed repairing, with large splinters jutting up from where the spear lodged. Blood spattered against the walls and dribbled down to the ruined floor.

“That’s new,” one of my guards commented.

“That’s Petra,” I replied, something like relief washing over me.

I tried to step forward past my guard, but I stumbled, my legs heavy and uncooperative.

Pheidon, a loyal guard since my childhood, caught me before I could fall.

“Sorry, Ma’am,” he apologised, blushing and staring squarely at the wall in front of him. It was the first time he had ever touched me.

“Venom,” I explained.

“Venom?” he repeated worriedly.

“I’ll be fine,” I reassured, uncomfortable with the panic I heard in his voice. It was Lydia’s venom. She was barely Ardens. I was first Borealis. I took after my father in terms of my vampiric capabilities, but I was Ardens via my mother, and Ardens' venom would not, could not, kill me. It could make me wish for death as it burned through my system, and likely temporarily paralysing me, but it would not send me on my way to the underworld.