Page 82 of A Queen’s Betrayal (Legends of Worldbinders #1)

Pale hands tightened around Arenna’s throat, stifling her screams, suffocating her. She clawed at the wrists pinning her, her nails digging into flesh and drawing blood. But nothing deterred the monster hovering above her, his knees pressing painfully into her side.

Jaksen grinned from above her, his tousled platinum hair messy and falling into his eyes.

His eyes were like black coals, burning into hers, his face twisted in a vicious snarl, seething with a rage so intense she could almost see steam rising from his ears. Desperation clawed at her as she tried to summon her flame, but it was gone—no spark, not even a smolder remained.

She had come so far, endured so much. She had trained, had grown in strength and power . . . just to die at her former husband’s hand?

Blood ran cold, her veins frozen and aching.

She attempted to yell for help, for Kayson, for anyone, but the noise escaping her throat was nothing more than soft whimpers. She was going to die in this bed, stripped of her fire, at the hands of her abuser.

How long would it take for someone to find her body?

To learn that it was Jaksen who had done this?

“There is nowhere you could ever run that I wouldn’t find you, Little Dove,” Jaksen taunted, his teeth unnaturally long and sharp. “I will murder every damned Fae in this castle and make you watch before I take you home. Starting with your precious king.”

Arenna squirmed, whimpering and thrashing, searching for the dagger she kept beneath her pillow.

How had she not heard him enter?

Fool. Fool. Fool .

“And when we get home, you will sit in my laboratory for days on end and willingly give me your blood,” Jaksen hissed as he leaned into her exposed neck.

His fangs sank into her sensitive skin, drawing blood.

Arenna’s screams were muffled, fear coursing through her.

Her blood glistened against his white teeth as he declared, “It tastes as good as I imagined it would.” A wicked, evil smile curled on his lips.

Infernus! Infernus!

Where was it? Why was her magic gone? Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, dripping against her temples and soaking her hair. She had promised herself so much, had wanted so much.

Jaksen pressed harder into her throat, stealing the air from her lungs. He leaned close enough for his foul lips to brush against her own. “I’m here, my love. And I will find you.”

* * *

Arenna jolted awake, her heart pounding, blood pumping through her veins. Late morning sunlight streamed through her windows, casting a warm glow on the floor.

Her hand instinctively found her throat, still haunted by the phantom touch of Jaksen. A choked sob escaped her lips, but she forced herself to breathe. He was not here.

It was a nightmare.

You are home .

She rubbed her eyes with her fists, glancing toward the open doors of her balcony. A clear view of the mountains greeted her, but small flakes fluttered down, covering her balcony and its railing in a thin coat of white.

“Snow?” she whispered in disbelief. It couldn’t be snowing. Winter had fully passed. Arenna looked again at the mountains, realization crashing over her like a wave, stealing her breath away.

There was no purple hue, no ripple in the scenery.

Kayson’s wards had fallen.

She rushed to the railing, stumbling as her foot caught in the white sheets. Panic clogged her throat at the sight of her balcony’s once-vibrant foliage, now withered and black. She clutched some of it in her hands, trembling as the flowers and leaves crumbled at her touch.

Heart racing, Arenna turned her gaze to the valley, the mountain ranges, and the land now covered in black.

Ash swirled across the rolling hills, as if talons were clawing through the green.

She had been just a girl when the Rot infested her home, and witnessing it happen all over again reopened a fear she thought she had buried—a fear that reminded her she was powerless against the evil plaguing this world.

If the wards are down, if the Rot has returned, Kayson must be—

Tears welled in her eyes, panic flooding her. “ No ,” she whispered. He cannot be dead. She would not accept it. Her eyes found the valley again, and she squinted to see a line of red emerging from the darkness.

Fear surged through her when she realized that red marked the front lines of the Brookworth army.

Panicking, she sprinted back into her room, grabbing her sword from beneath the mattress and let it clatter onto the dark wood of her desk.

Bells tolled above, their sound reverberating through her chamber and sending a light rain of dust from the ceiling beams. Outside, unmistakable sounds echoed—a chorus of blood spraying and bodies falling.

What is happening?

Arenna ripped open the drawer of her dresser, rummaging through her leathers when a blade pressed against her throat. “Traitorous wench,” the assassin seethed, his spit landing on her skin. “It will be an honor to return you home and watch you bleed onto Brookworth soil.”

Her body tensed, threatening to shut down and give in to old habits—to the fear Jaksen had instilled. Arenna closed her eyes as a hand snaked around her waist, pulling her against the torso of a man. She thought of Kayson. Of Vlazias. Of Marea, Bramnen, and Wylder. Of Isabella and Koltin.

Her mother.

Her sister.

Of the woman shackled in the Brookworth dungeons, the woman who had been too scared to fight back, too weak.

At that moment, Arenna did not hesitate.

“ Infernus ,” she whispered.

Red exploded across her vision, her body engulfing in fire as the assassin’s blade clanged to the wooden floor. She spun, burning a magnificent display of red and gold radiating from the power coursing through her veins.

On the floor the man shrieked, thrashing and fighting flames he could not extinguish.

The sickening stench of burnt flesh and the wails of agony filled the air.

Arenna looked down at the masked man, who curled into a fetal position, clutching his body.

His hands were singed, and his clothes melted against his skin.

She willed the fire from his skin and back into her hands as she knelt beside him. “Choose your next words wisely,” she instructed. His gaze locked onto hers, tears pooling in front of his blue irises. “Where is he ?”

He choked in pain but replied, “The King of Brookworth sends his regards.” The man revealed a blue capsule from beneath his tongue and crushed it between his teeth.

Arenna slammed her palm against his mouth, feeling his eyes flare with panic. “Wrong answer.” She unleashed a searing flame into his throat, directing it into his stomach to burn him from within.

His body convulsed violently.

Arenna stepped back, watching as he shook uncontrollably. Foam poured from his burning mouth from the poison he ingested, red veins webbing from his bleeding eyes, spreading across his pale skin.

When he was reduced to nothing more than a clump of dark, smoldering remains, Arenna turned back to her dresser and pulled on her leathers. She had no fighting armor, no protection aside from the sword at her hip and the fire in her hands, but it would have to do.

She dashed toward the open door of her chambers, nearly retching at the sight of blood and bodies in the hall. But before she could press on, a deafening boom erupted, and her room exploded in a shower of stone and wood.