Page 64

My fault

Iryen

“Shall we begin?”

Draven’s voice slithered into the silence like venom. His gaze scanned the room with lazy cruelty, hungry for weakness, for leverage. Then it landed on me.

“Oh, wait,” he mocked, “your court is incomplete.”

His smile was all teeth. A predator who already knew the kill was his.

I reached hard into his mind, my pain be damned. I clawed past the searing ache in my temples, pushing against the wall of madness he’d built around himself. But there was nothing. No cracks. No thoughts I could pull. Just static and shadows.

I masked my failure behind a calm expression, though dread coiled tight in my chest.

“I suppose I should wait until they arrive,” he mused. “I’d be a poor host, and an even poorer future king, otherwise, wouldn’t I, my sweet lioness?”

That name. That filthy nickname. It slid under my skin like rot. I snapped. Frost burst from my hands, crystal shards of rage arcing toward his face. But they never made it.

A dagger of water materialized, sharp and trembling, against Queen Nerina’s throat.

Grandma.

I stopped breathing.

“Ah, ah,” he said, tilting his head, mocking me. My pulse thundered in my ears.

“Careful, baby,” Draven purred. “Wouldn’t want to act out with that mind gift of yours, would you?”

He didn’t know. He didn’t know about Adrian. Relief crashed into me—swift, disorienting—only to be gutted by guilt. I’d left Adrian behind. Alone. Confused. I’d decided for both of us.

Maybe if I’d given him the choice…

Too late. I was too late now.

I turned to Elora, my fierce, reckless flame. Now bloodied. Bound. Beaten. Her strength dimmed, but not broke. Her silence over the past days. Gods, how had I not known? Shame licked up my spine like icy water.

“I’m fine,” her voice filled my mind. A whisper, stronger than it should’ve been. “He doesn’t know about your powers. Or Adrian. He just wanted to know why you went to Nyssaion.”

She hesitated.

“I’m sorry, Iryen.”

The guilt in her voice shattered me.

“Don’t,” I said back, keeping my face unreadable. “Don’t you dare blame yourself. I should’ve come for you sooner.”

I shifted my thoughts toward Sienna, reaching for her like a lifeline.

“Sienna? Are you—”

She didn’t respond immediately. I saw Thalor lean close to her, whispering something that made her flinch. My stomach twisted. She was trying not to react, but I saw the rage behind her stillness .

“I’m fine,” came her clipped reply. “Furious. Disgusted. But fine. The bastard had the audacity to touch me.”

“He’ll pay for it,” I vowed, voice cracking with restraint. “We’ll make all of them pay. I swear it.”

Her lavender eyes met mine across the room, burning with shared fury. The water pulsed with her power, rippling through the current like an approaching storm.

They felt it. Draven. Thalor. They noticed the shift.

“Rein it in, witch,” Thalor spat, gripping her throat harder.

Her magic surged higher. Defiance danced in her eyes like fire.

“You heard him,” Draven chimed in, tone razor-sharp. An icy dagger bloomed in his hand and kissed Elora’s throat.

“Rein it in, or I’ll slice your redheaded friend wide open.”

The ice cut a thin line across Elora’s skin. Blood bled into the sapphire water. Sienna faltered, her power dimming under restraint, fury warping into helplessness.

And then, chaos.

A crash. Splintered coral. Broken doors.

I turned, and my heart dropped. Ronan. Kieran.

No. No. NO.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I warned, voice low and desperate . “Get out. You’re playing into his hands.”

Both men paused, scanning the room, seeing too much. Feeling too much.

“Ah, the cavalry,” Draven drawled. “Now the party can begin.”

He pressed the blade deeper into Elora’s skin. Crimson unfurled like petals in the water.

Ronan trembled with rage. But it wasn’t loud. It was quiet . Terrifying.

“I’m going to kill you,” he said, so low it sounded like a promise written in stone .

They couldn’t attack. Couldn’t move. Elora. Sienna. My grandmother. All at risk.

“Your little redheaded tried,” Draven said, tilting his head toward Elora. “But I got to her first. Didn’t I?”

Ronan lunged, but Kieran caught him. Held him back. Just barely.

“Now that we’re all acquainted,” Thalor said, voice thick with venom, “Ronan, would you kindly restrain your rebellious princess?”

He wanted Ronan to bind me. The man who would’ve destroyed kingdoms from inside on my behalf.

“No.”

The word came not from me, but from my grandmother. Her voice, frail but clear. Her gaze never left Ronan.

“Remember your duty.” Ronan’s hands shook.

“I won’t do it,” he said, voice hollow.

And I hated him for it. Hated how duty could make someone you love betray you. Because at this moment, he was choosing duty instead of Elora.

Draven’s mask cracked. “Then you are welcome to watch while I finish breaking your precious Elora,” he mocked. “I would make it a painless death, but your defiance earned her a few more rounds with my dagger and my warriors.”

He dragged the blade down Elora’s shoulder, slicing deep. Her scream tore through the water and through my soul.

Ronan took a step forward.

“Why can’t I feel her?” he whispered.

What? Feel her? Unless—

Elora screamed again. That time, I broke.

“Enough,” I snapped. “Ronan. Do it.”

He didn’t speak. He didn’t even look at me. His eyes locked on Elora, on the woman bleeding for my mistake. And I realized the truth. The connection. The mate bond.

Faint black chains slithered around me, cool and familiar. Not tight, but firm. Enough to stop me. Enough to keep me from using my powers.

Elora’s screams died as the last chain settled. And I stood there, bound, powerless, watching everything I built unfold in crimson again.

“Very good,” Thalor murmured, his voice low and almost amused. “Son, where would you like to start?”

Son?

The word struck harder than any blade.

My pulse faltered. No. No, that couldn’t be right.

Draven, his son? The room warped around me, the colors too sharp, the silence too loud.

I wanted to laugh, scream, and shatter the truth into pieces that couldn’t hurt me.

But there it was. The final cruel piece sliding into place like a dagger in the heart.

It was them all along. Together. Father and son.

How did I miss it?

Draven, the charming Erythion scout with his too-blank past and tightly wound secrets…

he’d never once spoken of his family, not even in the stolen hours when I thought we were something real.

And now, now, the truth stood in front of me like a noose tightening around the neck of every choice I’d ever made.

I’d trusted him. Gods, I had loved him. And while I bled over that betrayal, he had already set the stage for my kingdom’s ruin.

My hands curled into trembling fists, nails digging half-moons into my skin.

Fury and shame tangled like seaweed around my ribs, pulling me under.

I should’ve asked more questions. Should’ve looked deeper.

But I didn’t, because part of me wanted to believe him.

Wanted to believe he was more than the weapon he was.

And now, I was drowning in the price of that mistake .

Draven tilted his head, as if contemplating something delightfully trivial. “Let me see…” he mused aloud, tapping a finger to his chin like a spoiled prince picking his next toy. “How about we start with her grandmother? Seems fitting. She did banish Mother after all.”

My heart stopped. Then slammed against my ribs with a force that stole my breath.

Her grandmother.

My grandmother.

My queen.

My anchor.

He said it as if it meant nothing. Like her life was just a note in his little coup song. His voice wasn’t cruel—it was casual. Careless. As if he were suggesting a toast, not execution or torture.

The walls felt like they were closing in.

My lungs fought for air, but panic sank its claws deep, and every breath was a war.

I couldn’t stop the trembling of my limbs.

I felt… stripped. Not just of power, but of every illusion I’d clung to, about him, about me, about the fragile control I thought I still had.

A scream built in my throat, but I swallowed it down. Screams were for the weak. Screams fed men like him.

But gods, I was afraid.

Afraid he’d follow through.

Afraid it was already too late.

Afraid that this, this room, this moment, this man, was the end of us all.

“Sorry, baby, but this is your punishment,” Draven crooned, voice soaked in venomous amusement.

The word baby dropped like acid in my ears. Mocking. Perverse. Familiar and warped beyond recognition.

His eyes, flat, lifeless things, held mine with all the warmth of a grave. There was no joy in them, no passion, not even hate. Just the dead calm of someone who’d already decided I wasn’t a person. Just a thing to break.

My pulse pounded in my throat, loud and erratic, like a war drum echoing inside a hollowed ribcage.

His words replayed in jagged loops, carving into my skull, each repetition more unbearable than the last. My grandmother’s face flashed in my mind—stern, proud, untouchable. And then… gone. Ashes in his hand.

The panic clawed up first, bitter and suffocating, but it couldn’t hold. Not when the rage came.

It surged like a wall laced with fire, swallowing me whole. The fury that burned logic to ash and made room for only one truth:

I’m going to gut him with my father’s trident. I’ll watch the light leave his eyes, slow, deliberate, and I’ll relish it. Not mourn it. Not question it. His screams will be music. His death, a sacrament.

I should’ve ended him when I had the chance, ripped his mind apart that night when he touched my mom, when my father fell to his knees, when their blood coated the palace in liquid ruby.

I hesitated . That hesitation is why my grandmother will suffer.

A voice cut through the tension like a blade dipped in frost.

“What is taking so long?”

The shadows parted, and Ithra stepped into view. Small. Elegant. Utterly wrong.

No.