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Prologue

The queen was dead.

A jagged wound gaped inside Yelena’s soul, one with no hope of healing. She raced through the hallways of the palace, her son clasped tightly in her arms. Every stride threatened to jostle him from her grasp.

Losing Cyra meant their destruction. The queen was the anchor that held their race together, the only one who could keep their magic from corrupting.

Without her, the Sagani would begin losing their strength and their higher reasoning, their inexorable decay eventually leading them to become rogue creatures with vicious primitive urges.

Even Netarios seemed afraid of what lay around each corner.

Ivan had joined the search for the princess. No one knew where Zahra was, but panicked palace whispers confirmed her survival. Yelena knew her mate would obey his oath to the royal line until the end.

Echoes of her urgent footsteps bounced off the walls, punctuating the horrific screams from the stately rooms they’d left behind.

She gasped for breath. One more hallway until she reached the doors to their personal quarters, where Netarios and the princess had played together that morning. She had a brief foolish hope that Zahra had found shelter there.

The imposing figure looming just outside their doorway made Yelena yelp.

“ Julian .”

Like her mate, Julian was one of the queen’s generals, but he controlled the largest of the six Sagani legions. He made a powerful ally, and an even more formidable foe.

His eerie calm was at odds with the crisis around them.

Ivan and the other generals had immediately moved to protect the princess or rally their soldiers against the coup, and Julian should have been with the First Legion.

With the queen’s murderer still unknown, his unexplained presence outside her quarters was a threat she couldn't ignore.

Clinging tighter to her son, she shifted backwards and prepared to escape.

Julian’s words punched through every shield she had. The coercion rooted in her psyche, burrowing deeper with every breath. Despite her determination, there was no chance of resisting his magic.

As the general walked away, Yelena’s arms loosened involuntarily. Netarios tumbled to the floor. His startled cry tore at her heart, but she made no move to pick him up from where he’d fallen. Her body was no longer her own.

“Mama!”

Yelena couldn’t make herself turn to look at her son. She struggled, desperate and horrified, to move the small muscles around her eyes. Just her eyes. Move. Straining with the effort, she screamed inside the prison her mind had become.

A dagger manifested in her right hand. Netarios tugged on her skirts with a frightened whine. “Mama? What’s wrong, mama?”

She couldn’t answer. The cool metal in her palm seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. A dreaded realization that she would have no choice in what followed made her soul shred. Those she loved would never be safe again. The dark command laced her like poison, primed to strike.

When she didn’t respond, Netarios gave up his efforts and nestled against her legs. Yelena fought against the magic’s restraints, longing to swing her son into her arms and kiss away his fears. Instead, her body turned toward the sound of footsteps.

She recognized her mate’s approach before she saw him. Fear choked her anew. She tore desperately at the void locking her inside her mind, trying to telepathically caution Ivan or shout a warning.

“She’s safe, Yelena. Zahra is—” Her beloved jerked, frowning at her. “Yelena?”

Her body took advantage of the half moment of confusion. Light glinted off the silver blade, and before she could scream, it lodged in her mate’s chest.

The man who rocked their son to sleep each night dropped heavily to the floor. Yelena’s knees hit the ground beside him, and the blade flashed again and again.

A scream rattled through her mind, echoing in every cell of her being. Her mate was drowning in agony. Yelena couldn’t comfort him, apologize, or explain why she’d turned on him. Ivan’s last breath would be cast in betrayal.

With every fall of the blade, she lost another piece of herself. Without Ivan, life was no longer worth living. The crime she had committed was against fate itself .

Her son desperately shoved at the knife. Her little hero was attempting to save his father. Netarios wailed, pleading with her to stop. With a single strike, her elbow connected with his chin. It sent him small body flying across the hallway and into the wall.

His retreating whimpers gave Yelena hope that Netarios could get away and hide from the monster she’d become.

Though she could give no outward sign of it, the horror and the anger at what she’d done shattered her soul into pieces. The shock of losing her mate stole what remained of her sanity.

The blade, drenched in blood, returned to her side. Her body rose to stand.

And then, Yelena Tserkov hunted her son.

The child would run to his favorite hiding spot. She scrambled to hide that information from the dark void that swallowed her free will. Everything she had left revolted against following him there.

The door slammed open as she walked through, the sound hollow against the silence of their quarters.

“Come out, come out, little one. Mommy misses you.”

Her voice called out to Netarios, deceptively sweet, luring him so she could do as the coercion demanded. Gliding silently through the quarters, she looked for him in the spots he typically hid while they played hide and seek. He wasn’t there.

With every step, the blood staining her dress reminded her that she’d ended her mate’s life. The sob that rose inside her couldn’t drown out the sound of her beckoning.

“Come here, Netarios.”

Her telepathy spanned outward, searching for the son she’d nurtured since birth. From the moment she’d sensed the life inside her, she’d cherished every day, every interaction, every second of the time she’d been given with her boy.

“Yelena! Netari!”

Roman’s voice boomed behind her. The young soldier must have sensed the change in the labyrinth and had come to investigate. With the last remaining threads of her rationality, Yelena had only one hope left: that he’d be able to stop her.

The startled cry of a child and the faint creak of a cupboard door primed the poison in her mind. Her body pivoted back toward their living quarters, intercepting Netarios as he was reaching for his savior.

Her son’s face and chest were splattered with a macabre pattern of blood. His golden eyes were wide with terror, and he cried out as she blocked his path to safety. The boy skidded to a stop, frozen in fear as the silver blade in her hand rose with intent.

It never lowered.

Roman grabbed her forearm. Her body struggled ruthlessly against his strength, seething with malice.

“Stop, Yelena— stop !”

It didn’t matter how much she wanted to . The coercion driving her demanded that she end the little life sprawled at her feet.

“Kill Ivan first, then my son. My son—my son—my son— my son ,” she babbled mindlessly.

Roman’s shock at her words allowed the monster inside her to gain the upper hand. She twisted out of his grip, the blade in her hand aiming for her child. She could only watch as Netarios cried.

“Yelena, no!”

A push from Roman’s magic had no bearing on the toxic void enclosing her. The call went unheeded once more, but the blade still never made contact. Roman blocked it from its true target, blood spraying in its wake as his arm took the blow.

Slice after slice, the blade tore at Roman’s forearms. The soldier was trying desperately to keep her son safe. Despite her efforts to turn her blade on herself, it kept aiming for Netarios. Her son stared at her with a heartbroken expression, as if trying to memorize her face, even now.

The floor was slick with blood beneath her feet. Locking her eyes on Roman, she pleaded silently with him to end it. He was stronger than she was—always had been—but he was attempting to save her life.

No, she tried to say. Save him, Roman. Save my son.

The longer this went on, the less control Roman would have.

When he finally clenched his hands around her neck, all she could think of was laughing with her mate in the sun.

Singing Netarios to sleep with her lullabies, and whether he’d remember them when she was gone.

Would Ivan be waiting for her on the other side of eternity?

Roman snapped her neck.

Awful, oppressive quiet followed the sound. There was no pain. Her eyes closed as her body shut down, her head twisted at an odd angle. As she began to drift, she heard Roman’s voice.

“Come here, Netari. Shh, I’m here,” the soldier cooed. “I’m here.”