Page 14

“Let’s move,” I ordered, signaling Rava and Zane to take point.

We stepped swiftly through the palace corridors, sticking to the shadows. The usual bustle of servants and courtiers was absent, the halls eerily quiet except for the occasional patrol of guards. Not good. Emil had cleared the palace of witnesses.

“Hold,” Malak warned through our earpieces. “Two guards approaching from the east.”

We froze against the wall, barely breathing as footsteps neared. Talia’s tail brushed against my leg, and I reached out instinctively, my fingers finding hers behind me. She squeezed once, hard, before letting go.

I glanced at Zane, who grinned. “On it.”

He slipped around the corner, and seconds later, I heard the soft thud of bodies hitting the floor. Zane reappeared, beckoning us forward.

He mouthed along to Malak’s verbal, “Clear.”

We moved through the palace corridors like shadows. The silence sounded unnatural for a place that should be bustling with servants and guards. Twice we diverted our path when Malak warned of approaching patrols and once ducked into an empty chamber until danger passed.

We approached the massive doors to the throne room, left slightly ajar and unguarded. Voices drifted through the crack, a smooth, confident voice carrying clearly.

“...a tragedy that strikes at the very heart of our people,” he was saying. “But we cannot allow grief to blind us to the threat that still exists. A member of my own clan is still missing by their hands. We must bring these traitors to justice.”

I glanced at Talia, whose jaw tightened in recognition. Emil. Had to be. And fuck the bastard for already spinning his story to paint us as the villains.

Malak’s voice entered our ears before I had a chance to ask. “The room is more guard than courtier. I’m counting fifteen, no, sixteen to seven.” A pause. “There’s... something on the throne.”

Something. The way he said it made my skin crawl.

“Ready?” I silently asked the others.

They nodded, and I pushed the doors open.

The throne room fell silent as we entered. Guards immediately snapped to attention along the walls, hands moving to weapons. Sixteen, just as Malak said.

Seven clan leaders and advisors froze mid-conversation, heads swiveling toward us like startled deer.

I recognized that look, that rapid consideration of which side to back for maximum survival and profit.

Half of them were already inching toward the exits, while the others plastered themselves with fake shock that wouldn’t fool a child.

Emil stood on the dais, one hand resting on the arm of the throne—Talia’s throne. Displayed like some macabre trophy, sat the body of King Adron.

Even from a distance, I could see the wound that had killed him: a messy slash across the throat. The king’s eyes were open, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Blood had pooled beneath him, staining the marble black.

Beside me, Talia went rigid. I couldn’t tell if it was grief or rage or some combination of both that made her hands clench into fists at her sides.

Emil’s surprise lasted only a moment before his face settled into a smug smile. “Ah, the murderers return to the scene of their crime. How predictable.”

“You killed my father,” Talia said, each word sharp as glass.

Emil tsked, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

“Such accusations from the princess who fled with her father’s killer.

Tell me, how long were you planning this coup?

Was it before or after your brother’s unfortunate demise?

Oh, didn’t this Kadhan scum also have a hand in Prince Javed’s murder? ”

I felt the heat of anger building beneath my skin, fire itching to be released.

“In this time of crisis,” Emil continued, back to addressing his supporters, “a pure ifrit must step forward to prevent the crown from falling to murderers and kidnappers.” He spread his arms wide. “I present myself as your rightful king, ready to lead our people back to prosperity and honor.”

The nobles shifted uncomfortably, exchanging uncertain glances. Emil noticed their hesitation and smiled coldly.

“Perhaps we should ask the king himself.” He turned to Adron’s body with theatrical gravity. “Your Majesty, do you have any objections to my taking the throne?”

Silence filled the room. Emil waited a beat, then grabbed a handful of the dead king’s white hair, shaking his head slightly. “What’s that, Your Majesty? You believe I am the rightful heir? How generous.”

Talia made a strangled sound beside me as Emil let the king’s head drop, then shoved the body roughly aside with his foot. He settled himself on the throne, crossing his legs casually.

“Now,” he said, “let us discuss how to deal with the traitors.”

“You disrespectful piece of shit,” Talia shouted, her control finally breaking. “You fucking traitor! You’re just an opportunistic sleaze.”

“Such harsh words from such pretty lips,” Emil chided. “Come, Princess, sit on my lap, and you can claim anything you’d like.” His eyes raked over her body. “So long as you know who’s in charge.”

I snarled, the sound ripping from my throat before I could stop it.

The fire beneath my skin flared hotter, demanding release.

The crude suggestion, the implication that Talia— my mate —would ever submit to him, sent a wave of possessive rage through me that threatened to consume everything in its path.

The sound seemed to startle even Emil, whose smug expression faltered for a moment. Then his hand shot up, flames already gathering in his palm.

“Die like your father,” Emil snarled, launching a massive fireball straight at Talia’s heart.

Griffin teleported directly in front of Talia. The blast caught him full in the shoulder, the impact spinning him halfway around. His scream cut through the chaos as flames ate through cloth and skin. He stumbled but planted himself more firmly, his good arm raised.

“Go!” he ground out through clenched teeth. “Both of you, get out of here!”

Like hell.

The guards charged forward while the nobles scattered like vermin, teleporting away in clouds of red smoke. Zane and Rava met them head-on, my sister’s fire cutting a swath through the first wave while Zane’s massive fists connected with jaw after jaw.

I locked eyes with Talia. Something passed between us. Understanding. Purpose. Rage.

Emil would not win. He couldn’t.

We moved as one, stepping forward instead of back.

Fire roared from my hands, a torrent of destruction that cleared a path through the guards. I didn’t hold back, didn’t temper the inferno the way I normally would. Behind me, Talia struck fast and hard. Any guard who escaped my initial blast or blades found themselves facing her flames.

These men had chosen their side when they stood with Emil. They’d chosen wrong.

For a moment, victory seemed within reach. The first wave of guards lay scattered across the floor, some moaning in pain, others ominously still. Emil’s smug expression had vanished, replaced by something closer to fear.

“Another wave coming through the west corridor,” Malak’s voice crackled in my ear. “At least ten more guards and?—”

Static filled the earpiece, then silence.

“Malak?” I called, panic clawing at my throat. “Malak, report!”

Nothing.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The doors burst open, and fresh guards poured into the throne room, cutting off our path to Emil. I spun, trying to track threats from all directions at once. A fireball grazed my shoulder, the heat singeing my skin even as I dodged.

“Kaz!” Talia shouted.

I turned just in time to see a massive blast of fire heading straight for her. She vanished in a cloud of red smoke a split second before it would have hit her. Relief flooded through me, followed immediately by dread as I realized I was now exposed on all sides.

Where is she? Where the fuck is she?

Guards circled me, fire dancing between their fingers. Zane and Rava were backed against a pillar, fighting desperately to keep enemies at bay. Griffin, his shoulder a charred mess, was down on one knee but still hurling fireballs with his good arm.

We were going to lose.

Then I saw it. A cloud of red smoke taking shape behind the throne.

Talia materialized beside Emil, a wicked dagger glinting in her hand. Before he could turn, she drove the blade deep into his lower back. Emil howled, arching in pain, but he didn’t fall. Instead, he whirled on her, fire already gathering in his palms.

“No!” The word tore my throat raw.

I hurled myself forward, sending balls of fire at anyone who stood between me and the throne. Guards scattered, some falling beneath my onslaught, others diving for cover. I didn’t care. All I saw was Emil, his hands wreathed in flames, reaching for my mate.

I reached the dais in three bounds, grabbing Emil by the back of the neck and yanking him away from Talia. Our eyes locked, and we both understood what needed to be done.

Together, Talia and I unleashed our fire, pouring it into Emil from both sides. His screams echoed through the throne room as he burned, the flames consuming him until nothing remained but ash.

The room fell silent, save for the crackle of dying flames and the groans of the wounded.

“Kaz!” Malak’s voice, rough but blessedly alive, broke the silence. He appeared at the far entrance, a group of guards in royal colors behind him. “We secured the communications room and found loyalists in the barracks. These men still serve the crown.”

Relief washed over me, but it was short-lived. Across the body of our enemy, Talia’s eyes had found her father. She moved to him like a sleepwalker, kneeling beside the throne where Emil had carelessly tossed his body.

I turned to Malak and the waiting guards. “Take everyone who followed Emil to the cells. They’ll be judged later.” My voice sounded strange to my own ears. Distant. Hollow. “Secure the palace. No one enters or leaves without my permission.”

Malak nodded, already directing the loyal guards to round up Emil’s supporters. Zane and Rava moved among the fallen, separating the dead from those who could still be saved. Griffin stood watch over it all, his injured arm hanging uselessly at his side, but his eyes alert.

I crossed to where Talia knelt beside her father’s body. I didn’t speak. What could I possibly say that wouldn’t sound empty? Instead, I simply reached for her hand.

Her fingers twined with mine, squeezing so hard it hurt. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what to feel. I have everything I ever wanted, but at what cost? An entire family, rotten as it was?”

“You don’t need to know how to feel right now,” I said softly.

I knelt beside her, my free hand coming up to cup her cheek.

“It can be different tomorrow, or the day after. And that can be different ten days from now.” I pressed my forehead to hers, breathing in the scent of jasmine and embers that had become as necessary to me as air.

“I’ll be with you through it all, Talia. ”

She closed her eyes, a single tear tracking down her cheek. I caught it with my thumb, this precious evidence of her humanity, her heart.

“My queen,” I whispered. Vowed.

Her eyes opened, meeting mine with a fierce, wounded pride that took my breath away. I knew with bone-deep certainty that I would spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of her trust, her strength, her vulnerability.

“My king,” she answered, and somehow, in the midst of death and chaos, it felt like the beginning of something extraordinary.

The crown was still stained with blood. The throne room still reeked of death and betrayal. But as Talia’s hand tightened in mine, I felt something I hadn’t expected to find in this place of power and poison.

Hope.