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THIRTY

EVRYN

T he pain didn’t stop.

It moved through her like a tide, relentless and cold. Not like fire, not like knives— worse. Selyne’s magic wasn’t designed to break bones. It was built to unravel truths.

Evryn had stopped screaming hours ago. Maybe days. She couldn’t tell.

The light above her flickered with every pulse of blood from her veins to the runes etched in the floor. She was chained at wrist and ankle, body limp in the center of a circle soaked in her own pain. Every spell Selyne cast pulled deeper—ripping not just her power, but her identity .

“You bleed like a royal,” the Queen murmured again, circling her. “But still no bond. Still no throne key. It’s there. I know it is.”

Evryn could barely lift her head. Her mouth was too dry to curse.

Selyne crouched, brushing a hand through her blood, bringing her stained fingers to her lips. “If you were anyone else, you’d have died hours ago. But you… you were made for this.”

Evryn’s limbs shook. Something inside her cried out—not a scream. A roar.

Buried. Wild. Ancient.

Not fear. Instinct.

She couldn’t die here. Not in this room. Not like this.

No.

A voice stirred in her bones—rough, feminine, familiar.

Get up.

Her eyes fluttered. “Wha…”

You were never prey. You were born a predator.

The Queen’s voice echoed, more distant now. “Still conscious? Good. Let’s try again?—”

Evryn’s heart pounded louder than the spell.

They caged you in dreams, hid your teeth in silk. No more.

Her breath rattled. The pain blurred. But her blood sang louder than anything now.

Shadow rose. But not Selyne’s.

Hers.

It coiled beneath her, slow and hungry. The rune circle hissed, reacting too late. Evryn felt something beneath her skin peel back—like her own magic had been waiting , chained in slumber.

And it was done waiting.

Selyne stepped back. “What is this?—”

Evryn’s body arched.

Her bones didn’t crack, they shifted. Her muscles writhed under skin that shimmered with silver vein-light. Her scream turned guttural, then feral.

The chains snapped.

Not from brute force but from sheer will.

The runes on the floor lit up, then flickered, then shattered.

Queen Selyne stumbled backward, lips parting.

Evryn stood. No— rose.

Taller. Broader. Her shadow cast a shape it had never dared before.

A silhouette draped in feline grace.

Eyes gold-bright and pupil-slit.

Fangs bared.

The Panther Queen —not just born, but awakened.

Evryn stepped forward. The chains at her feet turned to smoke.

Selyne whispered something, casting a glyph in the air.

Evryn bared her teeth. “No more cages.” Her voice was not alone. It echoed. Like generations of forgotten queens had risen behind her.

The shadows exploded outward.

And Selyne for the first time— stumbled.