Page 33

THIRTY-THREE

LUCIEN

L ucien knew the Keep like he knew his own heartbeat.

But the corridors felt different now—twisted, breathing with the pulse of old magic. The stone whispered lies. The air hummed with spells laid centuries before either he or Evryn had drawn breath.

Still, he followed her scent.

Wild, charged. Laced with steel and blood.

And something else now.

Power.

She had changed and the world was changing with her.

They climbed the last set of stairs side by side, their shadows merging with the flickering sconces lining the path to the throne chamber. His fingers brushed hers once as they neared the towering obsidian doors.

She turned slightly.

“I’ll kill her,” Evryn said.

Lucien looked at her, his chest aching. “Not alone.”

Then they pushed the doors open.

The throne room was as dark as a starless sky.

Queen Selyne sat atop the onyx dais, her throne carved with a hundred runes no one living could read. Behind her, the Veil shimmered—a tear in reality rippling like water. Its edges pulsed with the color of nightmares.

She stood slowly.

Lucien felt the cold seep through his bones before she even moved.

“Lucien,” she said, voice velvet and venom. “Still loyal. Even now.”

He said nothing.

Selyne’s gaze shifted to Evryn.

“And you. The stray. The storm. Look what you’ve become.”

Evryn’s power stirred like a tide, wrapping around her like a cloak. But she said nothing either.

“You’ve always been too sentimental, my son,” Selyne murmured. “Too soft . I warned you.”

Lucien stepped forward. “You tortured her.”

“I prepared her,” she replied. “The throne demands suffering. Blood. You were never strong enough to understand.”

“And Cassian is?” Lucien growled.

She smiled, cruel and slow. “Cassian is many things. But not what you are.”

She stepped down from the dais, the Veil hissing behind her.

“Kill her,” she said, almost gently. “And you will have everything. The throne. The bloodline. The dominion. She’s already cracked open. Her power would bleed straight into you.”

Lucien stared at her. Then at Evryn.

He didn’t speak. He just drew his blade and threw it down at her feet.

“No.”

Selyne’s expression didn’t change but her eyes blazed.

“I made you,” she said.

Lucien stepped between her and Evryn. “And I’ll unmake you.”

The shadows struck first.

Selyne raised her hand and the entire chamber buckled—stone groaning, air tearing. Lucien threw up his shield of shadow, catching the brunt of her magic, but it knocked him sideways, slamming him into a pillar with bone-jarring force.

He hit the ground hard, rolled, and launched back.

Evryn moved with him, fast, panther-smooth, her claws glinting with dusklight. But Selyne wasn’t fighting like a Queen.

She was fighting like a god.

Dark tendrils of ancient spellwork whipped out from her hands, catching Lucien across the chest. His vision flared white with pain as blood sprayed. He dropped to one knee, panting.

“Lucien!” Evryn cried, stepping toward him.

“Stay back!” he roared, pushing to his feet.

Selyne laughed.

“You think love makes you strong?” she spat. “It makes you vulnerable. ”

She rushed forward, a dagger of voidlight in her hand.

Lucien met her in the middle.

Their blades clashed, magic shattering around them like thunder. She drove into him with brutal precision, her speed unnatural. He matched her blow for blow—but her power was older. Wired into the Keep itself.

Her dagger plunged into his side.

Lucien gasped.

Evryn screamed.

Selyne whispered, “You could’ve been king.”

And with a brutal twist, she tore the blade through his ribs.

Lucien collapsed and darkness took him.