Page 34

THIRTY-FOUR

EVRYN

L ucien fell.

And the world fell with him.

Evryn screamed, not a sound of fear, but of something ancient, something that cracked bone and soul in one breath. The moment he hit the stone, her shadow snapped, recoiling inward like it had been severed from its source.

He wasn’t breathing.

No.

She was moving before she knew it. Her hands hit the floor beside him, fingers trembling, bloody. His eyes were still open, but unseeing. His mouth slack.

“Lucien,” she whispered. “No. Don’t you dare.”

Queen Selyne stood behind them, blade dripping shadowlight, her smile hollow and gleaming.

“You chose weakness,” she hissed. “And this is what it earns you.”

Evryn didn’t hear her.

There was only him.

And the sound—no, the feeling —of something old waking in her chest. Her fingers pressed to his chest, slick with blood, warm and thick and wrong .

“No,” she said again, louder now.

Something inside her cracked.

And power answered .

She didn’t know the words, but she didn’t need to.

They rose from her throat like memory, like instinct.

A low chant in a forgotten tongue, her voice laced with the shadows of queens long buried.

Blood to breath. Soul to shadow. Mine to yours. Return.

The runes carved into the throne room floor lit from beneath, one by one, crawling outward in a spiral that met beneath Lucien’s body.

Selyne stepped forward. “What are you doing?—”

But Evryn didn’t stop. She gave.

Blood pooled beneath her hands. Her own—cut clean from her palm, mixing with his.

And as her chant rose, the Veil split.

The air thickened with energy so old it burned to breathe.

Lucien’s body arched. His eyes flew open. And for one suspended second, he looked right at her—like he remembered everything.

Then light burst from their joined hands, and both of them gasped.

They were bound. Not just by magic. Not just by touch. By soul.

He sat up fast, choking on his first breath back. His hand flew to hers. Their shadows braided together like roots, like lovers.

“What—Evryn—what did you do?” he rasped.

She smiled, tears tracking through ash on her cheeks. “I didn’t let you go.”

Selyne shrieked.

“You broke the Balance?—”

Evryn stood.

And Lucien rose with her.

Back to back.

His shadows. Her fire.

Hers was primal. His was precision. Together, they became vengeance.

Selyne unleashed a torrent of spellfire, screeching in a voice not hers alone, Veil-cursed and ancient.

But it met a wall of darkness and bloodlight.

Lucien’s blade moved with deadly clarity. Evryn’s claws glowed with rune-fire, her panther form flickering at her back like a goddess unmasked.

They struck as one.

Lucien disarmed her. Evryn drove her hand through the Queen’s chest and whispered, “This throne never belonged to you.”

Selyne gasped.

Without a scream, without a curse—she crumbled.

Ash.

Gone.

The throne room went still.

There was no thunder. No final spell. No echoing cry to mark the end of her rule.

Just dust, swirling in the violet-tinted light.

Only the sound of their breathing remained.

Lucien turned to her—his chest still rising like he couldn’t believe he was alive. He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes dark and wide.

“You… you brought me back,” he whispered hoarsely. “You shouldn’t have.”

Evryn held him tighter. “I had to. And right now, I’d do it again, no matter the cost.”

Their shadows wrapped around them, bound now in more than magic.

In soul.

But even as her arms tightened around him, Evryn couldn’t stop her gaze from drifting back to the pile of dust where the Queen had once stood. Her body trembled— not with fear , but with power.

Surging. Coiling. Rooting deeper into her blood.

She felt it everywhere now.

Every heartbeat a roar. Every breath a warning.

Her vision wavered, the room shifting, and for a split second, she saw her own reflection in the glimmering shards of glass near the dais.

Her eyes—gold with slit pupils. Feral. Ancient.

Like hers.

Would that be her end, too?

Would she burn so bright she turned herself to ash?

A cry broke the air like glass shattering.

“Mother!”

Cassian stormed into the chamber, blade drawn, his coat torn, hair wild.

He saw the dust.

He saw Lucien.

And rage consumed him.

“You—” His voice cracked, pure hate. “You let her die!”

Lucien turned fully, standing in front of Evryn now, eyes hard. “She died trying to take what wasn’t hers.”

Cassian’s face contorted with grief and fury. “You were her son ! You could’ve saved her!”

“She needed to be stopped,” Lucien said, voice low and final. “And you knew it.”

Cassian’s eyes burned. “She loved you. Even at your worst. And you killed her for her ?” He pointed his sword at Evryn. “You betrayed your blood for a girl raised in the gutter.”

Lucien didn’t answer.

He just drew his blade.

Cassian lunged.

They clashed steel to steel, power to power.

Evryn moved to intervene, but Lucien raised a hand without looking.

“I have to do this.”

They fought like the brothers they were, trained under the same hand, taught by the same cruelty. But Lucien fought to protect.

Cassian fought to avenge.

Every strike was filled with raw pain. Blades sang against the stone floor, the clash echoing through the broken hall. Lucien’s shoulder was cut. Cassian’s thigh. Blood marked the floor, their shadows dancing like ghosts behind them.

“You were always the favorite,” Cassian spat, blade dragging sparks as it met Lucien’s again. “Always her precious dagger. And you threw it away! ”

Lucien met his eyes. “Because I finally saw what it turned me into.”

Cassian screamed and charged again, swinging wild.

Lucien ducked, pivoted, and disarmed him in a blur of motion—but Cassian didn’t stop. He kept coming, fists flying, blind with grief.

Lucien’s jaw clenched.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered—and then slashed.

The blade sang.

Cassian fell.

Blood pooled fast. He choked once, eyes wide, stunned more than afraid. His lips moved, but no words came.

Suddenly, silence.

Lucien stood over his brother’s body, sword dripping, breath ragged. His face didn’t twist in victory.

Only sorrow.

Only loss.

Evryn moved beside him, one hand on his back.

Lucien didn’t look away from the fallen prince.

“I didn’t want to kill him,” he said.

Evryn’s voice was quiet. “He wouldn’t have stopped.”

Lucien nodded once, shadows curling at his feet.

“No. He wouldn’t.”

Behind them, the broken throne room waited.

Their story wasn’t done.

But the old one had finally ended.