Page 37 of The Veil of Hollow Gods

We walk arm in arm down the corridor—lace and shadow.

"There is no sigilweave where we’re going," Tyr says, and a shudder skates down my spine.

"What else can you tell me about this one?" I ask, my hand resting in the crook of his elbow.

"Only that this one is public. You’ll have more eyes on you than you can fathom."

A knot rises in my throat at the thought of being watched. Seen. Eyes pressing into my flesh—stealing all the air.

But another thought offers itself.

They won’t just watch. They’ll witness.

I steady my breathing and push away the noise. They will witness.

Horseshit or not, I cling to it like a tree to a stake.

"The remaining potentials are expected to greet each king. Personally."

Excellent. "I didn’t do so poorly at the Presentation Ball. I expect the same will hold true here. "

"Ah, but this is different. These greetings are private. Away from the crowd."

"Right. This is the Trial where I fuck the kings. I should have known. Why not invite them all back to my chambers? I can take care of it quicker that way."

Tyr stiffens. "Hardly necessary. You’re only expected to speak to them. Nothing more, Amara."

"Oh. I see. Well, let’s be sure, then. Wouldn’t want the kings to miss their turn with the variant."

Tyr pauses mid-stride, making me stop as well. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me. Or you wouldn’t have stopped short."

"Where did you hear that word?"

"Shoreena said it to your friend, the Maggot King."

Tyr leans forward, putting his face in mine. "I will only say this one time, Amara." A lock of white hair falls over his shoulder. "Do not get caught using the Mirror of Souls. The Maiden Council granted you leniency because of Sev—your friend’s death. But if you continue to?—"

"What? Continue to break the rules of your ridiculous charade? What will you do?"

I pause, folding my arms. "Will you steal me from my home, my family? Rewrite my memories? Force me to live in a frozen death vestige?"

Tyr’s jaw clamps hard around whatever words he’s about to say.

"Will you take my window? Seal me in a room by myself? Or maybe you’ll just force me to compete to become the Maiden, whatever the bloodied stars that is."

He grabs my chin, pulling me close.

And…

It’s not the nearness that frightens me. It’s how my body doesn’t flinch .

His lips whisper across mine with each word.

"You think they can’t still take from you? You think they won’t twist the knife further?" I hear the words, but his scent is all my mind can track. That sweetness laced with mourning, with death.

I pull out of his grasp, but Dama’s hand, I know it—that scent. Deep in my bones, where his words like to bury themselves.

"Who is Veydra, Amara?"

The question snaps me back. "What?"

"Who is Veydra?" he repeats, eyes flashing.

I search his face, looking for the truth behind the question. "A demon goddess."

Something ignites in his eyes.

The restraint, the courtly comportment, vanishes as he brings his lips to mine and crushes me with a kiss.

His hand snakes to the back of my head, pressing me close as I struggle to free myself. I push against his chest, pressing my lips together, but his hand on the back of my head tugs my hood down and laces in my hair.

It feels…

It feels exactly the way a demon touching me shouldn’t . My body arches into him, and a rumble of approval vibrates in his chest.

And I can hold out no longer.

I grab his face—both hands—and kiss him back. Feverish, like he’s breath, life.

And when I pull away, panting and flushed, I smack his face.

The spot reddens as he stares into my eyes.

"Never again," I say. "You will never touch me again without my permission."

He grabs me by the throat. "I’ve already told you. I will do everything to make you what you need to be to survive this. I vowed it. Remember?"

Tyr pushes a memory in my mind. Cold air hits first, then the familiar bounce of a horse’s gait. "No harm will come to you while you’re under my charge."

Shadows rise around us, between us.

"Let go of me," I hiss, and he does.

"Take me to the fucking Trial, you monster."

Tyr grips my waist—a neutral, perfunctory touch—and before I can twist away, the world drops from my feet.

It’s only a heartbeat, but the sudden feeling of nothing lingers in my bones far after.

"Take a moment," Tyr orders.

"For what?" I ask, staring up at him.

He raises a brow, scanning my face for something. When whatever he’s waiting for fails to happen, he pushes through the black stone door before us.

"This is the antechamber. You’ll go through there"—he gestures to another door at the opposite side—"to greet the kings."

Tyr says nothing more. He simply vanishes from my sight.

I don’t take a moment to compose myself.

But I think I know why Tyr thought I might need one.

He transported me with demon magic.

By all accounts, I should be very unwell if not unconscious.

But I feel fine aside from the lingering strangeness in my bones at his lips on mine.

I push through the door, and six kings stand in the center of a round room. Like the bedchambers and Gloaming Room, there are no angles. No corners .

But the kings don’t notice me. They’re arguing. Loud, heated, inches from violence.

I can’t even parse what they’re arguing over. It’s simply noise to me

Tyr, having just arrived nearly the same time as me, strides to the center of the room.

Varek, the war king—the one who put his hands on me at the second Trial—and The Withered King track him while still yelling at Lorien.

Tyr clears his throat. "If you draw blood in here—any of you—I will end it.”

Silence falls. And not a single king tests him.

"Skulking in shadows, Tyr? We didn’t see you," Varek says with a sneering laugh.

Tyr says nothing. He just smiles and the quiet that lands afterward curdles the air.

And no one joins Varek’s laughter.

"Well, now that’s settled. Who am I meant to greet first?" I scan the kings—all eyes on me—and a small smile tugs at my mouth.

They’re looking at me differently. I can’t quite say what’s different, but it’s like I’m not a meal to them any longer.

"Start with me," Varek says, flashing his pointed teeth. He approaches, his long talisman coat swishing behind him like a trail of ruin and conquest.

He doesn’t come too close, but just shy of it, and holds out a hand. I take it, and the moment our skin touches, I realize what’s different.

"May Veydra smile down on you," he says with a wolfish smile.

"May she turn her gaze from the atrocities done in her name." I give him a smoldering stare, and Varek pretends not to have heard me.

He pats my hand. "Yes, well. You’re set to make some of us very rich."

I lean forward, lowering my voice so the other kings don’t hear. "Better make sure Shoreena agrees. I suspect she and Lorien are working out a side agreement."

Varek laughs before taking my words in earnest. "And what makes you think that?"

I lift a shoulder, seeing through his calm demeanor. "Get close enough to Lorien, and you’ll smell her on him."

Varek holds my gaze a moment too long, betraying himself. "Yes, well. I’m certain whatever you suspect is nothing to concern yourself with, potential."

I lower my head just enough to feign deference. "Of course, Highness."

He walks back to his place among the other kings, and Lorien approaches me, smile wide, beaming directly into my eyes. But I don’t miss the slight furrow in Varek’s brow. Or the way his gaze now lingers on Lorien’s back.

I keep a placid smile glued in place despite the urge to frown, to gag the smallest bit at what I’ve seen of his real face.

"Amara, lovely, how nice to see you again." His blue eyes gleam, and I can’t believe I ever felt a pull of attraction from him. He’s entirely and obviously artifice.

How did I not see it before?

I frown. "You’ve… You’ve got something right…" I lean forward, pretending to look closer, brushing his face with a fingertip. "Oh, never mind. Trick of the light, I suppose." I smile.

And he knows .

He doesn’t show it. His smile doesn’t falter. The gleam in Lorien’s gaze doesn’t dim. But he knows I know.

"Enjoy the show, False Light," I say with a serene smile.

Lorien’s face hardens, but he doesn’t call me out. He doesn’t scold me for the disrespect.

I wink at him. "Say hello to Shoreena for me."

Lorien steps back and returns to the other kings without another word to me. I catch Tyr’s stare and can’t quite read it.

He might be telling me that was unwise.

And it was. I know it. I should have kept what I know close to my chest. Should have deployed it strategically.

But if this is the last time I see these kings, if something terrible happens at this third Trial, then I want to make them sweat. I want them to know I fucking see them.

I’m not just a girl from a village they dressed in lace.

The next king comes, the Withered King…the first one I met on Presentation Day.

I don’t have a personal problem with him like I do with Varek and Lorien, but I don’t want any of these demons sitting comfortably as they wager on us. As they make us perform in this barbaric theatre.

"You’ve done well so far, Amara," the king says as he takes my hand. "Remember, this isn’t what you think it is."

I paint on my warmest smile. "Thank you so much, Highness. I’ll be sure to use that invaluable information during the Trial." I let the smile drop to neutral the moment the words are out.

He steps closer so the others don’t hear him. "Good. Be angry. Use it. Let it be the fire that forges?—"

"Spare me your wise platitudes, Majesty. I’ve had enough horseshit today, thank you.”

To his credit, the Withered King isn’t incensed. In fact, his silver eyes spark with the hint of a smile. "As the lady wishes," he says and offers the smallest bow before going back to stand with the other kings.

A bow.

The Void King approaches next, and for the life of me, I cannot remember his name. But I remember the last thing he said to me.