Page 45

The throbbing pressure in my head overwhelms me as I take in the expansive throne room.

It feels familiar to me, yet I’m quite certain that I’ve never been here.

I’ve never seen dark architecture such as this.

Yet, the shapes and layout remind me of…

something . It’s constructed from alabaster, as well as deep oak and mahogany woods.

Everything is laced with gold, which makes the dark ambience glitter—much like the stars on top of the Cales’ roof at night.

My heart clenches at the intrusion of the thought.

What would Cara think of all this if she were here?

The knots in my stomach twist tighter as my gaze lands on the king and queen. I’ve never imagined a place to appear just as fearsome as its rulers, yet somehow the Palace of Nightmares has accomplished such a feat.

The king is achingly handsome with dark black hair and chiseled features.

His wiley good looks make him appear transcendent.

The onyx crown is constructed from black diamonds, with vertical spikes sharp enough they could be used as a weapon.

His mantle lays across his shoulders, making him appear more intimidating than I could’ve imagined—a stark contrast to his twinkling amber eyes.

Similar to his crown is a large gem that adorns the king’s right hand.

His body oozes power in a way I’ve never encountered from another being—not even Emyr.

Yet there’s something within the undercurrent of his power that feels tainted. It feels strange and dark.

“Does the daft thing speak?” Queen Orla’s shrill voice rings out.

She’s just as terrifyingly beautiful as her husband.

Her long straight coral hair cascades down her shoulders to her waist. Her cheekbones are severe, and her eyes are the most vibrant shade of lavender, matching her dress that is the most stunning creation I’ve ever seen.

Her arched eyebrows and contemptuous smile make her appear menacing rather than welcoming.

Her signet tattoo is strange though, as it’s half of the black horse of the Galrosans, and half of the blue trident of the Briezians.

I’ve never seen anyone possess half of two signets in one, even with a mixed heritage. This makes me think she’s quite a unique case.

Which half is more dominant?

Very little is known about the abilities the Briezians possess, so she could wield any number of abilities.

“Now, now, Orla,” the king scolds. “There’s no need to be cross with our new guest.” The king’s dazzling white smile allows the dimples on his cheeks to appear as he solely focuses on me.

“What’s your name, darling?” he asks. His voice is mellifluous, as if coated in honey.

His accent is unmistakably Galrosan, but his voice feels like a seduction.

Yet it’s the manner in which he speaks that reveals he’s lived for a few centuries.

His eyes drift to where the pendant lays against my chest, causing me to instinctively touch it.

“I’m Maeva Cale, Your Highness,” I reply, hoping my voice doesn’t sound as weak as I feel .

“Maeva Cale,” his voice lilts slowly. “I’ve waited quite some time for your arrival.

After all, you’re a rare phenomenon: keeper of the Dragon’s Flame.

It’s said that you alone will usher in the reign of the Na Fíréin.

” He leans forward on his throne, his smile growing larger, if that’s even possible.

“I-I believe so, Your Highness,” I reply.

“Indeed,” he says, allowing each sound to roll off his tongue unhurriedly. “That is, if you believe the prophecy to be true. Do you, Miss Cale?”

“I only believe in what I can see, Your Majesty,” I reply. “I’ve only recently heard bits of the prophecy. Whether it’s about me, or someone else entirely, is still up for debate.”

He arches a curious eyebrow at me. “You possess the Dragon’s Flame, Miss Cale,” he states. “Regardless of what you believe, it is about you. What an honor it is to have been chosen.” He says the last word as if there’s venom hidden within each syllable.

“It’s only an honor if you seek glory, my king,” I reply.

The king’s melodic laugh fills the space as he assesses me.

“You’re quite a curious little thing,” he says, his eyes greedily staring at the pendant once more. “May I see it?”

“I don-”

A strange feeling washes over me, making me forget what I was saying. His amber eyes are glowing now, making it impossible to look away from him. “Give it to me, my darling,” he whispers, holding out a hand toward me.

I don’t know what propels me forward, but I find myself walking closer to him. I can’t resist what he’s asking of me because I only wish to please him. I’m almost to the dais when Saoirse’s low growl reverberates through my mind, snapping me from whatever daze I was in.

I shake my head slowly, backing up two steps.

Over my decaying body will you give that pendant to him. Siorai entrusted it to you alone, Saoirse growls. That Demon King shall never possess something so sacred .

Why would it be a bad thing, Saoirse? It’s just a pendant, I reply.

It’s a part of you, as much as you’re a part of it! You’re quite precious, my dear. Look at him, and you’ll see the truth, she spits.

I force my gaze back up to the king, and I notice his eyes aren’t just glowing, but his ring is too. As soon as my eyes connect with his once more, I feel that pull to obey. However, this time, it feels twisted and almost like a violation of my inner peace.

Is he trying to force me to give it to him?

That’s impossible because it would mean he can control minds.

It doesn’t make sense because he’s Galrosan royalty.

They can only control the abilities of the shadows and creatures of the Abyss.

Yet the mind-warping ability is Malvorian.

How is that possible?

The ability of another feeds the depraved ruler. No matter what he says to you, you can’t part with that pendant. Do you understand?” Saoirse bellows.

I neither grasp what Saoirse is telling me about the king, nor do I understand how the king is able to compel me. Either way, I know in my gut that he can’t have my pendant.

Even if I were to give it to him, would it not burn his flesh like it had with the captain?

However, if it doesn’t burn him on contact, what does he plan to do with it?

I barely understand what the pendant is capable of.

“Maeva. Darling,” Tiernan’s voice coaxes me from my thoughts. “The burden you carry is grave indeed. Why don’t you allow me to hold on to it until you’re strong enough to wield such power? You don’t have to carry this alone, my darling.”

The tug toward him pulls at my mind again, begging me to comply. My insides roil as the desire to obey overwhelms me, but I won’t cower before his wickedness. However, I know I need to play my part well, so I don’t end up the victim of his or his wife’s rage.

I back away from the throne dais a few more feet before dropping into a curtsy.

“I can’t give you the pendant, my king,” I say. “The last person to touch it had their hand severely burned from the contact.” I raise my eyes to him with all the sincerity I can muster. “Surely, you understand why I wouldn’t desire to harm the noble hands of our illustrious king?”

The lie slips so easily off my tongue.

King Tiernan’s eyebrows are practically in his hairline. Apparently, this isn’t how he envisioned our meeting. For a moment, the darkness behind his careful facade of beauty slips. His shoulders expand as he clenches his jaw, as I smile almost sweetly at him.

“You dare to defy a direct order of the king?” bellows Orla’s maniacal voice. There’s a madness in her eyes that is—in fact—the most terrifying thing I’ve ever witnessed. Her left eye twitches as her face slowly reddens. She stands abruptly, stalking off the dais…

Toward me.

An amused smirk plays along the king’s lips as he watches his queen stomp toward me.

“N-No, my queen,” I say, stumbling back. “I just wouldn’t wish any harm to?—”

Her hand connects with my face with a loud crack. I grip my stinging cheek, backing away from the crazed queen. I’ve never seen bloodshed glisten in someone’s eyes as violently as it does through hers.

“Give it to me,” she shouts.

“I-I already told?—”

Smack!

Anger stirs within me as I stumble back once more.

“I should order the soldiers to feed you to the Abyss for your defiance,” she seethes.

Release me, Saoirse growls, which distracts me for a moment.

Orla rears her arm back to swing again, but this time it isn’t her palm that connects with my face, but her fist .

I’m thrown to the floor, sliding a few feet away—a trickle of blood seeping from my busted lip. Though the wound is sealing, it isn’t quick enough for the queen not to see. Her hysterical laughter fills the expanse—thrilled at the sight of my blood.

“Your Highness,” I call out. “Please, make her stop.”

The king watches me with greater intensity. “And ruin all the fun, my darling?” he croons.

His statement is the final straw to snap the small thread of restraint I held. Now, the anger, the hatred, and the raw power of the starlight blinds me as it all comes rushing to the forefront. It’s like a part of myself that I’ve kept trapped in a coffin within my mind is unlocked—free at last.