“Over my dead body,” Varyth snarled.

  “That can be arranged,” Ashterion said quietly, speaking for the first time since Varyth’s barb had found its mark. His voice was neutral, but a hollowness lingered beneath it. “Though I’d prefer to avoid unnecessary bloodshed.”

  “How generous of you,” Varyth replied, his tone dripping with disdain.

  I felt the conversation spiralling toward violence, felt the way Varyth’s power pressed against the edges of his control. But something else nagged at me, the way Ashterion had flinched when Xyliria touched him, the way his shadows seemed to shield rather than threaten.

  “You know what?” I said, cutting through the tension. “I’m getting really fucking tired of listening to you talk. Maybe if you spent less time running your mouth and more time actually learning what real strength looks like, you wouldn’t need to hide behind threats and your husband’s reputation.”

  I leaned forward, matching her predatory smile with one of my own. “Tell me, does it hurt? Knowing that even with all your posturing and threats, you’re still just the accessory he tolerates? Must be exhausting, working so hard to matter.”

  The words hung in the air like a challenge, and I braced myself for her retaliation. For whatever vicious comeback she’d unleash, for the way her power would lash out in response to being called irrelevant.

  Instead, Xyliria’s gaze slid away from me entirely.

  To Fenric.

  A slow, vicious smile curled across her lips.

  “Fenric,” she purred, letting his name roll off her tongue like she was savouring poison. “Such a lovely reunion, don’t you think?”

  I felt the temperature drop, not from his magic, but from something far more primal.

  Xyliria’s smile was a blade. “I do hope you haven’t been too... lonely here, Fenric. I know how... particular your tastes can be.”

  The words slithered across the table like poison. Innocent on the surface, but loaded with implications that made my blood turn to ice.

  Linc—gods, I could see the tremor that ran through him out of the corner of my eye.

  But it was Fenric who terrified me most.

  Because he wasn’t moving. Wasn’t breathing. Wasn’t reacting at all.

  “After all,” Xyliria continued, her voice dripping false sweetness, “it’s been so long since you’ve had... proper company. The kind that understands your needs.”

  She knew.

  Somehow, this vicious bitch knew about them.

  “It must be difficult,” Xyliria’s laugh was ice. “Especially when one’s appetites run toward⁠—”

  Black flames surged across the table, roaring toward the Nyxarians. A living tempest of my fury.

  The moment shattered into chaos.

  Xyliria’s magic snapped upward, crimson clouds colliding against my fire in a burst of heat and shadow. The flames sputtered against it, licking at the edges before being consumed.

  Fuck.

  The air split.

  That’s the only way to describe it. Like reality itself was cleaving down the middle, peeling apart to accommodate the violent eruption of magic that exploded from every body in the room.

  My black fire roared outward in response to Xyliria’s crimson clouds, the flames screaming for blood, for flesh, for anything that had threatened Fenric and Linc. They poured from my skin like I was bleeding, dark and hungry and utterly feral.

  Varyth’s mist surged up from the floor in a wall of silver-white fury, condensing around us in a shield that hummed with killing intent. It twisted and coiled, alive with predatory consciousness, reaching for the Nyxarians like it wanted to drown them.

  Ashterion’s shadows erupted. They punched through the floor, tore from the walls, ripped the very light from the air. Living darkness that moved with terrible purpose, wrapping around the table, around his people, around him.

  But something was wrong.

  His shadows weren’t attacking. They were protecting.

  The crimson clouds from Xyliria’s magic slammed against my fire with a sound like breaking bones. Impact shuddered through the chamber, cracking stone, splintering the obsidian table down its centre.

  Fenric’s power erupted in response. Jagged spikes of black crystal punching up through the floor, ripping through stone like it was flesh. They launched toward the Nyxarians, each spike drinking in the light until they were nothing but absence given form.

  Elowyn’s hands came up, and violet energy exploded outward—raw power that collided with Fenric’s obsidian in a shower of sparks and screaming magic. The purple light wrapped around the spears, crushing them to dust, and Fenric snarled as he sent another wave.

  Darian’s vines tore from the walls themselves. Living, writhing things thick as my torso, covered in thorns that gleamed like moonsilver. They whipped toward Elowyn with predatory speed, wrapping around her violet shields, trying to tear through.

  The air behind me shifted, temperature dropping so fast my breath misted. Shaelith’s ice erupted in spears, beautiful and lethal, aimed directly at Merrick. They screamed through the air, each one capable of punching through armour, through bone, through anything that got in their way.

  Merrick’s lightning answered. Bolts of white-blue electricity that turned the chamber into a strobe of violence, shattering Shaelith’s ice mid-flight. Steam exploded where fire met frost, filling the space with blinding mist.

  Linc’s ocean magic rose like a living thing, a wall of water that shouldn’t exist in a landlocked chamber but did anyway, roaring toward Merrick with the force of a tidal wave. It moved with consciousness, with purpose, reaching for the Stormborn with hungry intent.

  The lightning met the water and the entire fucking room lit up.

  The impact threw me backward. Or would have, if Varyth’s mist hadn’t wrapped around me. It cushioned the blow, pulled me close against his chest as the world dissolved into pure chaos around us.

  Cindrissian’s wind howled. A hurricane compressed into four walls, ripping at clothing and hair and anything not bolted down. It slammed into Merrick’s lightning, scattering it, redirecting it, turning the Stormborn’s own power against him.

  My black fire was everywhere. Pouring from my skin in waves I couldn’t contain, didn’t want to contain. It crashed against Xyliria’s crimson clouds, and where they met, the air seemed to scream. The two magics twisted, each trying to devour the other.

  Varyth’s mist exploded outward with enough force to crack the remaining walls. Silver-white and deadly, moving like it had teeth. It slammed into Ashterion’s shadows with the sound of two storms colliding, and I felt the impact reverberate through my bones.

  But Ashterion’s shadows⁠—

  They weren’t attacking back. Even as Varyth’s mist tore at them, even as my fire licked at their edges, they only defended.

  And in the middle of it all, through the fire and ice and lightning and shadow, through the howling wind and crushing water and shattering crystal—Xyliria laughed.

  The sound carved through everything. Sharp and delighted and so fucking wrong.

  Her crimson clouds condensed, pulled inward, and then exploded outward in a wave that made my fire look like a candle. They slammed into everyone, didn’t discriminate, didn’t care. The pure, devastating force sent bodies flying.

  Darian’s vines withered where they touched. Fenric’s obsidian shattered. Even Varyth’s mist recoiled, hissing like something burned.

  The chamber was coming apart. Stone crumbling, magic eating through walls, the very air tearing itself to shreds.

  Varyth’s hand locked around my wrist.

  His mist surged up around us, thick and impenetrable, and I felt reality start to fold.

  Through the chaos, through the impossible tangle of magic and violence, I saw Ashterion.

  He was still sitting. Perfectly, impossibly calm at what remained of the shattered table.

  But his eyes⁠—

  Those winter-night eyes were fixed on me with an expression I’d never expected.

  Terror.

  Pure, undiluted terror that made him look almost⁠—

  Human.

  And then the world folded completely, and he was gone.

  42

  The world snapped back into focus with jarring clarity. Stone beneath my feet. Cool air. The faint smell of old parchment and leather.

  Varyth’s study.

  I was breathing hard, my heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to escape. Black fire flickered along my fingertips. Alive and furious and still hungry.

  My hands were shaking.

  Varyth’s grip on my wrist was the only solid thing in the world. His mist coiled around us like living silver, protective and lethal in equal measure.

  “Isara.” My name pulled me from the chaos in my head. “Look at me.”

  I dragged my gaze up to meet his. It burned with something between fury and terror, his jaw tight enough I could see the muscle jumping beneath the skin.

  “Are you hurt?” The question came out clipped. Like he was using every ounce of restraint not to shake me. “Did they touch you? Did she⁠—”

  “I’m fine.” The words tasted like ash.

  His eyes narrowed, scanning me with brutal efficiency. Looking for wounds, for blood, for any sign I was lying. “You’re not. Your hands are shaking and your fire—” He cut himself off, his grip on my wrist tightening fractionally. “Are. You. Hurt.”

  “No.” I pulled free of his grasp, wrapping my arms around myself. The black flames along my fingers guttered out completely, leaving only smoke. “I’m not hurt. I’m just—” I cut off, glancing around. “Where are the others?”

  “In the hall,” Varyth said, still carrying that edge of violence. “They’re fine. Are you alright?”

  I opened my mouth. Closed it. Tried again.

  “I lost control.” The admission scraped out of me like broken glass. “I just—she threatened them, and I couldn’t—I didn’t⁠—”

  “Yes, you did.” Varyth’s tone was somewhere between resigned and almost... amused? “You absolutely lost control.”

  The confirmation should have stung. Should have made me defensive. Instead, it just made everything inside me twist tighter.

  “They’re going to come for me again, aren’t they?” My voice came out smaller than I’d intended. Hysteria creeping at the edges. “To kill me or take me or whatever the fuck they’re planning.”

  “Probably,” Varyth said, and the honesty of it was almost worse than a lie would have been. “But we won’t let that happen.”

  “We?” I let out a jagged laugh. “You saw what she is. What he is. They brought four people and nearly tore your entire court apart. How the hell are we supposed to⁠—”

  “Isara.” Varyth closed the distance between us in two strides. His hands came up to frame my face. “Breathe.”

  “I am breathing.”

  “No, you’re panicking.” His thumbs brushed across my cheekbones, the touch gentle. “I can feel it. Your magic is thrashing like a caged animal and you’re about three seconds from either burning down my study or collapsing. So, breathe.”

  I wanted to argue. Wanted to push him away, to insist I was fine, that I could handle this. But my hands were still shaking, and the black fire kept trying to claw its way back to the surface.

  “Breathe,” he repeated, gentler this time.

  One breath. Then another. Letting the air fill my lungs, letting reality settle back into something resembling order.

  Varyth’s mist curled around us both, cool and soothing against the heat radiating from my skin. Like he was trying to calm the fire without smothering it completely.

  “Better?” he asked after a moment.

  “Not really.” But my hands had stopped shaking quite so violently.

  His lips curved into something that might’ve been a smile.

  “That display of power,” he said, his voice dropping lower. Intimate. “When your fire exploded across the table and nearly consumed everything in its path?”

  I tensed, waiting for the lecture. The reprimand. The reminder that I’d fucked up spectacularly.

  “That,” Varyth continued, his eyes darkening to molten silver. “Was magnificent.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “Terrifying,” he amended, though his tone suggested he found that particular quality appealing. “Absolutely unhinged. Wildly dangerous.” His thumbs traced idle patterns against my cheekbones. “And magnificent.”

  The way he was looking at me, like I’d just set the world on fire and he wanted to watch it burn, made something hot and dangerous coil low in my stomach.

  “You’re insane,” I breathed.

  “Probably.” His smile widened fractionally. “But you’re the one who just threatened a High Lord’s wife and made her flinch. So perhaps we’re both a little unhinged.”

  I tried to laugh it off. It came out hollow, breathless, but I tried. “We need to find the others. We should talk about what just happened. What it means. How to⁠—”

  “Mhm,” Varyth hummed, that low, distracted rumble vibrating straight through my bones. “Very important. Imminent danger. Serious political consequences.”

  His mouth brushed the curve of my neck before I could form a coherent reply. Soft at first, a ghost of pressure just below my ear, then firmer. Lips. Teeth. Tongue.

  My breath caught. “Varyth⁠—”

  “I know.” He didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned in closer. “You probably just started a war.”

  The weight of it landed like stone in my gut, and then his hands were on me. They slid over my hips, dragging me closer, palms scorching through the thin fabric of my dress.

  “I did,” I whispered. “Gods, I did.”

  “And I have very strong feelings about it.” His mouth curved against my skin. “Mostly involving this dress. And what’s underneath it.”

  His hands were roaming now. Possessive. Worshipful. One tracing the curve of my spine while the other gripped my hip like he was anchoring himself there—like I was the only solid thing left in the world.

  “The others—” I tried for one last sliver of reason. “They’ll come looking.”

  “The door’s locked,” he said, matter-of-fact. Dangerous. “Anyone stupid enough to try and open it will leave without eyes. Or lungs.”

  His mist coiled tight, brushing along my thighs, cool against overheated skin. And then⁠—

  Snap.

  His wings flared wide behind him, jagged and gleaming with that impossible gold, casting shadows that danced across the walls like hungry gods.

  “We don’t have time for this,” I whispered. Weakly. Because who was I kidding?

  “You’re in that dress,” Varyth said, voice gone rough, hungry. He gripped my ass with both hands, dragging me against him so I could feel the full weight of his want. “And you expect me to care about war?”

  Then he kissed me.

  Hard.

  Heat roared back to life inside me. There was nothing slow about it. Varyth kissed like he needed me, like he’d die if he didn’t taste every broken breath, every desperate sound he could pull from me.

  His hands were everywhere. Skimming up my sides, tangling in my hair, tugging at the laces of my dress with a low, deliberate purr of satisfaction.

  My hands fumbled at the buckles of his armour, his shirt. Gods, why did he wear so many layers?

  He caught my legs without warning, arms locking under my thighs, and lifted.

  I yelped, breathless and laughing, and then he was stalking across the study like a predator with his prey in hand, his wings flaring behind him in glittering arcs of threat and promise.

  My hands roamed over his chest, savouring the solid warmth of him through the fine fabric of his tunic. A gasp escaped me as he nipped gently at my lower lip, and I felt rather than heard his responding growl of approval.

  He laid me out across the desk, papers scattering beneath me.

  Varyth broke the kiss, his lips blazing a path along my jaw and down the column of my throat. I tilted my head back with a breathy moan, and his teeth grazed the sensitive skin where my neck met my shoulder.

  I ran my fingers through his hair, and when I gave a gentle tug, Varyth let out a low groan that vibrated against my throat.

  His hand slid up my thigh, bunching the fabric of my dress as he went. I arched into his touch, wanting more, needing more.

  Varyth chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing my pulse. “So responsive.” His breath was hot against my throat. His hand slid higher up my thigh, pushing the fabric aside.

  My fingers trembled as I reached for the buttons of Varyth’s shirt, my breath coming in uneven gasps. I fumbled with the first button, and his lips curled in a smirk, eyes flashing in amusement. But he didn’t move, didn’t help. Just watched.

  The fabric parted inch by inch, revealing marble skin stretched over coiled muscle, each ridge of his abdomen tight. My hands shook as they slid over the exposed flesh, knowing this male was built for war, for destruction, and yet here he was—letting me touch him.

  “Keep going,” he ordered, his pupils blown wide with hunger.

  I swallowed hard, reaching the last button, and the moment I flicked it free he shrugged the shirt off in one fluid, lethal motion. The sight of him stole every bit of air from my lungs.

  Varyth’s hands found the laces at the back of my dress again, his fingers moving with a deceptive slowness, untying each knot, each binding, with a patience that sent a shiver through me.

  The moment the fabric began to loosen, his lips found mine again.

  Gods, his mouth.

  The cool air of the room kissed my bare skin as Varyth pulled the dress away. The silken fabric whispered as it pooled at my waist, baring more of me to him.

  A low, satisfied growl rumbled from his chest, and before I could even breathe, even react—his mouth descended, lips hot and ruthless as they burned a path across my stomach.

  His tongue flicked, a cruel, taunting tease. His teeth scraped over my ribs, before he closed his mouth over the underside of my breast through the thin lace of my bra, sucking hard enough that I whimpered.