He couldn’t.

  They never could.

  Across the corridor, Shaelith vaulted over a falling body, using the momentum to drive her boot into another warrior’s chest. He flew backward into the wall with bone-breaking force. Brynelle was already there, blade descending in a silver arc that painted the stones red.

  How?

  How did they make slaughter look like devotion?

  Another warrior rushed me. I sidestepped, let his momentum carry him past, and opened his spine from shoulder to hip. The scream died in his throat as he crumpled.

  My chest heaved. Blood slicked my hands, my arms, probably my face.

  But I was ready for more.

  We were winning.

  The three of us were bathed in red, our bodies moving as one, a seamless rhythm of death and destruction. We cut them down—quick, brutal, merciless. We had come this far, we had made it out of the fucking cell, and we weren’t stopping.

  A ripple went through the air, a wrongness so deep my body screamed with it before my mind even caught up.

  The corridor dimmed. The torches flickered.

  Ashterion stepped through the blackness.

  We stopped moving.

  Not by choice.

  A force like ice-cold hands wrapped around my throat. My body seized, locked in place, unable to even struggle. My breath stuttered, choked, gone.

  Shaelith’s blade flashed, slicing through the darkness, but it was useless. The shadows reformed around her wrists, her arms, crawling over her skin. She snarled, teeth bared, but the more she fought, the tighter they wound.

  Brynelle let out a strangled sound, her body going rigid, her hands frozen mid-motion as the tendrils of shadow coiled around her ankles, her neck, her wrists.

  A heartbeat of silence.

  “That was foolish.”

  Ashterion’s eyes raked over the bodies littering the corridor. Over us, drenched in blood, feral and unbroken even as his shadows pinned us.

  And then he moved.

  Straight to me.

  My body collapsed onto my knees before he even touched me.

  I gasped, but the air didn’t come.

  His boots stopped in front of me, the hem of his dark cloak brushing my bloody fingers where they dug into the stone floor.

  He crouched, his voice velvet and steel against my ear. “I expected better from you.”

  Something white-hot flared in my chest—fury, loathing, the need to rip him apart.

  His shadows loosened, but only enough to let the guards converge.

  They didn’t hesitate. The first blow landed against my ribs.

  Shaelith was wrenched sideways, her head snapping against the stone. Brynelle let out a cry, her body curling inward as fists connected with her gut, her face, her ribs.

  I tried to rise. Tried.

  A fist cracked against my jaw.

  A boot slammed into my side.

  Another crashed down onto my leg.

  Bone snapped.

  I screamed.

  The world blurred, tilted, spun.

  “Enough.”

  Everything stilled.

  Ashterion’s eyes were on me. On my bloodied face, my bruised ribs, the way my hands shook as I pushed them against the ground, trying to force myself up.

  Broken—something was broken.

  My breath came in ragged bursts.

  My leg. Definitely my leg.

  I forced myself not to react, not to curl in on myself despite the pain ripping through my body. Instead, I lifted my chin, glaring up at Ashterion where he stood, his face twisted in fury. I forced a smirk, though it was ruined by the blood trailing from my split lip. “What’s the matter, High Lord?” I rasped, my voice jagged and raw. “Upset we didn’t ask for permission before slaughtering your guards?”

  His shadows twitched. His fingers flexed at his sides, as though he wanted to strike something. Probably me.

  But then his expression flattened, features smoothing into cold detachment. “Oh, fireling,” he said, speaking as if gently correcting a child. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve dealt with worse prisoners than you.”

  A low snicker. One of the guards. A second later, his boot came down on my leg.

  White-hot pain exploded through me.

  I screamed, my body buckling, convulsing. My vision blurred. My mind blanked under the sheer force of it. I barely caught Shaelith’s curse, the way Brynelle lunged toward me, only to be wrenched back by another guard.

  But I heard him.

  The snarl ripped from Ashterion’s throat, dark and lethal, like thunder cracking through the corridor.

  “I said enough.”

  The room froze.

  The guard stumbled back, the smirk wiped clean from his face.

  Ashterion didn’t look at him. Didn’t acknowledge him at all.

  “I want them alive,” he said, his words dangerous in their quietness. “Xyliria wants to play, not destroy them.” His shadows snapped menacingly at his feet.

  Then, his gaze finally wrenched from mine, landing on the soldiers.

  “Take them back to their cell.”

  The guards hesitated, their fear so thick I could taste it.

  Ashterion’s tone dropped even lower. “Now.”

  They scrambled into action. Rough hands grabbed my arms, dragging me upright. Pain seared through my leg, but I refused to cry out again.

  I made them earn every fucking step.

  Ashterion didn’t look away. He just stood there, watching as I was hauled away.

  The guards dragged us back, their grips bruising, their boots scraping against the stone as they hauled us.

  I refused to make a sound. So did Shaelith and Brynelle.

  Even as my leg throbbed like it had been shattered to dust. Even as my body screamed from the dozens of new injuries blooming across my skin. Even as blood dripped down my arms, my ribs, my lip.

  We didn’t make a single gods-damned sound.

  The cell door slammed open before we were tossed inside.

  I hit the ground hard, agony splintering through my shattered leg.

  I’d barely heard the door close when⁠—

  “What the fuck were you thinking?!”

  Linc was in front of me, his entire body vibrated with rage, his tanzanite-coloured wings snapping open behind him, feathers ruffling as he rounded on me, on all of us.

  Darian was right beside him, his expression twisted with rage. “Are you out of your gods-damned minds?” He paced erratically, his voice cutting through the room, low and fierce. “Tell me you weren’t stupid enough to think this would actually work.”

  Shaelith huffed from where she was sprawled against the wall. “It almost worked.”

  Fenric whirled, jaw tightening. “Almost got you killed.”

  “Details.” Brynelle winced as she cradled her ribs.

  Darian let out an uneven sigh, dragging a hand down his face. “I swear to the fucking gods,” he grumbled. “You are all imbeciles.”

  Before I could even attempt to sit up, a shadow loomed beside me.

  I turned as Cindrissian knelt, hands hovering, assessing my injuries. His focus settled on my mangled leg, taking in the unnatural angle, the way my hand trembled where it braced against the ground.

  I knew that look. It was the look of a male already calculating exactly how much damage had been done.

  “I’d say I’ll walk it off,” I rasped, a humourless smile tugging at my lips, “but that might be a little difficult.”

  A pause.

  “I suppose crawling is always an option.” The words startled me.

  Not because of what he said, but because it was Cindrissian.

  Cindrissian—who never joked, never played. But there it was.

  Shaelith blinked. Brynelle stared.

  I snorted. Actually snorted.

  And for a moment, the anger in the room ebbed.

  But then⁠—

  Varyth.

  He’d been so still, so silent in the corner that I hadn’t even noticed him.

  But now, he stepped forward, his entire body vibrating with fury.

  “What the hell did you do?” The roar that tore from his throat shook the fucking walls.

  The air rippled with power that shouldn’t have been there, not with the collar wrapped around his throat, suppressing his magic.

  And yet it leaked from him, poured from him. His rage too vast, too consuming to be contained.

  Silver eyes burned as the full force of his wrath slammed into me, into all of us. A muscle in his jaw ticked violently, his hands flexing at his sides, as though he was physically restraining himself from grabbing me and shaking some sense into me.

  “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” He gestured wildly at the three of us, then cut his glare straight at me. “You could have been killed. You should have been killed.”

  I lifted my head from where I had braced against the ground, every part of me aching, bruised, screaming.

  “Would’ve saved us a lot of trouble,” I said, voice hoarse. “At least then I wouldn’t have to listen to you yell.”

  The sound that tore from Varyth’s throat was pure animal.

  “Gods-damn you, Isara.” He stepped closer, his power pressing against me, against all of us, suffocating. “You’re bleeding, you can’t move, and you think this is funny?”

  I hissed as pain ripped up my leg. “Little bit.”

  Varyth’s wings flared behind him, his hands raking through his hair, as though trying to physically force the fury from his body. His head tipped back for one long second, his chest heaving, before his glare snapped back down to me.

  “How did it happen?” he growled. “If your plan was so clever, how the fuck did this happen?”

  I tilted my head. Took my sweet, sweet time.

  Then I lifted my broken leg. The twist of pain making my vision edge with black, and said dryly, “I tripped.”

  A snarl ripped from Varyth’s throat, his hand fisting at his side, trembling as though struggling to keep himself from slamming it into something.

  Shaelith let out a quiet snort, then immediately winced at the bruises blooming along her ribs. Brynelle turned her face away, hiding her laugh.

  But Varyth looked ready to burn the whole fucking cell to the ground.

  “You… tripped?” he repeated, low and lethal.

  I nodded. Solemn.

  “A real hazard, these Nyxarian floors,” I added. “Might have to file a complaint.”

  Varyth took a shaking inhale. His face contorted with an emotion even more dangerous than fury.

  In an instant, he was crouched before me, his face inches from mine, his eyes molten.

  “You think this is a joke?” His breath was hot as it fanned over my face. “Do you think I enjoy seeing you like this?”

  “Would be a weird kink,” I muttered through a bloody smirk.

  Varyth’s entire body locked.

  If I had to guess, he was probably physically holding back the need to strangle me.

  Then, a whisper, “You’re infuriating.”

  I let my head rest back against the stone, my body screaming, my bones shattered glass inside my skin. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

  I shifted, and agony ripped down my leg. A choked sound escaped me, the pain so deep and overwhelming it stole the air from my lungs.

  A voice, dry and cool as steel, broke the silence. “It’s a bad break.”

  I forced my eyes open as Cindrissian crouched beside me, taking in my leg with detached interest. His hands ghosted over the injury, reading the damage.

  “Without a healer, I’m not sure how this will go,” he said flatly. “But I can set it back into place. It’ll just hurt like hell.”

  I huffed a laugh, my body trembling from the waves of pain pulsing through me. “Oh good,” I rasped. “I was worried it’d feel nice.”

  Varyth snarled as his fingers dug into his thighs, his fury simmering.

  “Gods-fucking-damn it, Isara.” Darian’s wings flared as he paced. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

  “Obviously.” Cindrissian glanced up at my face.

  For a second, our eyes locked. And in that moment, something passed between us—unspoken, knowing. Because he understood. Maybe more than the others ever could.

  I took a single, steadying breath. “Don’t warn me.” I gritted my teeth. “Just do it.”

  I hadn’t finished speaking before Varyth moved.

  One second, I was on the ground. The next, I was in his arms.

  “Hold on to me,” he breathed against my temple. “Hold on, Isara.”

  Cindrissian’s hands ghosted over the break, poised, steady. A single beat of hesitation. Then he moved.

  The pain was instant, excruciating, unbearable.

  A white-hot spike shot through my leg, tearing through every nerve, searing into my bones. I distantly registered the snarl that ripped from Varyth’s throat, the way his grip on me tightened.

  My world ruptured⁠—

  And then went dark.

  53

  Ashterion sat slouched in the obsidian throne, elbow braced on the armrest, chin resting lightly against his knuckles. Below, a dozen guards knelt in blood and ruin, shadows wrapped around them like patient executioners. The room reeked of copper and failure.

  One screamed—high and wet—before a snap cut it off.

  Xyliria sat beside him, her posture the picture of elegant boredom, head resting against the chair as she inspected her nails with a lazy flick of her wrist.

  “I assume there’s a reason I’m watching our soldiers bleed all over the floor,” she drawled without looking up from her nails. “Or is this simply a creative outlet for your frustrations?”

  Ashterion didn’t look at her.

  “It’s punishment,” he said coolly. “They underestimated an asset.”

  “An asset,” she repeated, smirking. “Is that what we’re calling her now?”

  Another crunch of bone. Another choked sob. The shadows moved like wolves through the wreckage. Most of the guards had ceased protesting, at least outwardly. But one squirmed.

  The one who laughed when she screamed.

  Ashterion’s gaze snapped to him. Rage lashed up his spine like a whip. It hadn’t truly left, not since those fucking animals had shattered her leg. The inconvenient memory of her stuck in his mind. Her blood, her scream—it clung to him.

  Now, his shadows forced the male’s mouth open. Another coil twisted around his leg. The same leg he’d used to stomp on hers.

  The shriek that followed was brief.

  “Now they’ll take her seriously,” Xyliria said, her tone indulgent.

  “They should have from the beginning.”

  She turned to him fully now, eyes gleaming with quiet threat. “Are you worried about our little human?”

  “I’m concerned with efficiency. You wanted her broken. She can’t be broken if she escapes.”

  “Oh, Ashterion,” she cooed, all saccharine steel. “You know she wasn’t going to escape. Not really.” Her fingers drummed against the armrest. “Three prisoners against an entire palace? It was suicide, not strategy.”

  Ashterion’s jaw tightened. “Then why do it at all?”

  “Because she’s testing boundaries. Seeing how far she can push before we push back.” Xyliria’s smile turned predatory. “It’s what wild things do when they’re caged. They throw themselves against the bars until they break.”

  He didn’t dignify that with a reply. Just sat there, watching the blood pool, the scent of iron rising through the room.

  Xyliria let the silence stretch for a beat longer, then asked, almost absently, “How’s the leg?”

  “At least one of them proved useful,” he said flatly. “It’s a bad break.”

  “Mmm. That might be useful,” she said, tapping her chin with one lacquered nail. “A wound like that offers... opportunities.”

  Ashterion said nothing.

  “Perhaps I’ll have a healer mend it just enough,” Xyliria mused aloud. “Let her feel it every time she takes a step. Let it remind her⁠—”

  “I’m the one who’ll be breaking her,” Ashterion said, pitch dropping to something cold and final. “Let me handle her.”

  “You’re handling her,” she repeated, each syllable dripping with suspicion.

  Ashterion turned to face his wife fully, his midnight-blue eyes hardening. “Yes. As we discussed. Or have you forgotten our arrangement already?”

  “I forget nothing, husband.” Her voice was silk over venom. “I simply question your sudden... enthusiasm for the task.”

  The doors opened with a low groan.

  Ashterion didn’t need to look to know who it was.

  Merrick.

  He cursed internally.

  I told him not to come himself. Fucking uncooperative fool.

  Merrick strode in like he hadn’t ignored a direct order from his own gods-damned High Lord. He inclined his head to Xyliria with the barest hint of deference. “My lady,” he said smoothly. “After your recent... complication, I thought it prudent to personally review the security measures. Can’t be too careful when your new asset has already tried to flee.”

  Xyliria barely looked up from her nails. “Yes, yes, lovely. Just don’t get in the way.”

  Dismissed, Merrick turned to Ashterion with a knowing look. “Can you show me exactly where you found them?”

  Ashterion’s eyes slid to Xyliria, who waved a hand without lifting her gaze. “Be back soon. We have guests arriving shortly. I don’t want them kept waiting.”

  “Of course,” Ashterion said, rising fluidly to his feet. He didn’t wait for further dismissal. He was already moving, Merrick falling into step beside him as they strode out of the throne room.

  They walked in silence down two halls, then a third.

  It was Ashterion who broke first. “I told you to stay in the fucking city.”

  “Yeah, well,” Merrick muttered without looking at him, “when have I ever been known for doing what I’m told?”

  Ashterion exhaled sharply through his nose. “Do you have it?”