Page 79 of Haunted

I don’t feel any better about her having an army of dragons that she can use to annihilate my small kingdom.

Haven’t you done enough, Rhianu?

Isn’t murdering Neifion enough to satisfy your bloodlust, you black-hearted wench?

Clearly my exile isn’t punishment enough. She’s going to harass me.

Fear coils through my body and threads my heart-center. Even leagues across the wilderness expanse, she has power over me, especially since she knows her dragon riders can make the trip across the desert and survive.

What’s stopping her from attacking? I have nothing to defend my people from dragons, and I know all too well the damage they can inflict on a human settlement.

What if her dragon riders learn of Niawen? Once they move through the veil in the desert that conceals this side of the world from the side the empress is on, they could sense Niawen.

No. I cannot let the empress know of her. What would she do with another emrys?

The answer is obvious.

The empress would torture Niawen as she did Mother Siana, all to learn the secrets of the dragon realm.

No! Leave us alone!

Pressure builds from my panic, multiplying the dark energy in my heart-center. I am helpless. Powerless. How can I protect her? My heart rate soars. I try to push my panic down, but every thought of the empress is too close. I see her face as clearly as I’ve felt her breath on my skin. I hear her cruel words and feel the pain of Neifion’s slaughter.

My so-called love turned to hate.

The pressure intensifies under my sternum.

She hates me.

My arms ache and throb as my power surges throughout my body as I fail to rein the energy in.

She wishes for my death.

I wish for hers.

In a violent exhale, the dark power erupts from me, blasting from my chest and my hands as a dark mass. My vision goes black. Splintering wood fills my hearing and a flutter of papers rains down on me. My body shakes from the release.

I open my eyes, grateful to see again. Despair fills me when I see my study destroyed. A chair is shattered on the floor. Parchment litters the carpet. The table and desk are askew from their original locations. A couch is busted and shoved against the far wall.

I am the epicenter of the explosion.

I stumble forward and slump against the side of my disheveled desk. Carefully placed documents are no longer in piles on its surface.

Unable to stop the emotional upheaval, I choke back the sobs that jar my chest.

I’m furious that the empress has entered my life again. I’m furious that she has power over me.

I’m sitting with my knees to my chest and my eyes pinched shut when Niawen enters.

I know it’s her because of her light’s essence.

I’m embarrassed for her to see me like this.

“What happened?” She crouches beside me and cups her hand to my face.

With my eyes closed, I mumble. I can’t look at Niawen. All I see is my nightmare. The empress, my flame of red torment. All I feel is her touch—the acrid sizzle of my flesh. Niawen is not the one touching me. The empress is. She will always be the one.

“One of my men spotted a dragon,” I eventually say.

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