Page 31 of King of Pride and Talons

She didn’t recognize the voice immediately as the witch's thoughts were occupied with Thorne and his transparent attempt at enticing her. But she turned toward it anyway and was greeted by the same strange and sunken smile that had found her the night before at the ball.

Breya tried to hide her grimace.

“Nyfain," she said lightly. "It's nice to see you again. What are you doing around town?"

The sorcerer drew in closer. He still managed to look pallid under the stifling sun, with jagged teeth sticking out of his mouth that made Breya think of corks from a champagne bottle.

A chill ran up her back, the word decomposing coming to mind faster than she would have liked.

She also realized at that moment she hadn’t told Thorne about him. She would later understand how grave a mistake that slip of the mind had been.

“Ah, simply exploring the paradise of what Savanna has to offer," he said with a light and flippant lilt to his voice. “Would you like to come back to my home? I have infinite tomes and relics that will make you feel right at home."

Vale and the other shifter enforcers had gone ahead of her, the streets faded to a strange silence. It was the same kind of silence that fell over the castle just before the fissure snapped through the earth like a popsicle stick.

Breya noticed everything all at once, her mind taken predominantly on the subject of the king and his emotionless grasp on intimacy. She was uncomfortable speaking to Nyfain, but she didn't feel threatened.

Combing through relics and venturing around ancient tomes certainly sounded more appealing than having to navigate Thorne’s mood once he returned to the castle. But a rancid, mildewy scent kept brushing in her direction. It was her witch's sense that said she should feel threatened.

She tried her best to appear nonchalant.

“Oh, I can't right now. I apologize. Maybe another day? I've got to head back to the castle now. I am unwell."

The hideous smile on Nyfain’s face dropped like a bag of sand. The heavy cloak the threadlike man seemed to be swimming in was thrown off his back, hitting the cobblestone with a dense thud. Breya watched as the sorcerer's jaw tightened.

The realization came reeling through Breya’s mind a fraction too late. Nyfain had already begun his incantations, muttering Latin under his breath with the velocity of an auctioneer.

Breya knew what he was trying to summon. The spell was from the Book of the Dead, a mandatory text for any witch or sorcerer looking to practice magic. It was taught formally and informally as a warning, a defense training of sorts that magic folk hope to never have to rely on.

“Venite mortuos et angeli facti sunt!"

The ground beneath Breya's feet began to mumble. It then thumped with the weight of Vale and his two lion shifter enforcers, rushing toward her and Nyfain as oily black smoke began to pour from the sorcerer's fingertips.

“Get down!” Vale screamed at her.

Breya knew how to defend herself as a witch, but there was barely any time to react. Vale shoved her to the ground intending to protect her, then dashed into Nyfain’s pluming smoke. She couldn’t warn him before it was too late.

From the shimmering distant desert came the shuffling of what at first looked like a swarm of people all with the same limp.

Breya’s heart beat hollowly as she watched the horror unfold, realizing where the tedious scent of rotting flesh was coming from.

Nyfain was leading an army of the undead.

SEVENTEEN

THORNE

Thorne’s mane bristled at Breya’s abrupt departure. He didn't believe that purchasing her the emerald gemstone necklace was going to cure her of all of her ailments—but he had been hoping that it would nudge her in the right direction. He gripped his fists together hard enough to make them turn a bruised shade of yellow.

If only she could see herself the way he saw her. People, shifters, in particular, were a stubborn bunch. It would take them time to realize that Breya was the benevolent cherry on top of his ruling cake as king. Her empathy, her sharpened senses, and her compassion were only going to allow the kingdom to function even more harmoniously.

But maybe witches are stubborn too, the king considered, chugging down the last of his ale.

He wasn't looking forward to seeing the site of the fissure or the damage it had caused. Part of the appeal and desire to investigate came from having Breya by his side. He sincerely appreciated her knowledge about matters on the healing of the earth—which impressed him beyond belief.

But duty called. Thorne shuffled out of the restaurant broodingly, squinting his eyes before exposing himself once again to the relentless rays of the sun?—

Thorne!

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