Page 177 of What Lies Within Blood & Heirs

Erissa caught Alora’s gaze and browsed Alora’s ballgown, the gemstones, and the jewels hanging from her ears, and smirked so viciously—so hatefully—Alora wasn’t certain she hadn’t burst aflame.

Noting the anger and revulsion and disdain plastered on Alora’s face, Erissa arched her back, never taking her eyes off her, and bent forward to offer Garrik the swells of her chest.

Had it not been for Ezander stepping between them, Kadamar might have ended up with cinders for a princess.

Ezander gave his sister a look as malicious and disapproving as Alora’s.

The princess merely rolled her eyes and called to a servant to fill her wineglass, dismissing them like a stench.

“When we were younger, Garrik and I released toads in my sister’s rooms and reveled in her shrieks when they jumped on her bed in the morning. Our mothers weren’t so amused.” He turned to her with an air of mischief. “Perhaps we could do something like that this evening.”

Alora snorted, shifting on her heels. “Maybe throw all her shoes off the nearest turret?”

The princeling snapped his finger and pointed at her. “That … is a terrible idea. When do we begin?”

Huffing a laugh, Alora peered over his shoulder. She glanced from Garrik plucking his tunic to Silas stumbling through a side door, his face of stone disturbed slightly. “Now seems like a perfect t?—”

Ezander whirled to the dais, fists and shoulders taut as Garrik, almost in slow motion, shifted his eyes to him.

One half-blink…One half-blinkbefore the metal tip of a spear stopped inches from Garrik’s face.

Erissa shrieked amongst the gasps of the court and fumbled down the dais, shattering her wineglass before barricading herself behind the spymaster as High Guardsmen flooded the room.

For several beats, Garrik held the spear, never removing his attention from Ezander.

Bitter cold climbed over every surface. Crackling frost across the windows until they began to shatter as talons of Smokeshadows gauged the walls and crimson curtains. The faelights dimmed like they were a living thing in fear of the force shuddering the marble stone beneath their feet.

A terrible quiet overtook the room. No one dared to breathe. To blink.

His movements animalistic—so slow it was as if he wasn’t moving—Garrik narrowed on the treason in his hand. On thesharpsharpedge breaths from his black eyes. Cocking his head, he spoke in a murderous growl, “You missed.”

A merciless smile played on his face and the entire mountain, the entire kingdom, shuddered from it.

Deep rumbling, like from the depths of Elysian’s core, rattled the room as the Savage Prince simply sat there. Eyes trained on the multitude, Smokeshadows tendriled around the spear and burst it into splinters and dust and slivers of metal.

A fog of darkness descended. It swept from every corner, haunting the floor between the court’s feet. Like damned souls clawing their way out of Firekeeper’s realm, Garrik’s shadows tendriled up the legs of a hooded figure amidst those cowering until they were fully engulfed.

Shadow ripped the assassin forward. Dragged their legs deep into the marble until canyons were carved in the wake.

Bones snapped and cracked.

Inside the storm of shadows were distant screams, but Alora couldn’t take her attention off the dais.

Garrik prowled down the steps. She held her breath for what seemed a century until his boots met the crimson rug. Carrying a veil of night down his back as his obsidian crown sliced through his hair, Garrik turned his lethal attention to Ezander, who mirrored his sadistic expression.

Ezander raised his chin, not defiance like his father usually carried. No. That was decency and reverence, and Alora dared to imagine … brotherly affection.

The blackened veins on Garrik’s fingers were stark against his pale skin as he stepped breaths away from the princeling. The flaxen flecks in Ezander’s eyes glistened in challenge as the Savage Prince’s hand grabbed the sword by Ezander’s side, and with an excruciatingly slow pull, unsheathed it.

Garrik held Ezander’s stare as he positioned the blade between them. So close their breaths fogged the steel when he spoke low enough for only them to hear. “This changes nothing.”

Ezander’s magic, Alora realized.

The princeling bore a taunting smirk and dipped his chin when Garrik dropped the sword to his side. Angling his eyes through his upper lashes, Ezander retorted, “Where would be the fun in that, Your Highness?” And straightened, his smile growing more mischievous. “I rather enjoy protecting my neck. It’s the most fun I’ve had in decades.”

“Fun,” Garrik scoffed. And maybe she imagined it, but hesmiled. “Mind your tongue or?—”

“Yes, yes,” Ezander dared to interrupt him, crossed his arms, and gestured vaguely. “Get on with the show, and then you can enlighten me on how you’ll use my skull to sip your bourbon or whatever.” Drunk. Ezander had to bedrunkto be so carefree with his life. Maybe a flicker of the male he used to be around Garrik. A male who simply teased and taunted an older brother.

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