Page 24 of The Throne's Undoing

He wasn't here for an explanation.

He was here for an outlet for his anger, for a release.

The spots in her vision grew, and before she knew what she was doing, she pulled from the pit of her stomach. She instinctively followed the iridescent string that floated in the air, invisible to all but her. She tugged on it, grabbed it, tried to bend it to her will.

She tried to coax it, soothe it. Snuff out the fire that coated its strands.

But as she sent the emotion down the string that ran from the fingers wrapped around her throat to the nerves in his mind, Domitius's nose twitched.

His fingers dropped from her throat, and Myra wheezed, gasping for air.

The oxygen struck her lungs in an icy and painful burst. Sharp and bitter. Before Myra could catch her breath, she was thrown across the room, and the wind was knocked out of her as she hit the wall.

Domitius's mouth was moving, but Myra couldn't make out the words as the room spun around her. The back of her head throbbed. Pain shot down her spine, and her vision pulsed.

She couldn't breathe. Her body had gone stiff as pain erupted all over her.

The door creaked open behind the king. Two figures entered the cell, but her vision was still too fuzzy to make them out. One of the figures shoved the other forward, and the second, shorter figure fell to their knees.

Myra inhaled, but her body couldn't process the intake of oxygen. It stopped short, lodging itself in the middle of her throat, choking her.

She tried to move.

She tried to crawl, but her limbs were too weak, and they folded beneath her weight. She slipped, her face smacking against the floor.

Still, she tried. Even as the tears blurred her vision and drowned out her voice. Even as a sharp pain seared through her body. Even as a burst of poisonous laughter echoed in the cell, Myra crawled.

She needed to touch him. She needed to make sure he was real. She needed proof that this wasn't an illusion Domitius had somehow concocted.

But the man on the ground didn't look at her, his tired gaze fixed on the floor.

"Mynhos?" Myra whispered, the single word scratching her vocal cords. It was a name she hadn't said aloud in over a decade, a name she called out for in her dreams.

Her brother was alive.

Alive and in front of her.

Butwhywas he here?

Her fingers brushed his shoulder, and he flinched back from the touch.

Domitius stepped forward, blade in hand. "Perhaps you need to be reminded about what you aretrulyfighting for."

The king snatched Mynhos's wrist, and her brother at last looked at her with anguish swimming in his hazel eyes. Domitius pressed Mynhos's hand flat against the stone floor.

In his ear, Domitius whispered, "Don't bleed on my floor."

He struck.

And all Myra could hear was her brother's screams echoing in the small, stone room as he bled. Mynhos hurried to bury the severed limb in his clothes as he rushed to fulfill Domitius's command

Myra reached for him, but she was being dragged back by her braid. She tried to fight it as pain wracked through her skull. She tried to wiggle out of Domitius's hold, but she couldn't.

She couldn't fight him.

She couldn't grab hold of anything.

The door shut behind them, the locks clicking into place. Mynhos's agonized screams rang in her mind on repeat as she was dragged down the hall with tears streaming down her face.

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