Page 6 of Glow of the Everflame

The eyes of Prince Luther.

Lily had betrayed me.

* * *

If I thoughtI had seen a glimpse of Luther’s fiery temper before, it was nothing compared to the frenzied man staring at me now.

I barely recognized him. His expression was wild, eyes wide and lips bloodless. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, the muscles coating his body twitching with coiled tension. He looked closer to an animal than the eternally poised Prince I’d come to know. The jewel-encrusted sword he normally carried on his back was unsheathed and gripped in his white-knuckled fist.

He apparently had no intention of waiting for the Challenging to shed my blood.

I swore internally. My mortal weapons were useless against his Descended skin, and the one weapon that might save me—the Fortosian steel blade gifted by Henri’s friend, Brecke—was gone, fallen at Luther’s feet and forgotten amid the fervor of our stolen kiss.

My blood heated at the memory.

Bands of light and shadow, the manifestation of his Descended magic, curled around his arms like twisting vines. The scar that tore across his face looked darker than ever, a harbinger of the destruction he had the power to unleash.

Luther took a step closer, moving into the doorframe. It took every shred of my courage to resist a retreat.

Strangely, hurt tugged at my chest. Despite our wildly different worlds and my suspicions about his role in my mother’s disappearance, some naive part of me had felt a bond forming between us I couldn’t explain. Not a friendship, exactly. Something... else.

But it was clear enough from the sword in his hand and the scorching pulse of his aura that Luther hadn’t come here for anything likefriendship.

I braced my shoulders and raised my chin, even as the icy fingers of fear crept along my skin. I might be terrified, but I would die—perhaps literally—before I would let Luther Corbois see me cower.

“I won’t go down without a fight,” I warned. “At least give me a blade to make it fair—if you even know the meaning of that word.”

The dark lines of his brows pulled in, his sharp features dulling slightly.

“It’s hardly my fault the Crown chose me instead of you,” I said. “As soon as I find out how to get rid of it, you can have it. I don’t want any part of you or your people.”

Surprise flashed over his face. I wondered if the possibility of someone not wanting the Crown had ever occurred to him.

My eyes darted warily to his bejeweled sword. “If you won’t give me a weapon, then kill me with magic. I refuse to die bythat. It’s too embarrassing.”

His gaze followed my line of sight. He bristled, staring at his own blade like he had only just now taken note of its presence.

“How long have you known?” he asked, his voice deadly soft. “What you are. What you would become.”

My jaw clenched. “I told you before. I’m just a mortal. I didn’t expect any of this.”

“There’s no point in lying. We’re well past keeping those secrets now.”

I let the blanket fall and stormed forward to close the distance between us. “How dare you lecture me about secrets,” I hissed. “Why don’t you tell me what you did to my mother?”

He stilled and took me in, some dark thought churning in his eyes as they dragged slowly over my bare flesh.

“Eyes up here, Prince,” I snapped.

His focus shot back to mine, his pupils blown wide.

I jerked my chin at his weapon. “Now put away that garish piece of tin before I do it for you.”

He stared at me for a long, silent minute. His jaw flexed as he battled some internal decision—perhaps debating which part of me to carve up first.

“Is that why you killed the King?” he asked finally. “Because you think I hurt your mother?”

“Killed the King?” I nearly choked on the words.

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