Page 11 of A Kingdom of Destruction

Something caught her foot. She fell, barely able to catch herself on all fours. Gravel and sharp stones scraped her calloused palms, yet she barely felt the pain. Her focus remained on the castle overhead and the dark smoke now curling from several windows on the second and third floors. Her family was inside. Her sisters, her brothers, all home and supposedly protected behind the impregnable walls of the keep.

She refused to stop moving even when opponents came at her from every side. Her lungs were on fire. Faster, she pumped her arms, needing the speed. Uncaring when the toes of her boots kicked against bodies or arrows whizzed past. Uncaring when rogue spells exploded whole walls beside her, showering her with splinters of wood and shards of stone.

Her attention did not stray from the entrance to the castle. Even when it came into view and she saw those massive oak doors burning on the ground. They’d been ripped off their ancient hinges and stacked on top of each other, a mockery of what they stood for, then set on fire.

“No,” she breathed.Please, gods, no. Let them be okay.

Her gut hollowed out.

Only five soldiers in her army fought beside the entrance to the castle, and two of them were cut down and dead as she watched.

Aven opened her mouth to yell, and within a heartbeat, Stone stepped up in front of her with his shield raised, an arrow bouncing off the metal with an impact she felt in her bones.

“I know it’s hard,” he gritted out, “but you need to watch your surroundings. I won’t always be around to take care of you.”

She barely heard him. A clap of thunder sounded nearby, and the hellscape of the city was suddenly doused with pelting, driving rain. The chill soaked through her fighting leathers immediately. The storm hammered at them as though it had waited for the perfect moment to strike.

“With me, Stone.” She somehow managed to get the words out, and the two of them fought side by side to make it toward the black, gaping entrance to the castle. Without the doors, the space looked like a missing tooth, the darkness inside scary and unsettling.

A full-scale attack on the capital, and she’d allowed too much of their army to be lured away in what had seemed like a winning maneuver. The fae were brutal. They took no prisoners.

Aven shuddered to think what she’d find once she made it inside.

Something crackled, and she looked up in time to avoid a large chunk of stone hauled loose from one of the balconies overhead. She and Stone leaped forward and rolled, coming up in unison, both just a hair too late to avoid the approaching soldiers.

She jolted to her feet and swung out with a fist, her hit bouncing off the fae’s armor. Her attacker’s eyes snapped to attention.

She caught a glimpse of her reflection in his armor, her expression grim and eyes a million miles away. Glassy. Aven might have hesitated, but Stone did not. He reached behind him for the weapon he’d kept only for dire straits and clicked off the safety on the gun.

The magical device detonated, and at this close range, the shot ripped through the fae in front of her, leaving a gaping hole in his chest. A second shot blasted the arm off a second attacker.

“With us, now.” Stone barked out the command, and their three soldiers fell into line behind Aven.

The giant foyer of the castle granted them a respite from the rain. The heat inside was terrible, and color immediately blossomed on her cheeks.

The crackling fire consuming the doors was echoed only by the racing pulse in her ears. The inside of the castle felt eerily quiet compared to the madness outside. Her gaze swept through the massive space before landing on the now-open doors to the throne room. The cold chill, barely kept at bay through the fighting, now grew until her teeth chattered. Only her hold on her sword gave her any measure of control, even if it was fake.

“Your Highness?” Stone stepped forward, waiting for her next order. “What would you have us do?”

Going in alone was suicide, yet something inside begged her to send them away. To somewhere they’d be of more use.

If there was anyone left to save.

She said nothing, shifting forward numbly toward the throne room. Its doors had been thrown open, and her next inhalation brought the scent of stale air and something metallic.

Her fear deepened with every step. The men stayed behind her, although even the sound of their footsteps faded from her world. Everything narrowed to a point in front of her, and the moment she rounded the doors, the moment she stepped over the threshold, her fingers lost their grip on her sword.

The weapon clattered to the floor, and with no small amount of horror, she took in the scene.

Geleis and Iona had been bound, their arms and legs tight before someone had set them on fire. The thrones continued toburn behind them, but the bodies were charred husks, the ghost of their agonized expressions still twisting their blackened faces.

Shock froze her in place.

In front of the two burning bodies, Emmett lay in pieces. His head had been severed from his body, sightless eyes lifted to the vaulted ceiling. His arm lay next to him, and his legs were somewhere across the room. The warrior who never shied away from a fight… butchered.

Fionn had been killed on the throne with some sort of fae magic. His skin had been flayed away from his body, and his pink insides plastered against the velvet backing, somehow immune to the crackling flames.

And Maeve, who never hurt a fly, who would have killed herself to heal someone in need?—

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