Page 36 of The Alien's Vicious Starflash Manor

And yet, as irritated as I am, one thought keeps running through my head—not a new thought, but an important one, nonetheless.

Despite all my murderous plans over the past year?

I never would have been able to bring myself to actually kill Duke Ivrael.

CHAPTER 10

IVRAEL

The next morning, I pull the Starfire Crown from its hiding place in my study wall safe, where I’d stashed it before falling into the bed the night before. Its twisted metal gleams, the blue gem at its center pulsing against my palm with a rhythm that feels disconcertingly like a heartbeat.

Setting it on my desk, I draw Starflash from its sheath, the sword humming with familiar power, a counterpoint to the crown’s pulse that resonates through me, sinking down into my bones with an ache I can’t deny.

I place the sword on the desk next to the crown, handling it with ceremonial precision.

My own pulse quickens as I circle the polished surface where I’ve cleared everything else away, leaving only the crown and my father’s sword.

Uanna’s lady’s maid reported to me moments ago that Lara and Izzy are still sleeping. I’d stationed her outside their door and instructed her to keep them busy if they woke, thus ensuring I would have this time to work.

To finally unlock the secrets I need.

To fully understand what I’ve undertaken.

To find the key that will make everything possible—or reveal that I’ve built my plans on nothing but ancient myths and desperate wishes.

That’s my hope, at least, since my entire plan hinges on understanding how the crown was originally used to expand magic across Trasq. Without that knowledge, I risk destroying everything—including Lara— especially Lara—for nothing.

Clenching my jaw, I dismiss that thought.

I will not torture myself over what must be done.

I trace my fingers through the air above the artifacts, not quite touching, watching intently for any reaction.

I’ve done this before, of course. Countless times since that night in the cemetery when Lara unknowingly led me to the crown.

But something feels different today—perhaps the looming deadline of Jonyk’s summit, the knowledge of what I must accomplish with these relics.

“Show me,” I whisper, reaching first for Starflash.

The sword’s grip fits my palm perfectly, as always, but today the metal feels almost warm, almost alive.

When I lift the crown with my other hand, bringing the two pieces closer together, my skin prickles with anticipation.

But nothing happens beyond their normal ambient magical resonance, just as nothing has happened every other time I’ve attempted this.

“Dammit, I need to understand you.” The temperature in the room plummets as my frustration builds.

I force myself to set the crown down gently, though everything in me wants to hurl it against the wall.

Instead, I summon my ice magic to my hands, gritting my teeth against how difficult it’s become. The spell dances betweenmy fingers in delicate crystalline patterns that remind me of how our magic weakens, how little time we have left.

Frost crystallizes around my fingers, and I drop them to the desktop, where a thin layer of ice crackles across my desk, spreading from where my hand rests against the wood.

I direct the spell toward the crown.

The magic slides off it like water off glass.

Of course. I’ve tried this before too, testing every variation of Caix power I possess. None of it affects either artifact. The magic inevitably dissipates like morning mist before it can even touch the metal.

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