Page 49 of Essence of the Throne

“Careful, wraith.” My father’s voice carries a dangerous, desperate edge. “You’re treading dangerous ground.”

“What will you do?” She spreads her arms wide, a cruel smile spreading across her face. “Kill me like you killed him? Like you killed Isaiah? Go ahead—I’ve been itching for a good fight.”

The air crackles with tension as they stare each other down. I sense the essence building around Ariella, though she keeps it carefully contained. One wrong move and this whole room could erupt in violence.

“Enough.” I grab Ariella’s arm, surprised when she doesn’t move to break my grip. “We’re leaving.”

“Listen to him,” my father sneers. “Run away while you still can. But remember my warning, son—one week.”

Ariella’s muscles coil under my hand, and I know she’s about to do something we’ll all regret. Before she can move, I drag her toward the door, ignoring her attempts to break free.

“Get your fucking hands off me,” she hisses as we exit the throne room.

“Not until we’re far enough away that you won’t go back in there and get yourself killed.” I continue pulling her down the corridor, my heart pounding. “I know you want revenge, but not like this. Not when he’s expecting it.”

She could break free if she wanted to. We both know that. But she allows me to lead her away from my father and his sentries, though her entire body vibrates with barely contained rage.

I don’t stop until we’re several hallways away, releasing her arm and hating as she immediately puts distance between us.

I watch as Ariella paces the empty hallway, several fingers tapping the blade on her thigh. The afternoon light streams through tall windows, casting her silver hair in a beautiful glow. Any other time, I’d be mesmerized by the sight. Right now, I’m too focused on keeping her from storming back to kill my father.

“You should have let me end him,” she snarls, her green eyes flashing threats.

“And what? Let you die in the process?” I run a hand through my hair, fighting back my own anger. “Ariella—he was waiting for you to attack. Hewantedyou to give him an excuse.”

She pauses her pacing to glare at me. “I don’t need your protection.”

“Angel’s sake, I know that.” I step closer, pleased when she doesn’t back away. “But this isn’t about protection. This is about being smart. You heard what he admitted in there—about the children and what he’s planning to do to the people outside. We need proof before we can move against him.”

Her lips curl into a cruel smile. “I don’t need proof of anything to put a blade through his heart.”

“No, but the kingdom does.” I close the distance between us, desperately wanting to touch her but knowing better with the way she watches me. “If we kill him without exposing what he’s done, nothing changes. Varrick will rally the noble families to enthrone a puppet king and continue everything he’s doing.”

She freezes, that eerie calm washing over her features that makes her look more wraith than human. I'd read about wraiths once, though have refrained from doing so again. The creatures are terrifying—much like the woman in front of me. Whoever gave Ariella her title knew her too well. “Then I’ll kill all of them.”

The words tumble through my stomach. Not from fear—never from fear with her—but from the raw truth in them. She will be my father’s death, one way or another. I chuckle. She’ll likely be my death, too. The thought should horrify me. Instead, I find myself fighting back a smile.

“Give me time,” I plead. “One week. Let’s gather evidence and build support among the royal guards. Then we can make him pay for everything he's done.”

Her eyes search mine, looking for any trace of deception. I steady my emotions and hold her gaze, letting her see the truth of my words. Finally, she gives a sharp nod.

“One week,” she agrees, though her tone suggests it’s against her better judgment. “But I do not dabble in patience, so if he makes one move against me or anyone else, I won’t wait.”

I lean against the stone wall, enjoying its cool surface as my mind races. My fingers absently trace the pommel of my sword, finding comfort in its familiar weight.

Everything I thought I knew about my family, about ruling, has been shattered. The memories assault me—all those reports crossing my desk, the disappearances I’d written off as routine matters. How many children had I unknowingly condemned by signing those papers? The thought makes bile rise in my throat.

My father’s words repeat in my head:Power requires sacrifice. Is that what being king means? Sacrificing innocents to maintain control? If so, I want no part of it. The crown suddenly feels like a noose around my neck, threatening to strangle everything good and right from my soul.

But then there’s Ariella. She paces before me like a caged beast, all lethal grace and simmering fury. My breath catches. Even in her rage—or perhaps because of it—she’s the most beautifulthing I’ve ever seen.

She represents everything I was taught to hate, to fear. An assassin, a wraith, someone who kills without mercy. Yet watching her, I see the truth my father missed. Her kills may not always be justified or right, but she’s never shied away from the truth. She’s been irritatingly clear about who she is since the day I met her.

In her own way, she’s more noble than any of the preening lords and ladies who fill my father’s court. Far more than my father himself.

I know I should let her go, should focus on gathering evidence against my father so that she can take the day before we resume our attempt to stop his shifting of the balance. But the sight of her prowling the hallway sets my blood on fire. Without thinking, I reach out and grab her arm, needing to touch her, to ground myself in something real.

She whirls on me. “Touch me again without permission, and you’ll die before your father does.”

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