Page 7 of Essence of the Throne

I don’t answer, instead leading us down the unaffected hallways aside from a few dropped portraits. How satisfying it is that each of them is torn, ridding the castle of some of the king’s ego.

We make it to our rooms, and before Caspian can speak I nod to his and walk into mine, shutting the door loud enough that he thankfully doesn’t come knocking. I shed my bloody clothes and drop to the bed, scrunching my eyes closed. It feels like the first time in weeks that I can allow myself to relax.

Though that’s a false hope.

This quake was far more violent than the first, filling me with a sense of urgency I didn’t feel before.

I thought I’d have more time to figure this out. But it's clear I need to increase my efforts and accelerate my timeline. This is no longer just about some nonsense words I discovered in my father’s journal—there’s so much more at risk than I realized.

Chapter Two

Ariella

When did my skin become so sallow?

I pinch my cheeks and frown at the lack of color that appears. I haven’t looked into a mirror for weeks, but if I’d known just how sickly I look…

I swipe damp hair from my face, curling it behind my ears before studying my features some more. On a normal day, the silver covering my head compliments the tone of my skin, though I am a fair bit more pale than usual and the colors are not sitting well together.

I shouldn’t care so much. I’ve never worried over my appearance before.

Foolish thoughts. I shake my head and walk into the ostentatious room I’ve been assigned as aroyal guard. As much as I love the color of blood, the use of it here makes my stomach turn.

I’ll have to see about redecorating. I’m sure Thalion would have something to say about ruining such decor, but there’s nothing left for him to take from me. He wouldn’t dare harm his heir, his single son, so I’m antsy to get under his skin in anyway possible.

Until I kill him for good. Then I’ll actually be under his skin, only to toss it aside and watch as it rots enough for the maggots to feast.

Caspian was foolishly not against my declaration of murdering his father, as if his loyalty to his family means nothing in the wake of my presence. The man is truly in love with me—it’s disturbing. We’ve known one another for mere months, though that is not even the worst part of his obsession.

It was the day we met in the training room that I saw his infatuation settle around his being. I’d convinced myself that his pursuit was some personal endeavor he sought to achieve, the thought of which never bothered me much before. I'm sure that is all he wished for at first. He’s the prince—it isn’t difficult to conclude how he’d brag for fuckingtheSilver Wraith and lived to shout the achievement from rooftops.

But nothing with him is ever so simple.

He ruined every plan I’d devised. I should have torn his heart out just for standing in my way too many times.

That would have been simple. Much easier than the storm of emotion constantly surging through me that I continue to fight with everything I am.

But my life has never been so easy.

The Angel despises me—something I couldn’t care less about, but will punish all the same.

I slide on my usual leathers—black, as I refuse to don the hideous outfit every sentry is made to wear—and turn from my closet, pausing.

The gilded egg I took from my encounter with the griffin sits on the table next to my bed. I’ve yet to decide what to do with it because fuck if I’ll toss it out for the king to find and fuck if I’ll return it to the creature that almost tore every organ from my body.

She may have spared me, but even I am not foolish enough to test fate again.

Sucking in a deep, grating breath, I tug on my umbral strand and unwind the wards from my door. It’s satisfying, barely needing to flick my fingers to weave my ethereal affinity. The other affinities require more effort, their essence originating from the surrounding realm instead of inside me.

My fingers jerk in the slightest movements, grasping at the different tendrils of shadows and weaving them from their meticulously arranged, intertwined patterns. I could save time while creating my wards by throwing a tangled mess of essence into the door and frame, but it would take ages to undo. Over the years, I've settled on a routine, using the same pattern each time, and am now so familiar with it that it takes mere seconds to ward a door. It's not like there's anyone else who possesses the umbral strand that would figure out my technique, so how I do it doesn't necessarily affect anyone but me.

My steps slow as I approach Caspian’s room, and I smile—genuine, for once.

“I don’t know how many times we must have this conversation, Cas. She needed to go before, but after seeing her in the library?I’m not fucking playing this run-around game with you and her anymore.”

I lean against the wall, my leathers doing nothing to keep the cold of the stone out. A finger taps on the blade sheathed at my hip as I chuckle when there’s a deep sigh following Gavriel’s hissed declaration.

“I do not wish to continue having this conversation, but it seems it’s somethingmy friendwill not leave alone.”

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