Page 90 of Essence of the Throne

She glances back once, her eyes meeting mine for just a heartbeat. There’s so much emotion in them—most of all, a silent plea for understanding. I notice where she’s leading us, and I truly begin panicking.

What the fuck is she doing? Is she going to kill herself so I don’t have to? By the fucking Angel.

Then she slams herself into the arena wall and vanishes.

I stumble to a halt, my father’s control momentarily shocked into stillness as we both try to process what just happened. There’s no door there, no hidden passage that I know of.

She’s gone.

“What trickery is this?” My father stands, leaning over the edge of the royal box to peer down at the arena floor. He scans the crowd, raising a hand at his guards before screaming orders. “Find her! She cannot—”

His words cut off in a wet gurgle as a blade erupts from his chest.

My attention snaps to the royal box just as my father’s body pitches forward, tipping over the ornate railing. I watch him fallin slow motion, ignoring the prickling under my skin as my body becomes my own again. The blade protruding from his back glints in the afternoon sun as he descends, the external pieces of his royal jacket billowing around him like broken wings. He hits the ground with a sickening thud that sends vibrations through my bones.

My eyes flick up. Standing in the exact spot where he’d just been is Ariella, her silver hair whipping in the wind as she stares down at his crumpled form, her face unreadable. Relief floods through me at the conspicuous absence of my mother and sister. At least they were spared witnessing this.

I find myself walking toward my father’s body, each step feeling both hollow and weighted. The crowd’s screams—no longer cheerful in nature—fade to a dull roar in my ears as drop to my knees beside him. Blood pools beneath his chest, staining the sand a deep crimson.

It’s almost picturesque, the way his blood matches the fabric he wears. It extends the color to the point that he appears to be flying, though he lies still on his side.

I rear back when his eyes flutter open and focus on me. “Son…” he wheezes, blood bubbling, leaking at the corners of his mouth. “Take me to Elowen…quickly. Before it becomes fatal.” A wet laugh escapes him. It sounds agonizing—good. “The wraith couldn’t even…properly hit my heart.” His breaths rasp in a strange pattern, as if he’s trying to breathe around the liquid filling his lung.

I glance up at Ariella, who is already watching me with knowing eyes. We both understand the truth of his words—if she’d wanted him dead instantly, that blade would have pierced his heart with precision. She deliberately missed, offering me this moment. This choice.

But the only choice I consider is how painful to make his last breaths.

“Why?” I ask my father, my voice but a whisper. “All of this…for what? Just to die from your own arrogance?”

“Everything I did…” he coughs out, more blood and snot spattering his chin, “was to make our kingdom stronger. To ensureyourreign would be absolute.” I huff a breath and watch his body struggle to survive.

This—my father dying—should bother me. It should scare me enough that I rush to find any healer that can save him. He’s my father, for Angel’s sake. The man who gave me life.

But now I sit here eager to take his, and all I feel is vindication.

I shake my head, disgusted by his words. “No. You tortured and murdered so many people.Children, Thalion. You betrayed everything a king should stand for.” I shift to kneel, wrapping my hand around the hilt of the blade in his back. “And you tried to force me to kill the woman I love.”

His eyes widen at the last of my words, but I don’t give him time to respond. He deserves nothing more than his end. With one sharp twist, I drive the blade deeper to the right, angling it into his heart. His body jerks once before going still, cruel eyes glazing over as the last breath leaves him.

The silence that follows is deafening.

A soft thud before me announces Ariella’s arrival. I look over my shoulder to find her standing a few feet away, her face tired and neutral as she studies me. Realizing I’m still holding the blade, I release the weapon and clench my jaw as I push to my aching feet.

“How did you?” I gesture at where she’d appeared in the royal box. I have a guess, but I want to hear her say it.

“Temporal strand,” she confirms with a slight shrug, her mouth threatening to lift as she inspects every part of my body. “I’d always planned to use it when I killed him. I’ve dreamed of watching the bastard die over and over, both of us experiencing his last moments repeatedly until I got bored.” Her lips twist into something between a smirk and a grimace. “Though I didn’t think his death would feel sodisappointing.”

Temporal strand. I want to ask her how it works—how she shifts time, bending it to her will. Will halting it for a few minutes have a lasting impact on the realm? Does it matter?

I peer at my blood-stained hands, somehow understanding exactly what she means. Years of fear and hatred building to this moment, and now…nothing. Everything we went through because of him, everything we did to stop him, all comes down to a quick, mundane death.

“Are you okay?” I ask, remembering the numerous cuts and bruises marking her skin. The ones I put there.

She huffs a laugh, tilting her head. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re the one who just killed your father.”

“I’ll live.” My voice comes out rougher than intended. “Though I wouldn’t mind if you explained what just happened. How did you manipulate his control over me?”

“I didn’t.” She saunters closer, carefully stepping around the growing pool of blood as if she wouldn’t be caught walking through it. “You did that yourself when you hesitated. It showed me there was still a part of you fighting.” Her eyes soften, and I get the feeling she wants nothing more than to touch me—I feel the same. My fingers ache to hold her. “I just needed to give you something worth fighting harder for.”

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