Page 60 of Essence of the Throne

“I have never met anyone who wishes to die more than you do.” I smile and curl my fingers inward. “I’m feeling charitable today, however, so I suppose I will grant your wish.”

She tries to speak, her eyes bulging past their natural place. Her nails claw at my hand, tearing the skin and spilling hot blood over my steel grip. The pain is my pleasure, though—something she realizes too late as her body begins to panic. I could subtly weave my psionic strand to force her obedience, but her raw reaction is far more satisfying.

I hold still as she thrashes against me, the weight beneath my sternum slipping into a dark place. When have I ever given the impression that I welcome harassment? Why does the entire fucking realm continue to piss me off for their own amusement?

Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear—my words mean nothing compared to actions, it seems. I’ve given far too many warnings. It’s time I shut the fuck up and follow-through.

Isolde will be the perfect example to those who continue to question me. The bitch still doesn’t know her place, so I’ll craft her a new one. The Angel can figure out how to deal with her.

The thought makes me smile. The bliss I would feel to know the Angel put Ally and Isolde’s souls next to each other, or whatever it does with them when we die.

I vaguely hear screaming as several people attempt to pull me away from the convulsing woman in front of me. It takes everybit of strength to hold myself in place before I decide to have a little fun.

I yank her from the wall, loosening my grip just enough to keep her awake longer. A rough cough rattles my hand as I drag her while I tug on my aero strand. At least I have one useful fucking strand that I can weave publicly. They want me away from her so badly?

Fine. I’ll give them what they want.

Tossing her across the floor, to the center of the small crowd that has gathered in the common room, I wait for Isolde to catch her breath. She hacks up thick liquid, spitting it onto the pristine clean floors. Disgusting.

I feel Marek’s presence storm up behind me, and I hold a hand above my shoulder without looking away from my charge. “Do not touch me, Marek, or you’re next.”

“You can’t go around killing anyone you want to, Ariella. Leave her alone.”

“Is that so? And what if I told you the prince hired me to kill her after she dared speak to him?” I look over my shoulder at my seething mentor. “Would it be acceptable, then? You should have kept a better leash on her because I’m done.” His jaw tightens. He’s clearly uncomfortable but maintains my gaze, his eyes matching the coldness seeping from mine.

“Leave her alone.” He enunciates each word, pursing his lips before continuing. “Or you’re out.” Unfortunately for him, I don’t fucking care.

A dark chuckle slips from me as I pivot on my heels to face him. I’ve the urge to look through each face here, but this moment is too important to remove my attention from Marek.

Isolde continues to cough behind me as I advance. My eyes watch the war in Marek's, and I cannot tell if he’s upset with me, or upset with himself for training me as he did. Because he knows damn well there isnothinghe, or anyone, in this building could do to stop me.

Angling my head, I lower my voice so he’s the only one to hear my words. “Then I’m out.” His eyes widen as I tug on my aero strand once more and send the essence down Isolde’s throat. And because I’m a petty bitch, I raise a hand before curling my fingers inward as I drain the air from her lungs. I do not need my hands for such weaving, but I'm nothing if not dramatic when a point needs to be made.

The entire guild falls silent as Isolde’s body convulses on the floor. The desperate clawing at her throat reminds me too much of my father’s last moments, though I feel nothing but satisfaction. No one moves to help her. Not even Marek.

“You disappoint me,” he whispers, his usually stern face softening for just a moment. “I thought you were better than this.”

I laugh, the sound hollow even to my own ears. “Better than what, Marek? Better than the woman who has killed hundreds of people? Better than the reputation I’ve earned a thousand times over?” My voice rises with each word until I’m shouting. “Better than the woman who fell for the fucking son of the man who murdered her own father?”

His brows raise at that last admission, but I’m beyond caring. Burning rage courses through my veins, demanding retribution for every slight, every loss, every moment of pain.

“Or maybe,” I continue, stepping closer until we’re a hair from touching, “you thought I was better than the woman who is going to kill the king and watch his kingdom burn.” I smile, but there’s no warmth in it. “So sorry, Marek—I’ve always been exactly who I am. Perhaps you should have kept a tighter leash onme.”

Behind me, Isolde’s movements have slowed to weak twitches. I don’t need to look to know she’s moments from death. Good. Let them all see what happens when they push me too far.

“At least tell me why,” Marek demands, his voice barely audible. “Why now? When there’s so much else you need to do? Why bother with her?”

I consider ignoring him, but he deserves at least this much truth. “Because I’m tired of playing nice. I’m tired of pretending I give a fuck about any of these people or their pathetic lives.” My hand gestures to the crowd surrounding us. “And I am so Angel-damned tired of everyone thinking they can challenge me without consequences.”

Velora steps forward, her face pale but determined. “Ariella, we’re your family—”

“Family?” The word is poison on my tongue. “As if you're any better than Isolde—where do you think she got her wretched personality from? If you speak to me one more time, Velora, you’ll be joining her.” I pause, letting my words sink in. “Because you want to know what happens to people who claim to be my family?They die. Soplease, keep pushing me. I haven’t tasted enough blood yet today.”

The silence that follows is deafening as each student seems to shrink into themselves. My reputation has always preceded me, but now they’re witnessing firsthand why I earned it.

A small whimper draws my attention back to Isolde. Her eyes are glassy, unfocused, but still holding onto that last thread of life. I could end it now, quick and clean…would that defeat the purpose of this lesson?

I want to be covered in her blood when I finally take her life, but I have things to do.

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