Page 11 of Wicked Depths

Even the air is thick with magic, heavy with the lingering weight of the bargain I just struck.

Morrin lands beside me with a whisper of wings.

"Stay with her," I say, my voice cold, commanding. "Watch her. Do not let her slip through the cracks of this castle."

He ruffles his wings, his glowing amber eyes narrowing. "You think she will try to escape?"

I smirk, but it is humorless. "She wouldn’t be the sea witch if she didn’t."

Morrin tilts his head, considering, then dips into a low bow of compliance. "As you wish, my queen."

He disappears into the darkness, a shadow among shadows, and I continue forward. Varethorne feels heavier tonight. Maybe it’s the weight of my own thoughts. Maybe it’s the ghost of what this place once was. I reach the grand staircase leading to my private chambers, my fingers trailing the cold iron railing as I ascend. The moment my boots hit the next step, a flash of memory grips me like a phantom hand on my throat.

The torches burn brighter—not with fire, but with Viridian Wrath, my mother’s magic licking at the sconces, casting green light down the hall.

Laughter echoes from the throne room, deep, rich, and full of life. My father’s voice. Steady, unshaken.

"They think themselves bold," he muses, standing at the head of the long black-marble table, his arms crossed, his crown tilting slightly from his dark curls. "The humans always do." I was young then. Still learning, still watching. My mother stood beside him, her emerald eyes gleaming with something unreadable. Power incarnate.

"What should we do with them, my love?" she asked, tracing a clawed finger down the length of his arm. My father smirked. The same smirk I wear now.

"Burn them," he said.

The memory fractures.

Flames. Screams. The scent of blood.

The heavy weight of the crown placed upon my head. Varethorne silent beneath my reign. I shake the memory loose. That was another life. Another time.

I do not dwell on ghosts.

I push open the doors to my private chambers, stepping into the vast room beyond. Dark, towering bookshelves line the walls, filled with tomes as ancient as the castle itself. A massive fireplace dominates the far wall, green flames curling and twisting unnaturally, casting eerie light across the black-stone floors. The air carries the scent of burning cedar, dragon smoke, and old parchment.

A four-poster bed sits near the arched window, draped in deep emerald silks, the fabric shifting with an unseen breeze. The bed is vast, too large for one person—but I have never let anyone occupy the space beside me.

Above me, an intricate chandelier of wrought iron and dark crystal hangs like a suspended cage, the dim candlelight barely reaching the vaulted ceiling.

I shrug off my cloak, letting it pool at my feet, my shoulders rolling as the tension coiled in my muscles begins to unwind.

But my thoughts do not settle. I step onto the balcony, throwing open the towering glass doors. The wind rushes past, carrying the scent of rain, of earth, of war. My home still stands, but for how much longer?

The king’s war is pathetic now—a desperate man grasping at an unwinnable fight.

But I do not expect him to surrender.

No.

He will come for her.

He will come for the power he so desperately craves.

Power that now belongs to me.

Magic churns in my blood, searing through me as I let go of my human form.

My bones shift, stretching and breaking, twisting into something far larger, far deadlier.

Black scales ripple over my flesh, spreading like liquid obsidian. My hands twist into talons, my wings unfurl, vast and endless, their leathery expanse catching the night air. My tail lashes against the stone, sending shattered debris tumbling into the abyss below.

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