Page 67 of Wicked Depths

The power contained within it hums against my skin, alive and waiting.

Nyxara underestimated me.

She thought I would stay here, obedient, caged.

She thought wrong.

I exhale, closing my eyes, and let the ancient language of the sea slip from my lips, low and steady, curling like mist through the cell. It is a sound older than the tides themselves, a whisper in the dark that only the ocean answers.

And the ocean always answers.

The air shifts.

The pendant warms beneath my fingers, and then the water shivers.

A single droplet beads at my fingertip, shimmering in the dim light before sliding down my palm, coiling around my wrist, spreading.

It slithers through the cracks in the stone beneath me, twisting like a serpent, wrapping itself around the iron bars of the cell. I drag my fingers through the air, feeling the magic pulse through my veins, feeling the water obey.

A creaking groan splits through the silence as the moisture seeps into the metal hinges.

The locks swell.

The iron warps.

And then—snap.

The heavy door swings open.

Too easy.

I step forward, barefoot against the cold stone, stretching my arms as if shaking off invisible shackles. My magic hums beneath my skin, stronger now, filling the space where frustration and rage had curled.

Nyxara made a mistake.

She thinks I will wait here, sulking, useless, a liability she can cast aside when it suits her.

She is wrong.

Because if she will not listen to me, if she will not trust me… then I will do what I should have done from the start—I will win this war for her.

Even if I have to lie, deceive, and risk everything to do it.

I move through the darkened corridors like a shadow, silent as the deep, unseen as the tide. Every step is calculated, precise. The castle is still, wrapped in an uneasy hush, the lingering presence of loss pressing against the walls like a ghost.

They think I am still locked away. They think I have yielded.

Fools.

The moment I reach the outer courtyard, the night air brushes against my skin, carrying with it the distant scent of burning wood, of steel and blood. The stench of war.

The human king is closer than I expected. And that only makes my next move easier.

I slip past the last set of guards, their post only half-heartedly patrolled. The fear of what lurks beyond the castle walls is far greater than the concern for what remains inside.

A fatal mistake.

For them.

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