Page 68 of Wicked Depths

The terrain shifts beneath me as I move past the castle’s outer wards and into the thick darkness of the forest. The twisted branches of ancient trees loom above, their leaves whispering secrets to the wind. The damp scent of moss and earth mingles with the salt lingering in my hair, the ocean a distant song in my blood.

My pulse thrums in time with the crashing waves.

Faster.

Faster.

I move like the current, swift and unrelenting, cutting through the dense underbrush, following the pull of something more potent than instinct—purpose.

It isn’t long before I see it.

The human king’s encampment sprawls just beyond the valley, a sea of torches flickering in the dark, illuminating rows upon rows of soldiers.

A temporary city of war.

I slow my steps, crouching low against the cover of the trees, observing.

The men move with precision—trained, organized—not the rabble Nyxara’s forces had been slaughtering in small skirmishes. These were the real fighters.

The ones meant to conquer.

The ones meant to win.

And leading them?

A warlord draped in human skin.

I can already hear the king’s voice in my mind—smooth, silken, coaxing. The kind of voice that has lured countless fools to ruin. A liar’s voice.

But I know how to play this game better than he does.

I let a smirk curl along my lips as I rise from the shadows, the moonlight casting a ghostly glow over my skin. My magic hums at my fingertips, whispering against my pulse, ready, waiting.

This is it.

The moment.

Nyxara believes she has cast me aside. That she has removed me from the board. But the game has only just begun.

I step out into the open, into the lion’s den, and let my voice carry through the cold night air, smooth as silk, curling like smoke.

“Time to play, Your Majesty.”

And then I walk straight into the war I intend to win.

Chapter

Seventeen

NYXARA

The castle walls groan under the weight of my return.

The torches that line the corridors flicker erratically, their flames sensing my presence, twisting toward me as if drawn to my anger. Shadows stretch unnaturally across the black marble floors, bending under the force of my magic. The air tastes of iron and war, thick with the scent of burnt wood and the lingering remnants of the battle that took place at my borders.

And I was not here for it.

I was away. Distracted.

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