Page 69 of Wicked Depths

With her.

My claws flex at my sides as I walk, each step measured, my thigh-high boots slamming against the floor in time with the steady, sharp beat of my rage. Morrin strides beside me, his beady black eyes narrowed, wings drawn taut in a way that tells me he’s barely holding back his fury.

Not at the war. Not at the deaths.

At me.

“The Sentinels have been waiting,” he says, voice clipped. “They will have the full account of what happened while you were gone.”

While I was gone.

The words are a knife against my ribs.

I do not reply, do not acknowledge the sharpness in his tone, because he is right.

I allowed myself a distraction—a temptation I should have ignored. And in that moment of selfishness, my people paid the price.

The war chamber doors loom ahead, the carved stone etched with runes that pulse faintly in my presence. The guards stationed at the entrance bow low, pushing them open without a word.

Inside, the Sentinels are already gathered.

They stand rigid, unmoving, waiting.

A heavy silence blankets the room.

I step forward, my gaze sweeping across the large war table in the center of the chamber. A detailed map of my lands stretches across it, now marred with newly drawn markings—borders breached, strongholds weakened, casualties counted.

Too many casualties.

“Speak,” I command.

One of the Sentinels, his violet eyes flickering like dying embers, inclines his head. “The king’s forces pushed into the eastern borders at dawn. The attack was coordinated, efficient. They knew where to strike, how to maneuver. They came in larger numbers than anticipated.”

A sharp pulse of magic flares in my chest, controlled but lethal.

“How many of my warriors fell?”

“Hundreds,” the Sentinel answers. “More wounded.”

A muscle tightens in my jaw.

Hundreds.

Hundreds dead while I lay tangled in silk sheets, foolishly believing I could afford a moment of respite.

I exhale through my nose, forcing the fire curling in my lungs to settle.

Morrin steps forward, his wings rustling against the heavy silence. “The human filth didn’t just come to test our defenses this time. They came to take.”

I lift my chin, eyes locked onto his. “And what did they take?”

He hesitates, just for a breath. “Land. Power. The belief that we are untouchable.”

The war chamber seems to darken, the torches flickering as my anger coils tighter.

I drag my claws across the edge of the table, slow, deliberate, the sound like steel scraping against stone. “What remains of their forces?”

“They have retreated beyond the valley for now,” the Sentinel reports. “But they will return.”

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