Page 78 of The Panther's Price

Cassian fell.

Blood pooled fast. He choked once, eyes wide, stunned more than afraid. His lips moved, but no words came.

Suddenly, silence.

Lucien stood over his brother’s body, sword dripping, breath ragged. His face didn’t twist in victory.

Only sorrow.

Only loss.

Evryn moved beside him, one hand on his back.

Lucien didn’t look away from the fallen prince.

“I didn’t want to kill him,” he said.

Evryn’s voice was quiet. “He wouldn’t have stopped.”

Lucien nodded once, shadows curling at his feet.

“No. He wouldn’t.”

Behind them, the broken throne room waited.

Their story wasn’t done.

But the old one had finally ended.

THIRTY-FIVE

LUCIEN

The Court of Claws was a graveyard.

Not just in bodies—but in legacy.

The throne room lay in ruin, its stained-glass sigils shattered, the blackstone dais cracked clean through the center. Blood streaked the marble. The ancient runes once carved into the walls had dimmed, as if mourning their mistress—or perhaps relieved to be freed from her hold.

Lucien stood in the stillness of it, watching the dust dance through shafts of grey morning light.

His shoulders ached. His ribs throbbed from the wound that had stopped his heart.

But he was alive.

Becauseshehad chosen him.

Evryn stood at the edge of the dais, not seated on the throne, but near it—hands wrapped around the hilt of Lucien’s blade, now buried tip-first in the floor.

The others had come.

Seraphine.

Calder.

Malrik.

All flanking what remained of the royal house. All waiting.

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