Page 6 of Her King

“Did you know?” I ask, directing my question at the two of them before Cassandra even sits down beside them. “Did either of you know they were this close?”

My mother Amara’s lips thin in displeasure. Whether it’s because of my tone or because of the question, I’m not sure. “We’ve intercepted rumors for weeks. Nothing solid, though.”

“It’s solid enough now,” Cassandra mutters, arms folded tight over her chest, trying to act brave although her voice trembles when she speaks. “They were in your palace. Talking about killing me.”

Hayden curses under his breath. “How did they get in?”

“They didn’t just get in,” I say. “Someone let them in.”

That’s when the room goes silent.

Cassandra lifts her gaze to mine. “You think someone on your council is working with Quietus?”

“I think someone wants to make sure the merging ceremony never happens,” I reply. “And Josef has always had a deep affection for sabotage.”

Amara shakes her head. “We can’t accuse anyone, especially a high member of the Conclave like Josef, without proof.”

“I don’t need proof to protect her,” I snap.

But Cassandra’s voice cuts through mine—calm, resolute. “I do.” I turn to her, confused. “I don’t want to be locked away until the ceremony like some delicate artifact, Niko. If there’s a traitor here, I want to find them. I want to face this.”

“We already talked—”

She cuts me off. “I said I would allow the guards. But I know you well enough to know if there is another incident, guards or not, you’ll keep me in our chambers under lock and key.”

Even now, after everything, she wants to fight. Goddess, she was forged for a crown.

Amara studies her. “Do you understand what that means?”

Cassandra nods. “Someone, probably you, will need to train me. In magik, in politics, and in war.” She looks at me then, and I see no fear in her. “I need to learn how to be a queen ... your queen.”

Chapter Five

Becoming Queen

Cassandra

They expected me to break. To run, to hide, or to let Niko carry the burden of being a ruler while I smiled and stood beside him like a decorative blade, sharp but untouched. They don’t understand who I am. I am a true descendant of a Salem witch. I’ve spent my entire life trapped by invisible chains, my mother’s expectations, the coven’s traditions, and the betrayal of almost everyone I’ve ever known. But I am done being small or acting like I’m powerless, because I’m not.

Amara leads me into the eastern training chamber. It’s older than the palace, she says. The stone beneath our feet once knew the first wielders of true magik. Here, spells are heavier. Truer. The walls themselves seem to listen.

“You draw from emotion,” she says, her silver eyes appraising me. “That’s human-born magik. It’s powerful, but wild and inconsistent.”

I nod. “I know.”

“And you feel your connection to the earth when you heal,” she continues.

“Yes.”

“But have you ever taken energy?” she asks, lifting a single brow.

I hesitate. “From people?” I’m not sure how I feel about doing that.

She shakes her head. “No. From places. From pain. From memory. There are many forms of energy and magik than you, or even I know.” Amara steps back, gestures toward a tall mirror etched with runes. “Touch it.”

I place my hand against the glass. Cold floods my palm before it turns to heat. Then nothing, until suddenly the room around me fades and I’m somewhere else entirely. A memory not my own.

I’m in a battlefield. Ash falls from the sky like rain. In the distance screams echo loudly, reverberating through the hills that surround the area. Fae warriors clash with horned beasts that can only be Quietus-born. Dark blood soaks into the ground turning it into a muddy quagmire. And there, in the center of it all, is a woman cloaked in white standing perfectly still, her hands glowing a bright violet color.

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