Page 108 of Rise of the Siren Queen
Feral means death. It means the goddess claims what’s hers. And I have too much left to do. Too many lies to burn. Too many names to carve into justice.
Breathe.Breathe.
My lungs fight me, but I force a long inhale, searching for something,someone,to anchor me. Adrian. His hands on my hips. The reverent way his eyes devoured me, like I was something holy. The soft groan in his throat when he kissed me. And the way his lips traced my scars like they were sacred.
The storm inside stills. Not gone, just caged. Temporarily.
Lavender drifts into my senses, Sienna. Her hands move gently over my shoulders, and the tension there bleeds away under her calming gift. A seer with the soul of a healer.
“Better?” she murmurs, her voice a warm, grounding current.
“Yes,” I breathe, voice rough from the scream I didn’t release. “Thank you.”
My eyes open, cold and clear. The court stares back at me, Elora, Ronan, Sienna, and Kieran, all waiting. Good. I need them focused.
“Now that I know,” I say, “here’s what we’re going to do.”
They brace themselves.
“Elora and Ronan, you’ll keep shadowing Thalor. No slips, no confrontation, just surveillance. I want to know everything—what he eats, who he meets, how he shits.”
Ronan’s brow lifts. Elora’s mouth opens to argue, then shuts again when I meet her gaze. My look is blade-sharp, and she knows better than to test it right now.
“Kieran, Sienna, I want you in Erythion by dawn. We’ll need the king’s permission to involve Adrian. He was one of their scouts, so tread carefully. Make it diplomatic.”
Silence thickens, but I’m not finished.
“And,” I add, voice low, “you need to know the truth. Adrian isn’t just a human. His mother stayed hidden for years, but her bloodline traces back to King Orion himself. Adrian is his grandson.”
They freeze.
“So he’s the heir?” Ronan finally says slowly and calculating, eyes already five moves ahead. “That could benefit us. Easier to gain the alliance… and the right to eliminate Draven. Adrian is your mate, after all.”
The wordmatetastes like salt and ash. A wave of nausea rolled through me as I looked between Elora and Sienna. Their gaze trails the floor with interest, a subtle tell of their guilt in sharing this information with them.
“Yes,” I grit out, the admission tasting bitter, “but don’t lose your head, Ronan. It’s not public knowledge for a reason.”
Elora crosses her arms. “She just said it’s a secret. Why are we already turning it into a strategy?”
“I’m saying,” Ronan replies, unfazed, “if no one’s seen Adrian’s face besides Ithra and she’s dead, then presenting him as her mate and Erythion’s heir would make his claim… indisputable.”
He isn’t wrong. The idea is dangerous, manipulative, effective. Just like Thalor’s tactics.
And that’s exactly why I won’t do it.
“I won’t deceive our people,” I snap, voice sharp as coral. “I won’t become what I swore to destroy.”
Silence again. This time it lingers.
“You have your assignments,” I say flatly. “Go. Leave me.”
They hesitate, but obey.
As the room empties, the silence settles back in, heavier now. I close my eyes and press a hand to my temple. My head pulses in warning, still tender from my loss of control. I grit my teeth against it.
I’ve spent four years preparing to face that bastard. Four years building myself from ashes, stronger, colder. Now he returns, and I’m expected to stay composed while the cracks in my kingdom deepen? While my own council plots against me?
No, I need to inform my grandmother. This will enrage her. But I want her enraged.
