Page 121 of Rise of the Siren Queen
He dragged the blade down Elora’s shoulder, slicing deep. Her scream tore through the water and through my soul.
Ronan took a step forward.
“Why can’t I feel her?” he whispered.
What?Feelher? Unless—
Elora screamed again. That time, I broke.
“Enough,” I snapped. “Ronan. Do it.”
He didn’t speak. He didn’t even look at me. His eyes locked on Elora, on the woman bleeding for my mistake. And I realized thetruth. The connection.The mate bond.
Faint black chains slithered around me, cool and familiar. Not tight, but firm. Enough to stop me. Enough to keep me from using my powers.
Elora’s screams died as the last chain settled. And I stood there, bound, powerless, watching everything I built unfold in crimson again.
“Very good,” Thalor murmured, his voice low and almost amused. “Son, where would you like to start?”
Son?
The word struck harder than any blade.
My pulse faltered. No. No, that couldn’t be right. Draven,hisson? The room warped around me, the colors too sharp, the silence too loud. I wanted to laugh, scream, and shatter the truth into pieces that couldn’t hurt me. But there it was. The final cruel piece sliding into place like a dagger in the heart. It was them all along. Together. Father and son.
How did I miss it?
Draven, the charming Erythion scout with his too-blank past and tightly wound secrets… he’d never once spoken of his family, not even in the stolen hours when I thought we were something real. And now, now, the truth stood in front of me like a noose tightening around the neck of every choice I’d ever made.
I’d trusted him. Gods, I had loved him. And while I bled over that betrayal, he had already set the stage for my kingdom’s ruin.
My hands curled into trembling fists, nails digging half-moons into my skin. Fury and shame tangled like seaweed around my ribs, pulling me under. I should’ve asked more questions. Should’velookeddeeper. But I didn’t, because part of mewantedto believe him. Wanted to believe he was more than the weapon he was.
And now, I was drowning in the price of that mistake.
Draven tilted his head, as if contemplating something delightfully trivial. “Let me see…” he mused aloud, tapping a finger to his chin like a spoiled prince picking his next toy. “How about we start with her grandmother? Seems fitting. Shedidbanish Mother after all.”
My heart stopped. Then slammed against my ribs with a force that stole my breath.
Her grandmother.
Mygrandmother.
My queen.
My anchor.
He said it as if it meant nothing. Like her life was just a note in his little coup song. His voice wasn’t cruel—it was casual. Careless. As if he were suggesting a toast, not execution or torture.
The walls felt like they were closing in. My lungs fought for air, but panic sank its claws deep, and every breath was a war. I couldn’t stop the trembling of my limbs. I felt… stripped. Not just of power, but of every illusion I’d clung to, about him, about me, about the fragile control I thought I still had.
A scream built in my throat, but I swallowed it down. Screams were for the weak. Screams fed men like him.
But gods, I was afraid.
Afraid he’d follow through.
Afraid it was already too late.
