“Kin,”Ihear him say, and that’s what really seals it for me.Thismust be right—must be true.MyDrakewouldn’t acknowledge another for no reason.Heisn’t human—he can’t be fooled.
My thoughts tangle, slipping through my fingers asItry to make sense of it.Iopen my mouth to speak again, to demand some kind of explanation?—
And then the world explodes.
71
THERON
A deafeningboomcracks through theCourt, shaking the stone beneath my feet.Acloud of black and purple smoke bursts into existence in the center of the hall, thick and roiling, spreading fast.Thesmell hits next—sharp and acrid—burning the back of my throat and stinging my eyes.
People scream and the chanting dies instantly, replaced by panic and confusion as the smoke billows outward.
I step back instinctively, one arm coming up to shield my face asIsquint through the haze, trying to see what the fuck is going on.
Finally, the smoke clears andIsee a tall woman standing in the center of theCourt, as though she’s always been there—as though she didn’t just tear her way into existence.She’sdressed in black lace that clings to her body like a shadow and her dark hair falls in sleek waves around her shoulders.
Her eyes glow purple, andIsee a cold amusement dancing in their depths.Whothe fuck is she and what does she want?
I don’t know the answers to those questions, butIhave a feelingI’llbe sorry whenIdo.
The woman strides forward with slow, deliberate steps, completely unbothered by the chaos around her.Theguards hesitate, unsure, their spears wavering as if they don’t quite dare to point them at her.
“Well, well,” she says, her voice smooth as silk and sweet as poison.“Ifit isn’t theLostPrince…come home at last.”
72
ELOWEN
The smoke burns my eyes.
It stings and chokes—thick and acrid—filling my lungs with every breath untilIcan barely see or think.Tearsstream down my cheeks andIscrub at them with the sleeve of my robe, blinking hard, forcing my vision to clear.
But when it does, my heart nearly stops.
“No…”Iwhisper.“No, it can’t be…”
But it is.StandingbeforeTheronand theOldKingis a figureIknow all too well—Grizalyn.
The witch who cursed me…the witch who cursed us all.
The witch who sent me on this path in the first place.
Fear claws up my spine, cold and sharp, butIdon’t let it stop me.Idon’t think about theKingor theCourtor the hundreds of eyes watching.Idon’t think about whatI’mrisking.
I run.
Pushing through the last of the crowd,Ithrow myself forward and plant myself squarely betweenTheronand the witch, my arms out as thoughIcan shield him from her.
“Leave him alone!”Icry.
My voice echoes in the vast hall, far louder thanIexpected, butIdon’t care.Idon’t care who hears me or what they think.
BeforeIcan say anything else, theOldKingspeaks.
“What are you doing here,Grizalyn?”he demands, his voice trembling with fury.“Ihad you banished from myCourtwhen you killed my son!”
Though he’s old, theKing’swrath is terrible to behold.Hiseyes glow with fury and he seems to grow larger as theDrakeinside him expands.