Page 112 of She Who Holds My Wrath

Virena’s mist stills mid-curl. Vor’Khar straightens, stone plates grinding faintly. Danika’s gaze snaps to mine, a flicker of something I can’t read in her eyes.

“Ah, so the rumour I was last to hear was true,” Virena says icily.

“It wasn’t something that was meant to be spread,” I reply, sharper than intended.

I tell them everything. That he returned through ancient magic—through sacrifice. I don’t soften the truth. I don’t hide Velentha’s name, or the cost paid with her blood, her life. Maelkar’s jaw tightens as I explain what he came back carrying, like he’s reliving the memory of Korithax choking him.

“The Void touched him when he died,” I say quietly. “It didn’t just graze him. It followed him back.”

Silence settles across the room, the atmosphere thick and uneasy.

Sariya speaks first. “The Void is not a spell. It is not a being. It is absence given hunger.”

“It devours magic,” Elyistria adds softly. “Suppresses it. Twists perception. It feeds on fear, rage, grief. Anything that fractures the soul.”

I listen intently at the information, like I’m listening to them speak about a stranger. Just like some of the others in this room, I barely know anything about what it is that is living inside of my husband. All I know is that it makes him cold… distant. Harder to reach every hour.

“Once it bonds,” Maelkar mutters, “it doesn’t leave.”

Virena’s eyes darken, her mists becoming erratic. “So he is dangerous.”

“Yes,” I say honestly. “To our enemies. And to himself.”

Danika tilts her head. “Does he retain control?”

“Most of the time,” I answer. “But it seems to whisper. It shows him things, twisting what he sees. Manipulating what he feels.”

Vor’Khar’s voice drops impossibly lower, sounding like a deep rumble of thunder that vibrates through my chest. “A weapon that can’t tell friend from foe.”

I don’t argue. How can I? From what I’ve seen in the last forty-eight hours, that’s exactly what it seems like. It’s almost as if I’m married to the real-life Dr Jekyll.

“There’s more.” Though it feels harder to speak, I push on, needing this out and over with. “Korithax has chosen to step away from the throne. For now.”

That lands harder than anything else that’s been said. Shocked gasps ripple through the room, and I can feel a particular set of emerald eyes glaring at me from across the table.

Virena’s mists seem to lash out from her. “He abdicates?”

“No,” I say firmly. “He steps back. For now. Hell has one ruler, and right now, that’s me.”

Danika studies me, then nods once. “A king choosing restraint is not a weakness. I respect it.”

I offer her a small grateful smile, but it quickly falls as Aran’s laughter echoes through the room. It’s sharp and wrong. A sound I have never heard from him.

“He doesn’t want to be king?” he snaps, his eyes blazing as I face him. “She died for what, then? So he could come back and decide he doesn’t even want to fucking be here?”

The room goes rigid and footsteps sound somewhere in the room, but I don’t take my eyes from him.

“Aran—”

“No,” he cuts in, pointing at me. “No. Don’t you dare try and soften this. Velentha burned herself out of existence so he could live. So he could stand beside you again. And now he’s—what—too broken to try?”

His hands shake as grief pours off him in waves. “He doesn’t get to opt out. Not after that.”

I feel Maelkar’s presence at my back, his shadows a comfort I didn’t realise I’d become familiar with.

Sariya steps forwards, her radiating warmth doing nothing to melt the ice from Aran’s glare. “Aran, please⁠—”

“She believed in him,” he roars. “She believed in both of you. And now⁠—”