Page 110 of The Shadow Sanctum

When I meet my father’s eyes, I watch fear flicker. His face is no longer smug. His smile is nowhere to be found.

Clearing my throat, I nod. “I accept.”

The crowd roars, not in anger this time, but in awe.

Thorne’s shoulders roll and his neck cracks like he’s preparing to carry the world. He turns from me to the fighters, and I feel the tear inside me widen until I’m certain it’ll never close.

I step out of the circle, my boots heavy, my lungs hollow. Watching him from the edge is like watching my own soul walk toward execution.

Father gives the ceremonial speech in an unfamiliar voice. Not quite afraid but without the energy he normally brings. I’m not sure people around even listen.

When he announces the start of the fight, no challengers move. They just stare at my bulky, ruthless savior, the closest thing to a prince I’ve ever known.

It takes my father’s bellowing prod for the first to step forward. A fellow Keeper named Alexander. He’s as strong as Thorne but slower and less practiced. And he looks more unsure of himself than I've ever seen him.

I hold my breath while I wait for Thorne to strike, the crowd collectively bracing for a bloodbath. But when Thorne turns his back on the man, breath whooshes from my lungs. I see the pain in his eyes and feel it in my chest.

No.

He stares at me as he drops to his knees.

“No,” I moan. I push into the circle only to freeze.

The silence is deafening. Even the snow seems to hold its fall, caught midair, waiting. Thorne doesn’t lower his gaze. He stares straight at me.

The world tilts.

“Get up.” My lips barely move with the whisper. “Please, Thorne… get up.”

He only shakes his head. The one and only time he’s outright defied me.

The Keepers exchange nervous looks as they shift on their feet, as if waiting for their Chief Elder’s order. My father doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to.

Alexander steps forward, hesitates, then takes another step.

“No…” My voice cracks in the cold, unheard against the sea of watchers. My fists curl at my sides, nails biting into skin.

Thorne doesn’t fight. Doesn’t lift his arms. Doesn’t defend himself when the Keeper places his palms on both sides of Thorne’s head.

Thorne’s eyes close and lips move around words meant only for me. I don’t hear them. I don’t need to.

I know.

The crack is sharp and final.

Thorne’s body crumples, knees folding, torso falling into the snow-dusted dirt. His head tilts at a wrong angle, eyes fixed on me even as the light leaves them.

My chest hollows out. The crowd gasps, but no one screams.

Inside me, something tears free. A thread that’s kept me tethered, kept me human. Gone.

I don’t cry. I don’t make a sound. I wouldn’t dishonor him with tears.

But every piece of me fractures with the force of a storm tearing through glass.

I stand tall, spine rigid, while my heart beats broken in my chest. My people’s eyes are on me. Searching for weakness, for grief, for rage.

All I give them is stone.