Page 67 of How to Claim A Shadow King

A cruel smile cuts across her pale face.

She’s not beautiful at all, I decide.

There’s something rotten there.

"So," she purrs. My knuckles whiten on the horse’s lead, and I clench my teeth to stop from trembling. "This is the prized little witch the Shadow King hides behind his walls." Her face is a sneer the likes of which would send a court into a full conniption. "I do so wonder if your blood has the same power once it’s been removed from your body."

Panic is a sharp blade in my heart, but my pride refuses to let me cower.

I slide a practiced, emotionless mask over my features and manage a polite, empty smile.

I lift my chin, looking the Unseelie Queen in her dead eyes.

"I am no one's prize," I throw back, my voice steady. "And you aren’t welcome here."

Ter lets out a long, loud caw.

The queen laughs. “A fragile mortal creature playing at a game for gods. You possess the blood of the first, yes, but you are a hollow vessel, Aveline."

Violet magic surges from her palm, spears of ice that hover in the air between us.

"Let us see how much light remains when I bleed you dry.”

The ice spears launch toward me with a sickening hum.

“Aveline!” Ter shrieks, throwing himself into the air from Sandwich’s back, a frantic flurry of black feathers and chaotic flapping.

Time slows.

Instinct takes over.

I do not think; I throw my hands out, reaching blindly into that deep, hidden reservoir of molten gold inside me.

Don't explode, I pray silently.

A blinding flash of fire erupts from my palms, expanding into a crackling shield of light. The ice spears slam into the barrier. I grit my teeth, willing the shield to hold. Boiling steam and shattered, glittering shards shower against the terrace stones.

The recoil sends me stumbling backward, my boots skidding across the ice-coated ground. My palms burn, but the gold light winks out as my concentration fractures under sheer panic.

The queen sneers, lifting her hand, the violet light of her magic near blinding. "Middling effort, little witch. The thresholds will fall, and your blood will lubricate the turning of the wheel."

Before she can unleash the attack, the sky turns black.

The terrace walls groan as a roar echoes through the stone. The ground beneath my feet buckles, knocking me to my knees.

I gasp for air, my palms melting the ice on stone, as I try to force myself back up to standing.

I’ve never so much as slapped someone in my life, have no idea how to fight, but I know instinctively that staying on the ground is a death sentence.

In my next heartbeat, a maelstrom of shadows tears from the ground, entirely vaporizing her frost. The ground shakes beneath me, and the air changes, heavy and saturated with a scent I’d recognize anywhere.

Malakai materializes directly in front of me.

A ragged laugh tears out of me, and I manage to get back to my feet.

He does not look like the handsome lord who sat next to me at breakfast. No, this is the Elder God I am fated to.

This is the King of Shadows, and the territorial rage radiating off him is palpable. Massive, smoke-woven wings of pure darkness expand from his shoulders, completely blocking out the remaining daylight. His eyes are burning embers in the gloom, and the raw weight of his magic turns the air so thick it is nearly impossible to draw breath.