Page 28 of The Serpent Prince

It pulsed with an obvious destructive yet intriguing magic of its own, making her wonder how Tanyl was imitating such a powerful magical object. It seemed nigh impossible.

The immense seat of the throne was created of black obsidian rock and glittering diamonds with skulls and bones embedded in it. Imani narrowed her eyes—the bones were real. The arms of the throne were each finished with a skull on which the king’s hands would rest. She wondered if the throne imbued itself with its victims’ magics, as well. The crown did the same, and each time a new branch would grow or a flower would bloom.

As she took a place near the front, the impressive throne loomed over the crowd like a monster in itself. Frankly, she’d expected nothing less from the ruthless monarch of Niflheim.

A wave of dizziness suddenly overtook her. Her vision blurred, and when she opened her eyes, she was somewhere else. Tanyl stood in a darkened doorway, his tall, broad frame taking up most of the space.

“I want to let you out, but your escape last time tested my patience,” he boomed.

Imani could see Meira crying on the floor with a cup in her hand. Although a small part of her ached a little to see her in pain, Meira probably deserved any punishment being dished out. She was a sneak, and it made Imani scowl.

“Finish the potion, and we’ll talk about seeing your brother.” Then the door slammed shut, leaving Imani and Meira in darkness and Imani coming back to reality.

It took her a few moments to compose herself, but she steeled her back and pretended like nothing had occurred. What was happening to her siblings? They seemed unhurt, although she hadn’t actually seen Dak, but Tanyl was being a real bastard to Meira for some reason. Did she deserve such treatment? Did he know about who she really was, or was this some punishment for Imani disregarding Tanyl’s spying directive?

Questions tumbled through her mind, but she couldn’t focus on them now. She needed to be present for the royal family.

Five chairs were placed just outside the circumference that Luvon had mentioned. The princes didn’t have permission to sit close, not even Saevel. She’d heard the king had grown more paranoid, but Magnus must have distrusted his family immensely. She briefly wondered where the sixth brother was, or maybe he was going to make Kiran stand.

The room filled up. Not only were the Essenheim witches here, but Imani saw the royal council’s master witches grouped together along the edges, as well. The ones who answered to the First Witch—to Kiran. The princes should be here soon, and Imani couldn’t lie to herself—she was nervous to see them all in one place.

Picking a piece of lint from her dress, Imani scanned her body again to ensure everything looked perfect. She’d chosen a simple black velour gown that was fitted in the arms and bodice but flowed down to her ankles gracefully. While she was a little self-conscious about her lack of jewelry, the binding on her hand and her shimmering, long, silver hair, which was elaborately curled into soft waves, gave people plenty to admire.

Whispers broke out around them.

Her breath caught as five figures emerged from the corners of the room and made their way to stand or sit around the throne. Broad-shouldered, graceful, and imposing, there was something about them all standing together around the king’s chair—their inner politics and personal feelings forgotten as they became a fearsome unit—that turned a prickle of unease into a fight-or-flight response. All vying for dominance, all indulging in their own beauty, it made tension roll through the crowd.

Even the lords and ladies of Niflheim seemed ready to bolt.

Saevel led the line and took the chair to the right of his father, looking far too big for such a small piece of furniture. His eyes were a brilliant shade of green as he scanned the crowd like a lion hunting prey.

The second prince was not at all what Imani had expected. He wasn’t as large as Saevel, and he didn’t give off the appearance of cool boredom like Kiran, or even exude royal arrogance. There wasn’t anything particularly dangerous-looking about him, either, except Imani spotted several knives hidden on his body from head to toe—they were well-concealed. This prince was probably good with his hands. If he decided not to shift, Imani wondered if she could take him if it came down to a duel.

She did enjoy a good knife fight.

In the middle were the third and fourth princes. Both were exact replicas of each other. Twins. One leaned in to whisper something in the other’s ear, and their easy laughter carried across the room. Imani arched a brow that their father allowed them to continue on in such a playful manner in front of his subjects. Everything about them told Imani that Magnus indulged them often, and they were spoiled because of his favoritism. They were broad-shouldered, like the others, and had dark hair and green eyes like their brothers, and they wore circlets like Saevel and the second prince.

Kiran’s signature was so distinct it alerted her that he was there without even seeing him. Indeed, Imani felt him the moment he neared the throne room.

Imani shuttered her expression into practiced indifference, as if the four brothers did not fascinate her beyond belief. As if she was not haunted by visions of the sixth one, the Serpent Prince, controlling her forever, watching her every move and judging, ensuring complete obedience.

But where was the fifth prince? She vaguely remembered his name was Respen. He was decidedly absent as the youngest prince slowly made his appearance in the doorway.

She forced herself to watch him head-on and let her gaze travel downward, taking him in. She needed to properly assess him in his home environment.

If Kiran was nervous, he did not show it, and neither would she. She could not afford to show any discomfort or uncertainty at this moment. Not here.

Without glancing at the crowd, he strode out, wearing a classic notch lapel jacket made of dark green velvet and, like his brothers, a black-diamond jeweled crown sat on top of his head.

It hadn’t really hit her that Kiran was an honest-to-gods prince until he wore his crown, and this revelation sent butterflies rushing through her.

His dark hair was different from last night. It was shorter on the sides and a bit longer on top. The new style showed off the harsh lines and angles of his face. His cheekbones were sharp enough to carve open a few hearts, and his facial hair was also mostly gone, except for a slight shadow that only served to enhance his rugged appeal.

Imani tried to gaze at anything else, yet seeing him there, looking as he did? Well, he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, even standing amongst his handsome brothers. Even when his features were set somewhere between boredom and irritation.

Still, while he hid it well, Imani sensed a bit of unease in his blank expression. As if he were not quite as used to the attention as his brothers were. As if he’d rather be in the background, like usual.

He moved to stand next to Saevel, and they both whispered something to each other, their expressions unreadable. Kiran gave his brother one nod before staring absently out into the crowd. Their friendship still puzzled her, but it was undeniable.