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I’ve been away from the capital for too long. Although my spies occasionally send word about various political events that happen in Lukiria, I haven’t heard from them for some time.
I’d assumed it was because of the winter.
Turns out I’d gotten complacent. It’s no coincidence that Tyron Castle is under attack once again.
And for the first time…
The tentacles of war and corruption have almost reached something that’s become precious to me.
“Where’s Finley?” I demand, suddenly overcome with the need to see her. My thirst burns more powerfully than ever, and I wonder if I’d even be able to control myself if I caught her scent now.
Surely, she’ll let me have her.
“She went up to the boys’ quarters,” Kaithar tells me. “Talked some sense into them, apparently. They’re chomping at the bit to go out there and fight, but they don’t seem to understand whose side they’re on. Then Kinnivar came to escort her to the main hall for dinner.”
“Kinnivar?” My voice is sharp. “Who told him to go and retrieve her.”
Kaithar frowns. “I thoughtyoudid.”
“I left her safe in the main courtyard and went straight to the battlefield,” I snap, unease coursing through me. “She knows her way around. Everything within the walls is safe, and she has the run of the castle. Nobody should be escorting her.”
What the bloody hell does Kinnivar think he’s doing? Taking charge ofmybetrothed?
The captain isn’t stupid. Why would he overstep like this?
No excuse is going to save him. I’ll flay him alive.
“Kaithar, go rest. I’m going to find Finley.”
I close my eyes and try to find a tendril of her bloodscent, but the stench of corruption from the undead is overpowering.
I can’t detect her at all.
It’s strange. Her scent has been in my consciousness ever since I first encountered her. Arousing as it was, it also had a comforting effect on me.
Now it’s gone, and I’m unsettled.
I’m about to be furious.
And thirst burns the back of my throat, dragging me one step closer to hell.
Kaithar grabs my upper arm, squeezing me in his powerful grip as if to steady me. “Corvan,” he says, his brow furrowed in concern. He’s the one that’s suffered a lycan bite, and he’s concerned aboutme?“Are you all right? You look like hell.”
In truth, I feel hellish. Fighting against a relentless onslaught of inhumanly strong undead monsters has left me feeling drained.
Seeing faces I thought I’d long since buried has shattered me.
I make a silent vow. Whoever is behind this desecration is going to die.
Anger overrides my weariness. “I’m fine,” I growl.
“I don’t know what the hell Kinnivar’s thinking. But it’s possible he’s misinterpreted something.”
I wish it were so, but experience tells me otherwise.
I’ve beheaded one too many a traitor in the past.
There’s a chasm forming in my chest, filled with fury and dread.
