Essence of the Throne (Shadows of the Crown #2)

Prologue

Raine

M y head throbs as consciousness creeps back, each pulse more painful than the last. Through the fog, I try to remember what happened—where I am. The last clear memory I have is from bed… I woke to someone covering my nose and mouth with a pungent cloth. But that’s it. How long has it been? Is this the third trial?

Cold metal presses against my bare back, sending ripples of discomfort through my muscles. When I attempt to move, leather straps bite into my wrists and ankles. Something covers my mouth, strapped tightly around my head.

Panic surges through me as my eyes snap open. Harsh light assaults my vision, forcing me to squint against its intensity. Dark shapes move at the edges of my sight, but I can’t turn my head enough to track them.

This is without a doubt not the third trial.

“—strongest from the trials. His essence readings were off the charts.” The voice is familiar, though I can’t place it through the fogginess filling my head. “If this one doesn’t work…”

My heart hammers against my ribs as I yank at the restraints. The leather holds firm, only succeeding in rubbing my skin raw. I try to call out, but the strap around my face muffles my voice to meaningless sounds.

More figures move around me, their features blurred by the tears gathering in my eyes. Not one of them even bothers to look at me as I struggle.

Healer equipment lines the stone walls, though it's obvious this is no standard healing room. The tools laid out on nearby tables look more like instruments of torture than healing. Needles, blades, and strange vials are arranged with unnerving precision, and my heart races faster with each item I see. My nose scrunches at the reek of chemicals in the air—sharp and sour, like burnt flesh and rotting food.

“Begin the prep work.” This voice I recognize in an instant—King Thalion. “I want to start as soon as possible. I need to leave for the arena soon.”

Footsteps approach, and a face finally comes into focus. The man peers down at me with austere detachment, his eyes black voids behind wire-rimmed glasses. He prods at my chest with gloved fingers, mapping out something only he can see.

“Remarkable muscle density,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. “The physical conditioning from Valoria’s guild provides an ideal foundation. It’s too bad we do not have access to the other two.”

I move my lips to demand answers, to ask what’s happening, but only muffled grunts escape. The man pays no attention to my attempts at communication, continuing his examination as if I’m nothing more than an interesting specimen.

My eyes dart around the room, desperate for anything familiar. Through the gaps between people, I spot another figure propped against the far wall. They’re slumped forward, held up by thick chains, with some kind of metallic device protruding from their chest. Even from here, I can see the dried blood caked around the entry point.

By the Angel.

Terror claws up my throat as one man wheels over a cart carrying an identical device. The metal is dull and twisted, with sharp prongs extending from its base. They can’t possibly mean to…

“Hold him still,” the man with glasses orders. “This part is always unpleasant.”

Hands press down on my shoulders and legs, though I’m already restrained. A woman approaches with a thin blade, perfectly crafted for precision cutting. She doesn’t meet my eyes as she positions it over my sternum.

“Remember,” the king’s voice cuts through my rising panic, “we need the connection point to be perfect this time. The last three failed because the device wasn’t properly seated.”

Last three ? What happened to them? I thrash against the hands holding me down, but it’s useless. The blade touches my skin, and pain explodes through my chest as the woman begins to cut.

I scream behind the gag, my body arching off the chair as much as the restraints and hands allow. The woman works in a proficient manner, slicing through layers of muscle and tissue with practiced ease. Blood runs down my sides, pooling beneath me on the cold metal table.

Through the haze of agony, I hear the distinctive crack of bone. They’re breaking through my sternum. The sound drones through my head, mixing with my muffled screams until I can’t tell which is which anymore.

“Device,” the woman commands, holding out her bloody hand.

The twisted metal contraption is passed over, and I watch in horror as she positions it over the gaping wound in my chest. The prongs align with the broken edges of my sternum, and then she begins to push.

If I thought the cutting was painful, it is nothing compared to this. The device burrows into me, the prongs spreading out to anchor themselves in my flesh. My vision whites out repeatedly as wave after wave of agony crashes through me. I’m dimly aware that I’m still screaming, though my throat feels shredded.

“Good,” the woman says with a bright smile after what feels like hours. “The connection is solid. Begin essence transfer preparations.”

I lie hopeless, wheezing, tears streaming down my face as my body trembles with aftershocks of pain. The device in my chest pulses with my heartbeat, each throb sending fresh spikes of agony through me.

The king moves into view, looking down at me with an expression that might be pity. “You should be honored, Raine,” he declares, though his words sound distant through the ringing in my ears. “Your sacrifice will help create something magnificent.”

Sacrifice? The word bounces around my head as the group bustles around me, connecting things to the device. What are they planning to do?

I send out desperate prayers to the Angel, begging for help, for salvation, for anything . But no divine intervention comes. Just more pain as they finish their preparations.

My head lolls as they finalize adjustments to the tubes connected to my chest. Through blurry vision, I watch light flow through clear piping toward me. My eyes widen past anything natural, the sight sending fresh waves of terror coursing through my body.

“Begin essence transfer.” The king’s voice sounds eager, almost giddy with anticipation.

The light reaches the device embedded in my chest, and immediately I know something is wrong. So devastating and wrong. Heat spreads from the entry point, but it’s not natural warmth—it’s like molten metal being poured into my veins.

I try to scream, but my voice is gone. Whether from the previous screaming or something else, I don’t know. All I can do is watch, helpless, as more of the bizzare, thick substance pumps into me.

The heat intensifies, transforming into something that feels alive. It writhes under my skin like thousands of snakes trying to burrow deeper into my flesh. My muscles spasm violently as foreign things flood my system.

“Remarkable,” someone says. “His body isn’t immediately rejecting the essence.”

Essence . They’re giving me essence from the chained body.

They sound pleased, but I'm unable to focus on their words. The invading power is wrong . It doesn’t belong in me. My own essence rises up to fight against it, creating a war inside my body that threatens to tear me apart.

Colors start bleeding into my vision—colors that shouldn’t exist. They swirl and pulse with each erratic beat of my heart, creating patterns that hurt to look at. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the colors are there too, more vibrant against the darkness.

“Heart rate increasing,” an emotionless voice announces. “Blood pressure rising at a steady pace.”

The wriggling under my skin becomes more aggressive. It feels like the foreign essence is desperate to consume me from the inside out, replacing everything that makes me, me with something else. Something twisted and wrong.

My back arches off the table as a particularly violent surge rips through me. A scream not my own escapes my throat. The restraints creak but hold firm as my body contorts. Every muscle feels like it’s being shredded and reformed, over and over again.

“Fascinating,” the man with glasses murmurs. “The integration is progressing much faster than previous subjects.”

Integration. The word bounces around my head as another wave of agony crashes through me. They’re trying to force someone else’s essence into me. To make it part of me. But essence isn’t meant to be transferred like this—it’s tied to our souls, our very being.

The pressure in my head increases until I’m certain my skull will crack. My thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm, replaced by fragments of memories that aren’t mine. I see flashes of places I’ve never been, people I’ve never met, all tinted with those impossible colors that shouldn’t exist.

“Sir,” a worried voice cuts through the chaos in my mind. “His temperature is reaching critical levels.”

“Continue the transfer,” the king commands. “We’re too close to stop now.”

The foreign memories come faster, slamming into me with a brute force. I watch a young boy train with wooden swords, his movements graceful despite his age. But it’s not me—I never trained as a child. The guild found me much later.

Another flash: the same boy, older now, sneaking through castle corridors. The thrill of avoiding guards mingles with my own terror until I can’t detect which emotions belong to me anymore.

My heart pounds so hard I fear it will burst. Each beat circulates pulses of wrong essence through my system, trying to overwrite what’s already there. My own essence fights back, desperate to save me, but it’s losing. I can feel it being consumed, replaced by this corruption they’re pumping into me.

“His body is rejecting it,” someone far away shouts. “We need to—”

“Continue!” the king roars.

The pressure in my skull reaches unbearable levels. It feels like my brain is trying to expand beyond its confines. Blood trickles from my nose, then my ears. The taste of copper fills my mouth as my teeth clench hard enough to bite through my tongue.

Please , I beg silently. Angel, if you can hear me, make it stop. Please make it stop.

But no help comes. Just more pain as the essence war rages inside me. The foreign memories overwhelm my own. Who am I? Raine, or the boy from the castle? The one whose essence races through me? Both? Neither?

My vision fractures, splitting into prismatic patterns that make me nauseous beyond comprehension. The impossible colors expand in time with my lungs, each flash bringing fresh waves of misery. The pressure in my head builds and builds until I’m certain something has to give.

“Sir, his vital signs are critical. We need to stop or—”

“No!” The king’s face appears above me, his eyes wild with desperation. “This one has to work. He’s the strongest body from the assassin pool we’ve found. Keep going!”

More essence floods into me, but my body has no more room for it. It feels like my skin is splitting open from the inside, unable to contain the war being waged beneath it. The foreign memories come so fast now that I can’t process them. I can’t process anything. They blur together into a nightmare cascade of sounds and colors and feelings that aren’t mine. Maybe they are.

The pressure in my head reaches a crescendo. Blood pours from every orifice as my body fails to contain the corrupted essence they’re pumping into me. I try one last time to pray to the Angel, but I can’t form coherent thoughts any longer.

Through the haze of agony and aberrant memories, I watch the king’s expression shift from desperate hope to bitter disappointment. He turns away with a disgusted sound, already walking toward the door.

“Another failure,” he spits. “Dispose of it like the others.”

The king’s advisor hurries after him, his voice soothing. “We’re learning more with each attempt, Your Majesty. Raine was our strongest subject yet—his survival time was nearly double the others. We’re getting closer.”

Their voices fade as they leave, abandoning me to my fate. The pressure in my head is impossible now. Something has to give. My skull feels like it’s being crushed and expanded in a simultaneous rhythm.

With my last moments of clarity, I realize I’m going to die. Not in glorious combat like I always imagined, but strapped to a table as a failed experiment—a mere statistic. Will anyone even know what happened to me? Or will I just become another disappearance, explained as one more mysterious death during the trials?

The final surge of essence hits me like a large wave. My back arches one last time as the pressure reaches its peak. Through eyes that no longer feel like my own, I watch those unyielding colors explode outward.

Then everything goes dark.

“Clean this up,” someone says distantly. “And someone fetch the staff—there’s brain matter on the ceiling again.”