Chapter 9 #2
King Rowe’s face twisted in fury. “Witch—”
She held up a webbed, taloned finger, halting his insult. “Not quite. You men really need something more original to fear.”
Draevyn’s thoughts became an unrelenting storm.
It was her, wasn’t it?
The woman before him had her eyes, her voice, her power. But there was something different—something far colder and somehow more ruthless. The way she moved, wielding her magic with effortless control, and the way she looked at them all like they were nothing.
His throat tightened, and he wasn’t sure if he remembered how to breathe as she held the guards in place, water twisting and tightening around them like living chains. They struggled, their eyes wide with panic, their lips turning blue as the magic stole their breath.
Is she truly going to kill them?
Atlas had acted without hesitation, summoning his shadows, lashing out like this was any other threat.
Draevyn didn’t know what to do. His instincts screamed at him to act, to stop this, to stop her. But another part of him wanted her to destroy this wretched place or drown it in her fury. To take her revenge and consume anything in her path.
The world—the gods—had already taken so much from her. It was only right she took it back.
The sight of her, standing in defiance before the king, made something twist inside him.
Esmyra was magnificent.
She was terrifying.
And everything about her was absolutely fucking lethal.
The king sneered, his lip curling in disgust. “You wretched cunt. Who the fuck do you think you are, coming to my kingdom and wreaking havoc? I’ll have your head for this. It’ll be a pretty little prize atop my mantle. And now you’ll meet Lephyrin’s Phoenix!”
Draevyn’s heart leapt to his throat. The word no was on the tip of his tongue, but a vicious cackle cut through the air.
“Oh, I’ve met him.” Esmyra’s stare drifted to him, and she flashed a wicked grin. “And I must say, I’m not very impressed.”
“Drae?!” Atlas shouted in shock.
Draevyn, eyes wide with horror, turned toward his brother and mouthed, It’s Esmyra.
Atlas’s mouth fell open, and his attention slowly moved back to her, unease creeping into his stance.
Everyone had abandoned the room, and all who remained were the Rowes and the guards she held in a death grip of power.
“Draevyn. Atlas. Get rid of the bitch!” the king demanded, his plump face red with rage—or perhaps fear. “You’ll face death at the hands of the Rowe brothers. The power of Irah runs through their veins! The power of a god!”
Esmyra’s laugh was low and cruel, somehow echoing from all directions.
“Oh, you sad, putrid little man,” she purred. “I am a god. And you? You were never anything more than a fool sitting on stolen power.”
Confusion crept in on his father’s face as his brows pulled together.
“Now, tell me,” Esmyra began again, taking a single step forward as those cold, glacial eyes were locked on the king. “How did it feel to slide a blade into Cyrus Blackwood’s heart?”
Bile burned the back of Draevyn’s throat. She knew about his death. But how?
“Tell me how it felt to murder a man in cold blood!” she screamed, the sound ear-shattering. “You went back on your bargain. You killed my captain in the depths of your castle in a silent execution. You murdered my father!” The words erupted from her, deafening as thunder.
Draevyn’s heart cracked at the desperation in her voice. He glanced at Atlas, whose chest was heaving as shadows swirled around his arms, waiting to strike.
“Ah, the siren returns.” The king’s eyes darkened. “It seems you have a habit of breaking into my kingdom. Now, you tell me… are you prepared to meet the wrath of Irah?”
Her eyes flashed a silvery pulse of power. “Your god didn’t choose you, deeming you as unworthy as any peasant beggar in your kingdom’s streets. You’re nothing but a cruel, weak, spineless coward. That throne should have burned to ash the moment you sat your unworthy hide on it.”
The king fell speechless as she spat their kingdom’s best kept secret: that Irah deemed him unworthy of power, granting it to his sons instead.
Esmyra tilted her head, eyes gleaming like the heart of a storm. “How does it feel knowing the only reason you rule is because no one else has bothered to take it from you? Just as you took everything from me.”
Atlas stepped between them, his shadows unfurling in black clouds. “Touch him and I’ll rip you apart. He is the king.”
“Atlas, stop!” Draevyn shouted, flames bursting from his hands.
Not Atlas. She wouldn’t touch his brother. What the fuck am I going to do if they fight?
He could’ve sworn hurt flashed across his brother’s stare as it drifted to the fire in Draevyn’s palms.
Esmyra arched a brow, amusement flickering in her gaze. “Oh, I’m not going to touch him.”
Crack. Crack. Crack. The sound of necks snapping filled the air as all the guards in her hold went limp and fell to the floor.
Her feline smile sent a violent chill down Draevyn’s spine. “Esmyra, don’t!” he shouted, but it was too late.
With a single look, her magic surged.
It came from nowhere, from everywhere, a ribbon-like wave rising from the very air itself. It snaked around the king, wrapping around his legs, his chest, his arms and slammed him back against his throne.
King Rowe gasped, struggling, as his feet kicked uselessly against the marble dais.
His fingers clawed at the watery shackle tightening around his neck.
His eyes bulged before rolling to the back of his head, his mouth gaping open in a silent scream.
And then the water pushed past his lips, through his nostrils, and down his throat.
Draevyn was screaming. Screaming at her to stop, begging Atlas for mercy, pleading with them both to halt the madness before either of them got hurt.
The room turned dark. Atlas’s power exploded, aiming for Esmyra.
His shadows lashed out, but they couldn’t touch her.
She merely raised a hand, and a wall of water went up between them.
Her power swallowed his shadows whole as he relentlessly sent them after her, but they dissolved like ink in the sea.
And still, Esmyra’s gaze never strayed from the king as she forced him to drown on his throne.
His body jerked and spasmed as he choked. His crown tumbled from his head, clattering to the floor as his face turned an ugly shade of blue.
Draevyn was rooted like a witness at the edge of a grave. His lungs were only able to take in rapid, shallow breaths as his lips parted in horror.
Esmyra didn’t blink. Didn’t falter. Only watched as her head tilted. “And now you’ll know what it was like for Cyrus Blackwood all those days you held him on land. For all those weeks you made him suffer the fate of his curse, only to rip his life away the second I returned it to him.”
“Drae, make her stop!” Atlas bellowed, his shadows relentlessly striking the conjured wall, unable to get through.
Draevyn couldn’t. His focus was entirely on Esmyra taking her revenge against his sire and king.
The man who offered his heirs to the God of Rage and War in exchange for power.
His father who’d made his life a living hell, locking him up with velsinyte in secret for years.
The husband who struck his wife, beating her to near death until Draevyn’s magic exploded to try to save her.
The tyrant king who took everything from their people without giving an ounce back.
The truth was, Draevyn didn’t want to stop her. And while that should’ve terrified him, it didn’t. King Rowe deserved this fate. Perhaps he deserved even worse.
Esmyra lifted a hand toward the king, her magic plunging more water past his lips and down his throat. And then, with a final violent shudder, the king went still. A gurgle slipped from him as his head bowed, seawater dribbling from his mouth.
Her power leisurely eased throughout the room as she dropped the king’s lifeless body onto the throne like a broken doll. And the roaring wall of water evaporated into a sheer mist.
The room became deathly silent.
“See,” Esmyra started, exhaling softly. Her stare moved to Atlas, whose face was riddled with shock and fury. “I didn’t touch him.”