Grim
Isla was wearing a gown made of purple silk that looked almost liquid. It cascaded over every curve, leaving nothing to the imagination. Cronan must have sourced the strange fabric from another world completely.
The front of her hair was tied back by two glimmering insects that fluttered like butterflies but were not. The attendants had painted her eyelids a lavender sunset.
Because she was beautiful. Stupidly, infuriatingly beautiful. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
Even if she was his enemy.
She was frustratingly silent as Grim walked her to the galaxy room, though her mouth was turned in a smile. His hands made fists as he realized he had spent so many days telling her to be quiet . . . and now, he wished she would speak to him. He was desperate to know what she was thinking.
He felt around her emotions, carefully, parsing out each thread. She was amused . . .
He frowned. Did she find him amusing? Was she . . . laughing at him?
“What?” he barked. She was the one held captive, though she didn’t act like it. He remembered what she had said—
You’re the prisoner.
Isla’s lips twitched, and his shadows flared in annoyance as he wondered what she found so comical.
Finally, she put him out of his misery. “It’s funny,” she said.
“What is?” he demanded.
She turned to face him, and he was struck with the totality of her brilliance. “That you keep pretending this isn’t inevitable.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. She was wrong. It was almost pitiful how wrong she was.
The doors flung open to reveal another opulent and ridiculous dinner. Or, more accurately, a chance for Cronan to showcase his all-encompassing power.
Grim didn’t miss how every eye always went to her whenever she entered the room. Tonight was nothing new.
And neither was the fact that Grim had the brief thought he should kill everyone in this room for looking at her the same way he did.
They went to take their seats, Isla moving toward the head, as Cronan had always directed. But today, he lifted his hand. He pulled out the chair Grim normally sat in for Isla, using his powers. There was an extra one next to it, he realized.
“We have another guest of honor joining us today,” Cronan said, his eyes gleaming like liquid metal.
Isla sat, confusion crumpling her brow. Grim resisted the urge to squeeze her hand from the seat next to her.
He was pathetic.
The rest of the rulers of planets were speaking but kept glancing at the door, as if awaiting a grand entrance. Their curiosity spilled around him. Curiosity . . . and fear.
A few minutes later, it finally happened.
Lark Crown strode into the room. The feather she had asked of him was tied into her hair. While she had been little more than a pile of bones and tissue the last time he saw her, now she looked completely healed. She wore a layered dress in heavy fabrics that glistened with gemstones.
Grim could feel her power. It spilled through the room, radiating off her.
Cronan had allowed her to have it back. But why?
“Behold,” Cronan said, motioning toward Lark. “An old. . . . friend. The key to my regenerative power.”
As Lark moved to the head of the table, the lords watched her with hungry gazes. Their intrigue was as pointed as daggers. “Which was possible because, you see . . . she loves me.”
Grim was surprised to hear that, considering the only feeling he sensed from Lark as she glared at Cronan was pure and utter rage.
But he concentrated harder, searched deeper, and Cronan was right. There was something at the center of her emotions. An unyielding love.
That made no sense. Grim had seen what Cronan had done to her . . .
“She is my prisoner now. But I am merciful. I always give a second chance . . .”
With that, all the chairs were flung to the sides of the room. Grim’s back hit the wall, his shadows protecting his head from the impact.
He turned, expecting to see blood spilling down the back of Isla’s . . . but his shadows had moved without his permission.
Protecting her too.
Her green eyes found his, and he abruptly faced the middle of the room. Their dinner hadn’t even begun.
It seemed it never would—with a flash of power, all the food and silverware vanished, and Cronan stepped onto the table, his crown glimmering below his galaxy.
“You always thought you were better than me,” he said to Lark below him.
“Prove it. Win this duel, and I’ll portal you to any world you wish. ”
Next to him, Isla’s panic flared with concern for their world.
Lark’s eyes narrowed at the challenge. One of the braids in her hair turned into a root that slithered down her spine and below her feet, growing into the floor and lifting her to the table.
“I hate you,” she said, her voice full of conviction.
Cronan only smiled. “Prove it.”
Lark lifted her arms—
And a thousand vines broke through the glass of the ceiling, then wrapped around Cronan quicker than he could become shadow. Cronan squirmed as the vines squeezed, as the thorns tore through fabric and skin.
With a jolt of energy, the vines flew away, scattering across the room, shriveling as if he had drained the life right out of them.
Before he could strike, Lark opened her hand—revealing a palm full of seeds that she threw toward Cronan—
And they exploded into massive trees midair, as if she had sped up time, nature blooming in an instant.
One of those seeds struck Cronan’s middle. A moment of silence, of stillness, stretched as he slowly looked up at Lark.
And then the tree burst through him, tearing him into pieces that scattered across the room. Some hit the ceiling, beneath a galaxy that shuddered.
Silence.
Relief tore through the room. And hope. But before Grim dared feel any himself, the pieces of Cronan’s body were pulled back together by a bone-rattling force. Perfectly.
Cronan’s mouth was turned into a good-natured smile, but Grim could feel the fury beneath the surface, his pale aura stained with it. He was clearly done with this duel.
As Lark lunged forward once more, he simply lifted his hand.
And she was shredded apart at the seams, collapsing in a pile of flesh and bones.
Cronan just stood and watched as her fragments came back together, slower than he had.
And with less precision. When she reformed, she was still broken.
Even so, she clawed across the table, lifting her hand to unleash another form of nature upon Cronan.
That hand dissolved into granules smaller than dust. Her arm soon followed, then the other, and within seconds, her entire body was just ashes that drifted in the middle of the room. They settled into a pile on the floor. Cronan barely glanced at it.
Fuck.
Grim felt a wall of panic beside him. Isla. He didn’t think she cared for her ancestor. Or did she? He realized Lark might be her last remaining family member, but she had nearly leveled their world . . .
The rest of the lords applauded, startling Grim from his thoughts.
They leapt to their feet, bowing before their liege.
Cronan ignored them and knelt to scoop a pile of Lark’s dust into his hand.
“My, you are truly indestructible, aren’t you?
The ultimate example of survival.” He ground it between his fingers before letting it go, watching it fall like snow.
He sighed before standing and turning toward them all. “She’s not dead. She truly is invincible. Can only die from her own will . . .”
Suddenly, Cronan created a shadow like a scythe—and used it to cut his own arm off.
Gasps sounded through the room as it thudded to the floor and blood gushed from the wound. But they watched as the limb regenerated within moments.
“You see, even now . . . she still loves me.” He laughed cruelly. The rest of the lords laughed with him. Cronan walked right through what remained of Lark, kicking the ashes.
“Even now. Even after everything. She loves me. And it shows what I have always believed . . .” Cronan’s eyes bore into Grim’s at his next words. “Love is the most foolish decision imaginable. It can only ever lead to ruin. It is a curse.”
With that, he brushed the dust off his shoes and opened his arms wide.
“Who’s ready for dinner?”