Chapter 14
“I was wondering when you were going to show your face.”
The King’s voice echoed through the throne room as he stood ramrod straight beside the window, his hands clasped behind his back. He turned slowly, his gaze travelling over Ellaryn with cold, deliberate scrutiny.
“I take it the last fight tipped in your favour?”
Ellaryn inclined her head.
“Yes, Your Darkness.”
“Good.”
His lips remained pressed into a thin line as he took a measured step towards her.
“Wouldn’t want to be embarrassed twice in one morning.”
Ellaryn swallowed hard.
The words were quiet, almost conversational, but she knew better than to mistake his calm for mercy.
“I’m sorry, Your Darkness.”
“Yes, I suppose you are.”
He took another step, and Ellaryn resisted the urge to retreat, her heart pounding so loud she could hear it in her eardrums.
Damn Xander. Damn him and his revolution.
He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could see his reflection in the dark of his pupils. She resisted the cringe she wanted to make as his blackened fingernail scraped down her cheek—a caress wrapped in anger.
“You know I have to punish you, little Ruin.” He whispered, head tilting as he took in her features. “Making a fool of me is one thing—but in front of my people.”
He tutted, hand closing around her face, thumb pressing in on the bruise that now nursed her cheek. Ellaryn winced despite her best efforts to stay still.
“And so close to the advance on Velaviere.” He shook his head, disappointment settling over his features.
“What must the people have thought when I took to the dais and you were not at my side? What does that say about our unity as a city? About me as a King, if I cannot even control my own executioner?”
Ellaryn remained silent.
The King lowered his hand.
“That wasn’t rhetorical, little Ruin.”
Ellaryn cleared her throat, choosing her words. “I understand that it doesn’t look good,” she said carefully. “It won’t happen again—”
“No.”
The word was quiet.
Certain.
“It won’t.”
He began to circle her, his footsteps measured against the stone floor, each one tightening something inside her chest. Ellaryn kept herself still, refusing to turn with him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of watching her search for him.
Then pain tore through her so intense it took her breath away.
A strangled gasp escaped her as she looked down, confusion flashing across her face before understanding followed.
The tip of the King’s blade protruded from her abdomen, gleaming beneath the torchlight. Warm blood spilled across the steel, catching the afternoon light as it pierced through the window. Her blood.
She stumbled as crimson coated her tongue. Her vision blurred at the edges, the blackened walls tilting violently around her.
She tried to breathe, but nothing came properly.
A scream ripped from her throat as he withdrew the blade in one quick motion. At once, her knees buckled. The King caught her before she hit the floor, lowering her with almost tender care until her head rested against his arm and her body lay cradled against him.
“Shh,” he cooed as she struggled for breath, each inhale shallow and ragged as warmth spread beneath her.
“There, there.”
His fingers brushed the hair from her face.
She stared up at him through rapidly fading vision, unable to comprehend the gentleness of his touch against the agony tearing through her body.
Her heartbeat stumbled.
Erratic at first—shock, pain, overdrive.
And then—slower and slower.
Once.
Twice.
His thumb stroked her cheek.
“That’s a good girl,” he comforted.
Ellaryn tried to hold onto consciousness—tried to fight—but the darkness was already closing in, swallowing the edges of the room, the King, the pain—
Until there was nothing left at all.