Chapter 32 Annelise
ANNELISE
The wedding feast glitters with excess and cruelty. I sit beside my newly wedded husband at the high table, my hands folded demurely in my lap while Zarren regales the assembled nobles with tales of his prowess.
“The beast was nearly dead when I found it,” Zarren lies smoothly, gesturing toward Tarek’s cage with his wine goblet. “But even wounded, it took six of my best hunters to bring it down.”
The gathered lords nod appreciatively, their ladies sighing with feigned admiration. I smile, playing the part of the adoring bride, while inside I count heartbeats and plan trajectories.
Lord Renlir sits at the head of the table, just out of reach even if I could slip past Zarren. But that’s fine—I’ve accounted for that obstacle.
The signal arrives precisely when it should.
A body crashes through the stained glass window above, slamming into our table with enough force to send dishes flying and wine splashing across the white tablecloth.
Lyra’s lifeless form lies twisted among the shattered porcelain, her neck bent at an impossible angle.
Screams erupt from the guests. Ladies shriek and swoon; lords leap to their feet, hands reaching for weapons. I do not scream.
Instead, I seize the carving knife skittering across the table, its blade gleaming with reflected candlelight. Zarren turns toward me, his mouth opening to ask if I’m hurt, confusion clear in his silver eyes. I drag the steel across his throat in one smooth motion.
Blood sprays across my wedding dress, turning the ivory silk crimson. Zarren’s hands clutch his neck, his eyes wide with shock and terror as he tries to stem the flow. But it’s too late—I’ve opened him from ear to ear.
“Goodbye, husband,” I whisper as he collapses beside me.
The screaming intensifies. Chaos erupts as nobles scramble for exits and guards rush toward the high table. But I’m already moving.
I scramble over the blood-soaked table, my wedding skirts hiked to my knees, dishes crunching beneath my feet. The hidden blades shift against my legs with each step, reminding me of the weapons I carry.
“Stop her!” Lord Renlir’s voice cuts through the pandemonium, but his guards falter, caught off-balance by the sudden violence.
I reach Tarek’s cage and fumble for the key hidden in my bodice, my hands slick with my husband’s blood. The lock clicks open just as the first guard reaches me.
“You treacherous little—”
Tarek’s clawed hand shoots through the bars, tearing the guard’s throat out before he can finish. Blood fountains across the golden cage as the elf collapses.
“The chains,” I gasp, working frantically at the magical shackles binding him to the floor.
“Hurry,” Tarek growls, his dark eyes blazing with barely contained fury. “They’re regrouping.”
My fingers find the secondary lock—smaller, more delicate, but just as crucial. The key turns with a satisfying click, and the enchanted manacles fall away, shattering like glass.
For a heartbeat, Tarek remains still. Then he explodes into motion.
The cage door flies open, embedding itself in the marble column behind me.
Tarek emerges in his full, terrible glory—seven feet of raw power and righteous fury, his eyes blazing with the fire of a war god.
The transformation is breathtaking: gone is the wounded, chained beast, replaced by a warrior-king, magnificent and deadly, radiating lethal intent.
“My queen,” he rumbles, his voice carrying across the chaos-filled hall.
“My king,” I reply, stepping to his side without fear.
Lord Renlir finally grasps the scope of my betrayal, his face paling as parchment. “Kill them both!” he shrieks. “Kill them now!”
His guards hesitate, having seen what Tarek can do when unchained. Their courage falters in the face of his terrible beauty.
Tarek bares his teeth in a smile that promises death. “Who dies first?”
The question hangs like a blade. Several nobles bolt for the exits, abandoning any pretense of courage. The remaining guards draw their weapons but keep their distance, like jackals circling a lion.
“You’ve made a grave mistake, girl,” Lord Renlir snarls, his composure cracking. “Did you think this would end well for you? That you could simply walk away from your obligations?”
“I’m not walking away,” I say, my voice carrying through the sudden hush. “I’m burning them down.”
I reach into my bodice and produce the second blade—not the pearl-handled dagger, but a small glass vial of alchemical fire, stolen from Zarren’s private hunting supplies. Lord Renlir’s eyes widen as he recognizes it.
“You wouldn’t dare—”
I smash the vial against the marble floor.
Flames erupt in a circle around us, racing along the spilled wine and oil from the overturned table. The fire spreads with unnatural hunger, climbing the silk wall hangings and racing toward the timber supports of the ceiling.
“You wanted a hunt,” I call over the roar of flames and screaming guests. “Now you have one.”
Tarek’s hand finds mine, his claws careful not to pierce my skin. “Ready to leave this place behind, my queen?”
“I’ve been ready my whole life.”
Together, we stride through the fire toward the chaos beyond, leaving behind the ashes of my old existence and stepping into the blaze of our new one. The wedding feast becomes a funeral pyre.
And I am free.