Chapter 35
35
I n one second of eternity, the world exploded into mayhem.
Glass shattered. Wood splintered. Screams pierced the air like knives.
Thorncrest soldiers poured in, a tide of steel and malice. Their blades caught the firelight, hungry for blood. Flames licked at the curtains, devouring silk and hope alike.
The stench hit Skylar first. Acrid smoke. Copper-tang of blood. The sour reek of fear and voided bowels.
Her heart slammed against her ribs, a war drum in her chest. Sweat beaded on her skin, cold and clammy.
“Get down!” Arye’s voice, raw with panic. His hands on her, shoving her back. The scrape of steel as he drew her sword—his now.
They came in waves. Five. Ten. Twenty. More. An ocean of Thorncrest soldiers, flooding the hall.
Arrows whistled past, death given wings. The clash of steel on steel. Wet thuds of bodies hitting marble.
Skylar’s muscles coiled tight, screaming to fight. But the damn gown caged her, layers of silk and propriety turned prison.
Inside her, the Gryphon went berserk. It clawed and thrashed, desperate for release. Its panic mirrored her own, amplifying every sensation until she thought she’d shatter.
Around her, the ballroom descended into hell.
Noblewomen in glittering gowns became rabid animals, clawing and trampling each other in blind terror. Bones crunched. Muffled screams. The sickening squelch of a heel driving into soft flesh.
Lords fumbled for ornamental swords, hands shaking. Blades that had only ever known polish now tasted blood—often their wielder’s.
The air grew thick. Smoke. Blood. Vomit. Filth. Someone retched nearby, adding to the foul cocktail.
“Protect the King!” Captain Knox’s voice, strained and hoarse.
“Useless! Must I do everything myself?” King Lyinell, face twisted in rage.
Skylar’s eyes found her mother. Crouched behind an overturned table, clutching baby Conley to her breast. Raw terror etched on her face.
Time slowed. Skylar’s mind raced, each thought razor-sharp.
Seconds. She had seconds to decide.
Summon the Gryphon, and everything crumbles. Her identity exposed. Branded traitor. Executed as fraud. Her mother. Conley. Melody. Fern. All would die. Years of sacrifice and deception, turned to ash.
But if she didn’t…
Arye. Oh gods, Arye.
An arrow grazed her shoulder. Warm blood trickled down her arm. She felt nothing.
The Gryphon’s warning intensified, a deafening roar drowning out all else. Its desperation matched her own. Protect. Kill. Survive.
Skylar’s vision sharpened, reality etched in cruel detail.
Captain Knox, overwhelmed. The guards, outnumbered. King Lyinell, frozen on his dais. And Arye, right in front of her, in the line of fire.
Archers. So many archers. Arrows trained on Arye from all sides. Fingers tightening on bowstrings.
They would kill him.
No. They would kill them both.
Skylar’s heart stopped.
Choose. Now.
Save him and lose everything? Her identity, her position, her family’s honor, her life?
Or watch the man she loved die?
A lifetime flashed before her. Arye’s laugh. His touch, warm on hers. The way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t aware. A life that was and a future that could never be, crumbling to dust.
The Gryphon surged, threatening to overtake her. Its presence blurred her vision, fire in her veins.
No real choice. The pact would force her hand eventually.
Damn it all to hell.
If she was going to lose everything anyway, if death was inevitable, let it be on her terms.
For him.
“Arye!” The scream tore from her throat, raw and primal. She lunged forward.
Horror dawned on his face.
Skylar closed her eyes and embraced the inferno within.
The world would burn, and she would be the one to light the pyre.