Chapter 37
37
B lood sprayed across Skylar’s vision as the Gryphon’s razor-sharp talons tore through another Thorncrest soldier. The man’s scream died in his throat, replaced by a wet gurgle. His eyes bulged, terror-filled orbs in a face twisted by agony. Through their shared consciousness, Skylar felt warm stickiness coating her own hands, tasted copper on her tongue.
She reveled in it.
The ballroom had become an abattoir. Marble floors slick with gore, the air thick with the stench of fear and death. Skylar’s physical body knelt near Arye, eyes closed, face a mask of concentration. But her mind soared with the Gryphon, free and terrible. Every slash of its claws, every beat of its wings, resonated through her being.
“Die, monster!” A soldier charged, blade raised high.
The Gryphon’s beak snapped shut around his midsection. Bones crunched like kindling. Entrails spilled, steaming in the cool air. With a savage shake, it tore the man in two, flinging the pieces aside. A spray of blood, bits of flesh, and shattered armor rained down on horrified onlookers.
Through the Gryphon’s gaze, she spotted Captain Knox rallying his men. Their swords glinted in flickering candlelight, reflecting the chaos around them. Without hesitation, she directed the beast toward them, its massive form moving with impossible speed.
“For Regalclaw!” The Captain’s words rang out, hoarse but determined. His men echoed the cry, steel clashing against steel as they engaged the Thorncrest soldiers.
The Gryphon landed beside them with a thunderous impact, talons gouging deep furrows in marble.
“Watch out!” Captain Knox’s voice cut through the chaos. One of his men, eyes wide with panic, swung at the Gryphon’s flank. The blade glanced off golden feathers, leaving not even a scratch.
An ear-splitting screech tore from the Gryphon’s beak, shattering remaining windows and sending tremors through the floor. Noblewomen fainted, their bodies hitting blood-soaked marble with dull thuds. The soldier who dared attack stumbled back, face pale as death, weapon clattering to the ground.
“You idiot!” Captain Knox bellowed, cuffing the man. “That’s Lady Anathemark, you daft bastard! Use your head!”
How amusing.
The absurdity of it all—the Captain calling her a “lady” while she tore through enemies like parchment—struck her as hilarious.
“My apologies, Your Grace,” Captain Knox said, bowing slightly toward the Gryphon. Blood dripped from a gash above his eye, running down his face like crimson tears. “Shall we?”
Skylar didn’t respond. Through the Gryphon’s eyes, she caught sight of a Thorncrest soldier fleeing. His cape, adorned with red thorns on black, fluttered behind him. A coward’s flag.
Not so fast.
The Gryphon’s wings spread wide, blocking escape. The soldier skidded to a halt, terror etched on his expression as he realized his fate. The acrid stench of urine filled the air as his bladder let go.
What a fun expression.
“P-please,” he stammered, dropping to his knees. Snot and tears mingled on his face, dripping onto once-pristine armor. “Mercy!”
Skylar’s lips curled into a snarl, mirrored by the Gryphon’s fearsome beak. Mercy? Where was their mercy when they attacked her kingdom? Her people? When they threatened everything she held dear?
The Gryphon’s talons closed around the soldier, crushing slowly. With a sickening crunch, it squeezed. Ribs splintered. Organs ruptured. Bones snapped like twigs. Blood and worse spattered the floor.
Skylar’s gaze swept over assembled nobles, cowering behind overturned tables or pressed against walls. Horror in their eyes, revulsion as they watched the Gryphon drop the mangled corpse. Several retched, stomach contents joining the carnage on once-pristine marble.
Good. Let them see. Let them remember.
Briefly, silence fell. Thorncrest’s men lay dead or dying, blood seeping into floor cracks. Skylar allowed a moment of satisfaction, the Gryphon preening bloodstained feathers.
But victory was short-lived.
The grand doors burst open, wood splintering as a fresh wave of enemies poured in. Eyes wild, filled with fanatical light beyond mere loyalty.
“For the glory of Thorncrest!” one of them roared.
The Gryphon’s head snapped around, gaze locking onto the new threat. Through their bond, Skylar felt its muscles coil, ready to spring.
But something was wrong.
He wasn’t heading for her or Arye. His gaze fixed on a different target.
King Lyinell.
The King stood frozen on his dais, eyes wide with terror. For all his bluster and cruelty, he looked pathetically small in that moment.
Skylar’s instincts warred within. Part of her—remembering every slight, every cruel word—wanted to let the King fall. But the Gryphon’s nature, bound by ancient pact to protect the Clawborne line, surged forward.
With a thunderous sweep of its wings, the Gryphon catapulted across the room. But even as they moved, King Lyinell’s panicked voice rang out.
“Duke Anathemark, I command?—”
The words died in his throat as cold steel pressed against it.
But it wasn’t Thorncrest men he faced.
Arye stood before his father, Skylar’s sword—his sword—held steadily at the King’s neck. His eyes blazed with fury.
“Father,” Arye’s voice dripped venom, each word precise and cutting. “She knows she is supposed to protect your pitiful existence. She didn’t just start doing that today.”
The Gryphon’s talons lashed out, catching the attacker mid-leap and slamming him against the wall with a nauseating snap. But Skylar barely noticed. All her attention focused on the tableau before her.
Arye leaned in close, lips nearly brushing the King’s ear. “So don’t you ever dare command her again.”
King Lyinell’s face drained of color, gaze darting between his son and the monster looming over them. Never before had Skylar seen real fear in those cold eyes.
“This is treason!” he hissed, voice trembling.
Arye’s laugh was cold and brittle. “Treason? It doesn’t look like the Divine Beast cares about that.”
He was right.
The curse didn’t react, forcing Skylar to protect the King. The Gryphon didn’t seem tensed at all. It just looked at them, curious, interested even. Like a cat observing a particularly fascinating mouse.
With a jolt, Skylar’s consciousness slammed back into her body. She gasped as sensation flooded her limbs, disoriented for a heartbeat. The world spun, colors blurring and sounds distorting as her mind struggled to reconcile two separate existences.
For the very first time since summoning the cursed beast, Skylar became aware of her physical form. On her knees, silk gown and countless hairpins pooled around her. Silver-white hair hung in tangles, blood on her lips.
But she could move.
Even with the Gryphon summoned, she retained control of her body. How was this possible?
No time to question.
King Lyinell’s shock gave way to rage, face contorting as he raised a hand to strike Arye.
Slowly, carefully, Skylar pushed herself up. Legs trembled, unused to supporting weight after stillness. But she forced herself to stand tall, placing herself between Arye and the King, gaze blazing with fury to match the Gryphon’s.
“Your Majesty,” she said, voice low and dangerous. “I wouldn’t.”
King Lyinell froze, gaze darting between Skylar and the looming Gryphon. His hand remained raised, trembling slightly. Then his eyes flickered, taking in the sea of watching faces.
Something in the King’s demeanor changed. Spine straightened, a mask of regal indifference slipping over features.
“Indeed,” he said at last, tone carefully controlled, “this requires a more… intimate conversation.”
Skylar felt Arye step up beside her, his presence solid and reassuring. “No matter the battlefield,” he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear, “I’ve got your back.”
Her heart pounded, fear and exhilaration coursing through her veins. This was it. No going back now. Her secret out, true identity laid bare for all. But for the first time in her life, she felt truly, completely herself.
The Gryphon’s screech split the air once more, drawing attention back to battle. Skylar’s head whipped around, following the beast’s intense gaze.
The ground beneath their feet trembled. For a heartbeat, Skylar thought it the Gryphon’s doing, but tremors intensified, growing into violent shakes. Remaining chandeliers swayed dangerously overhead. Cracks spider-webbed across once-pristine marble.
Then she saw it.
Emerging from splintered remains of the grand entrance was a monstrosity defying description. Its lower half a writhing mass of vines and roots, twisting and pulsing with unnatural life. But where a flower should have bloomed sat a torso—unmistakably human, yet horribly wrong.
The scent of rotting vegetation filled the air, so potent it made Skylar’s eyes water. Retching sounds echoed as the stench overwhelmed weaker constitutions.
As the creature fully entered the ballroom, Skylar’s breath caught in her throat. The human half was familiar—terrifyingly so.