Page 121 of Fallen Nocturne
His spring-green eyes clear for a heartbeat. For just a moment I see the real him, fighting against whatever has taken root in his mind.
The witch’s hand tightens on his shoulder. Dark veins spread beneath her fingers and disappear under the collar of his armor. Eirik’s face twists in pain. Then the light in his eyes fades, and the king is gone again, lost behind someone else’s will.
“Seize him,” the king commands in that hollow voice.
The sentinels come in a storm of silver and steel. My sword cuts through a guard’s armor. Instead of blood, shadow pours from the wound like smoke.
What in the gods’ names—
A blade slashes toward my ribs. I drive my elbow into my attacker’s face. The impact should shatter bone, but he doesn’t even flinch. His glazed eyes stare through me as he attacks again relentlessly. These guards are coordinated with no hesitation or self-preservation. They’re fighting like extensions of a single will.
“Is this what you wanted?” I snarl at the king, dodging a spear thrust that would have taken my eye. “Is this the kingdom you built? Your people turned into puppets?”
Eirik stands motionless beside his throne, sword still raised. The enchantress laughs as her shadow-tendrils slither across the floor. Where they touch the marble, the stone darkens.
“The king wanted power, we gave him power. The king wanted victory over the elves, we showed him the path,” the enchantress says, her black eyes gleaming with hunger. “Now the king wants you subdued, Herald. So we shall have you.”
Her shadow splits into a dozen unfurling tendrils. One whips around my ankle and yanks my leg out from beneath me. Pain stabs through my body as the darkness burrows through my boot. I slash downward, but my blade passes through the shadow without cutting it.
“Eirik would never bargain with something like you,” I say through gritted teeth. “What do you want with him?”
More tendrils surge forward, crawling across the floor and walls. One snaps toward my face while another coils around my waist. I tear free before it can tighten.
Shit. I can feel more guards gathering.
I leap backward, putting the throne between us, my mind racing.
Rhianelle was right. This was always a trap.
The witch tilts her head. “Oh, sweet Herald. We are helping each other. Eirik’s war is useful to me. War requires blood, and blood is the oldest form of sacrifice. Every soldier who dies in his name feeds the power I need. I can now reclaim what was stolen from me centuries ago.”
She raises her hand, and the shadows in the room deepen, swallowing the light from the enchanted chandeliers. The temperature drops so rapidly that my breath mists in the air.
“The little elfling took something from me,” she continues. “Something she had no right to touch. Through this convenient little mate bond between you, I will take it back.”
Rhianelle.
Cold understanding floods through me. This was never about me at all. Whatever this thing is, it wants my mate. I’ve led it right to her doorstep.
“You’ll never touch her,” I growl, raising my sword even as more guards close in. “I’ll die before I let you use me against her.”
“Oh, Landon,” the witch croons. “That’s exactly what we’re counting on.”
The king moves right then with the speed that made him legendary.
His blade is a silver blur aimed straight at my heart.
I barely get my sword up in time.
The impact drives me backward, my boots sliding across the marble. Pain jolts from my wrists to my shoulders. Eirik’s strength has always been monstrous, but this is beyond anything I remember. The force behind the blow feels unnatural, as if every shadow in the room struck alongside him.
He attacks again and again, each strike meant to kill. Dragonslayer crashes against my sword in a storm of silver sparks. I block one blow, turn another, and barely twist away from the third. The edge slices through the leather at my side.
There is no trace of the king who saved a red-haired child from the flames.
“Wake up!” I roar at him, blocking a slash that would have taken my head.
For a heartbeat, his sword falters.
