Page 123 of Fallen Nocturne

Morgaine reaches for him with both hands. “Please,” she says again, her voice collapsing into a terrified sob. “Please, before she comes back.”

The king’s face twists with anguish. “I will not hurt you.”

Disappointment hollows her expression, as if the last fragile thing holding her together has just given way.

She turns to me again.

The woman who smiled while she poisoned a kingdom, who never once lowered her head before anyone, is weeping like a child.

“Landon,” she whispers. “Please. If he cannot do it, then you do it. Don’t let her use me. Don’t let her hurt him.”

Before I can answer, Morgaine’s spine goes rigid. Her head snaps back, and the brown in her eyes drowns beneath black.

“No,” Morgaine gasps. “No, no, please, not again, not the tomb, please, Eirik, please.”

He takes a sharp step toward her.

A smile spreads across Morgaine’s lips. The creature is back. “Your lover is still in there. Every frightened little piece of her. Obey me, or I will tear her soul apart while you listen.”

“Morgaine…” the Fae King mutters, his expression crumpling. He slowly turns back toward me.

“No,” I mutter.

Dragonslayer comes up in a flash. I barely wrench my sword into place before his blade crashes against mine. This time there’s no hesitation or mercy in his face. Whatever resistance he had left has shattered beneath the threat.

I fight with everything I have.

Eirik gives me no space to breathe. Dragonslayer rises and falls, filling my vision with silver light. I know every pattern he uses because he taught half of them to me. But knowing them does not make it easier to survive his attack.

I become so focused on the king that I forget the sentinels.

That mistake costs me.

A sword catches my shoulder. I feel the bite of steel, the hot rush of blood. My weapon clatters to the floor.

The witch’s shadow wraps around my arm, leaving me exposed. Cold burns through me.

I wrench against it. The shadow tightens from my wrist to my elbow as the cold sinks deeper beneath my skin. My fingers stop responding. I grab my own forearm with my free hand and pull, but it’s like trying to tear free from stone.

“Get off me!” I roar, twisting hard enough that pain rips through my shoulder.

The creature laughs. “Struggle, Herald. I do so enjoy watching hope turn to panic.”

I plant my boots and try to lunge for my fallen sword, but the darkness jerks me back. It coils higher along my arm, burrowing beneath leather and skin.

“Does the elfling know you are not coming back?” she asks softly.

Across from me, the king takes one step forward. His face is blank, but his hand is steady on his blade.

No.

I thrash harder, fighting the shadows. They snap tight like a whip and drag me forward onto my knees.

Eirik steps forward and swings Dragonslayer.

The blade cleaves through my arm. My severed limb hits the marble beside my sword. Pain explodes through me.

Blood pours from the wound, splashing across the white floor. My knees buckle.