Page 157 of Fallen Nocturne

Lilith leans forward, eyes bright with cruel excitement. “I want to see her face when he puts them on her.”

Ruthven’s jaw tightens, but Lilith’s word is law. He hands the tongs to Svenn with obvious reluctance. “Don’t disappoint me, brother.”

Svenn takes them from him. For a moment, he only stands there. The metal heats slowly, turning from dull iron to angry red. Smoke curls from the fire. Svenn watches it as though he is waiting for something, though I cannot imagine what.

“The shoes, Andras,” Ruthven snaps. “Do not keep our queen waiting.”

Svenn reaches into the flames and lifts the white-hot shoes with his bare hands. The metal blackens his palms, but the burned flesh closes almost as quickly as it chars.

He does not flinch.

Lilith leans forward upon the throne. “Shall we begin? I believe we have a queen to break.”

She looks at Svenn expectantly.

“As you command, my lady,” Svenn says.

Ruthven and Lilith laugh. Bas remains seated beside the Fae King, both of them watching in silence as Svenn moves closer to Rhianelle.

Slowly, he kneels before her.

She looks down at him. For several heartbeats, neither of them speaks. Svenn raises his eyes to hers, and the emptiness leaves them. I see pain there, deep and raw enough that my anger falters.

Rhianelle sees it too. Her lips part, but no sound comes.

“Your queen needs her dancing slippers,” Ruthven says.

Svenn lowers the shoes toward Rhianelle’s feet.

I am going to be sick.

I pull against the chains again, but they do not move. Shade summons a blade into his hand, but the circle collapses before he can cut through the restraints. Rainer collapses against the bars. Lucien claws at the wood until his paws bleed. Landon cannot even lift himself from the floor.

We can only watch.

The throne room goes dark.

Part IV

The Hour of Broken Crowns

Chapter 21 Svenn

An hour ago…

The Palace of Bones should feel cold. But seeing her standing there, wearing that woman’s body, ignites something in my chest that burns hotter than any forge.

Lilith.

And beside her, Ruth.

My fucking brother and my betrayer.

He looks exactly as he did the last time I saw him, the night he smiled at me while plunging the dagger into my back. We share a face, he and I. The people used to whisper about the Vampire Prince of Morsvyenn, Andras the Slaughter. They thought I was the monster.

They never knew it was always him.

I rotted in that labyrinth for thousands of years because of him. My hands curl into fists so tight that my nails pierce my palms.