Page 267 of Interion

“Stop!” The monarch slammed the emergency button. “Guards!”

Zion didn't stop. He couldn't have even if he'd wanted to—the shadows were beyond his control. Yet even as hatred overrode reason, he knew he couldn't kill the king. Serguei's life was bound to Elitium's.

“I'm ordering you to—”

The sovereign never finished. The general's fist connected solidly with his royal chin. Then Zion grabbed Elitium by the neck and hurled him against the throne. The air rushed from the man's lungs as he crashed into the cushioned seat, his eyes going wide at the general's insolence. In a fit of rage, he began drawing his sword—something he hadn't done in ages. But he didn't get far: Zion seized his hand and, easy as a butcher slicing meat, drove the dagger through the monarch's palm, pinning it to the red upholstery. Elitium screamed like a pig being gutted as blood dripped from the throne to the floor.

“Do something!” he shouted at Serguei.

But the psychic sat comfortably in his armchair, wine glass in hand, pretending not to see what was happening beside him. Shadows bound him to the chair, and mentally, he congratulated Zion on his cunning.

“Unfortunately, there's nothing I can do. Though I'm trying, his mental barrier is stronger than mine, so he's beyond my reach and… I'm trapped in this armchair by the shadows.” None of it was a lie. If it had been, Serguei would be dead—the blood pact obligated him to protect his ruler.

“Going to ask Serguei to wipe your ass too, Elitium? You've become such a pathetic king you can't even defend yourself,” Zion growled at the man, who struggled to move and counterattack. “I'm sick of following your shitty orders. You're an idiot playing king. How can you demand respect while letting twenty children die? If a leader can't protect his people, what respect does he deserve?”

He spun the second dagger in his hand. The king glared at him defiantly.

“I am your king, and I'm ordering you to stop!” Elitium bellowed, his face red as blood.

Zion laughed—something he'd wanted to do for a long time.

“A shitty king. You play with titles while everyone around you runs the kingdom for you.” He adjusted his grip on the dagger. “And now you're running from the responsibility of the test, but fine. This is the last thing I'll do for you.”

“If you kill me, you'll take your father and Zafira to the grave with me. They're bound to me by blood pact.”

The general smiled at the monarch.

“If Kyller dies, none of that will matter! Now, release Zafira!” He grabbed the king's other hand. But through the shadows, he sensed something approaching from behind. He spun in time to see a dagger flying toward him. If Zion dematerialized, it would hit Elitium. So he shifted slightly and blocked the dagger, catching it in midair.

“Kill him,” the king shouted to the dagger's owner.

He heard a pleased whistle from Serguei—a tribute to his ability to stop blades in midair. But the general had no time to think. An enraged gorgon was charging toward him, and the king was already reaching for his sword with his free hand. Zion pinned Elitium's other hand against the upholstery and drove the dagger through his palm, fixing him to the throne. As Elitium screamed, Zion yanked the sword from his belt and turned to face the woman rushing at him. Sirena wore her typical red dress and had already kicked off her heels.

Zion sent the shadows toward her, but Sirena was already transforming, her hair swatting the shadows away, biting at them.

“Shut her down, Serguei!” Zion shouted.

“You will not interfere, Serguei! That's an order!” Elitium decreed, rendering the psychic useless.

The general cursed as the gorgon closed in, sword in hand. She swung at him, and he blocked. The blades clashed, sparking. He'd barely deflected the first blow when Sirena's elbow cracked against his chin.

“Sirena,” he called through gritted teeth, “I don't want to kill you. Call off the serpents, and I'll let you live.”

He truly didn't—no deaths were necessary, and if he killed a gorgon, the gorgon clan would turn against him. Zion just needed to grab Zafira and go. His opponent blinked her membranous eyes at him.

“I'm going to bathe in your blood.”

The snakes in her hair struck at Zion, but the shadows writhed, keeping the serpents at bay. If one of them bit him, his body would be paralyzed and the fight would be lost. It was an even match: the shadows were canceled out by the serpents, and the victor would be whoever had better skill with the sword.

“Last chance, Sirena.” He dodged the blade and nearly had to drop to one knee to absorb the blow. The woman was incredibly strong—gorgon blood had always been superior to fae. “Give up, and I won't kill you.”

“Kill him!” Elitium screamed at the general's back, but he couldn't rise from the throne.

“Fool!” the gorgon hissed, licking her lips. When she smiled, two pairs of long, sharp fangs emerged. “I've craved your blood for far too long to give up now that it can be mine. When we're done here, I'll hunt down that sweet-blooded one you call your partner.”

Zion attacked, and the blade severed two serpents from her head. Sirena's scream echoed through the royal chamber, and the general seized the moment to draw a dagger from his belt. When the woman recovered enough to strike back, he let her get close enough to think she'd succeed. But when the blades clashed, Zion drew the dagger.

“I didn't want to have to do this.”