Page 60 of Merciless Is My Crown

Their cuirasses were marked with the symbol of the triple goddess, a full moon and two crescents with a silver sword stabbed through the center, their gauntlets inscribed with the same symbol. The leader turned and met my eyes, her slow, menacing grin as much a challenge as a threat.

No rugs or tapestries or cushions, not a shred of softness to this place.

Not a single fire burning, except for the torches spilling acrid black smoke up the soot-stained walls.

We were escorted through a maze of cold, identical hallways and arched corridors, a deep, nervous quiet falling in our thundering wake. Some foul magic soaked the stones of this place, so much, every step hurt. My body already ached from three days on horseback, from the unplanned shift, from bone and flesh tearing then reforming.

This was a trap, my beast warned me, writhing as he tried to escape.

Now that my wyvern had emerged from hiding, I was constantly aware of his presence, how he shoved at my skin, trying to force those scales to crawl over me like impenetrable armor, for soft, pale skin to disappear beneath bone-melting flame.

I blew out a heated, shuddering breath.

Setting my beast free had been an epiphany after centuries in hiding.

Letting the whole world narrow down to fire and fury had wiped away some of my dark memories and made me realize something. My wyvern was a dangerous, stubborn arsehole, but he’d listened to Anaria. Obeyed her more readily than he’d ever obeyed me, something I’d thought on all last night while I damn near froze to death.

But I had to keep him hidden. Especially here.

These witches were dangerous. Ruthless. They’d use us—use Anaria—as tools to serve their magic. Sacrifices to their already dark power, carving us up into bits and pieces until there weas nothing left.

We shouldn’t have come.

We should have waited for Raziel and Zor, fortified Nightcairn, defended the castle from their attack. On our own territory we might have stood a chance, but here…The witches were warriors, proven in battles beyond the killing fields of Solarys and Caladrius.

Now we were here—Adele had seen to that—and I wasn’t about to leave Anaria unguarded for a single second. Tavion was of the same mind, pressing close against her other side as we continued our death march.

The witches escorting us were heavily layered with muscle, fully armed with an array of brutal blades, stone-faced, ready for violence. Craving violence like most of us craved food or sleep. These females didn’t have a shred of mercy in their bones, and if we stopped, or fled, we’d be cut down before we took a single step.

But along the corridor, from darkened doorways, softer, curious faces watched us pass, some looking hopeful.

The High Priestess sat proudly on a throne of red spinel crystals, a black crown upon her head, her pale face as forbidding as she was beautiful and framed by a sleek fall of dark hair. Young, thirty at most, though according to Dane she’d ruled for three centuries.

She was dressed in full armor, her boots crossed at the ankles, the triple goddess symbol on her chest marked with more of those glittering red stones. But her cold expression was tinged with hunger, full lips parted in anticipation as we approached, and I made damn sure my hand was wrapped around Anaria’s when we were halted by a sea of swords pointed at our hearts.

When Dane dipped his head, the rest of us followed his lead.

Except for fucking Adele, who was determined to get us all killed by throwing back her hood and staring the priestess dead in the eye.

“Anaria Centaria Wynter, Adele Wynter.” Dane kept his head inclined, though he never dropped his eyes, scanning the assembled witches warily. “Seeking sanctuary in the coven by blood and name.”

“Indeed.” The woman sneered. “I received your challenge. You almost did not make the deadline, Adele.” The High Priestess leaned back in her throne, dove-gray eyes—slippery as mercury—raking over Anaria so slowly my beast began rising to the surface.

“We have until tomorrow, Vireena,” Adele answered lazily. “The challenge will be honored, as is customary.”

“The princess has our eyes.” Vireena’s grin was filled with cruel, ancient malice. “But does she bleed black when her feet are on her own soil?”

“She will bleed the color of our people.”

“I suppose we shall see. That is, after all, why she is here.” Her gaze darkened, something terrible creeping into it, a hint of hatred tinged with eternal rage, and every hair went up on my body.

I shared a look with Tavion and Dane, setting my hand on the hilt of my knife. I would rather have knocked an arrow, but my quiver was outside where I’d been forced to leave them. This wasn’t a greeting.

This was a trial, and I wasn’t sure we weren’t all going to hang by the end of it.

“I have no wish to fight you.” Anaria’s voice rang clearly against the stone and the witches shifted on their feet, a low murmur humming amongst them. “I did not know what the mark meant, and I have seen enough war to last me a lifetime.” Anaria stepped forward, and I fisted my hands to keep from pulling her back.

“I killed Carex and restored magic to Caladrius. But the world will not be safe until the Shadow King is dead. I have only come to ask for aid. Form an alliance with us. Long enough to defeat him, to rid the world of his darkness.”

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