Page 30 of The Demon King's Unruly Mate

“Throne room,” Talia repeated. She nodded grimly, the fire in her eyes burning hotter than ever.

“Let’s move,” I ordered, signaling Rava and Zane to take point.

We stepped swiftly through the palace corridors, sticking to the shadows. The usual bustle of servants and courtiers was absent, the halls eerily quiet except for the occasional patrol of guards. Not good. Emil had cleared the palace of witnesses.

“Hold,” Malak warned through our earpieces. “Two guards approaching from the east.”

We froze against the wall, barely breathing as footsteps neared. Talia’s tail brushed against my leg, and I reached out instinctively, my fingers finding hers behind me. She squeezed once, hard, before letting go.

I glanced at Zane, who grinned. “On it.”

He slipped around the corner, and seconds later, I heard the soft thud of bodies hitting the floor. Zane reappeared, beckoning us forward.

He mouthed along to Malak’s verbal, “Clear.”

We moved through the palace corridors like shadows. The silence sounded unnatural for a place that should be bustlingwith servants and guards. Twice we diverted our path when Malak warned of approaching patrols and once ducked into an empty chamber until danger passed.

We approached the massive doors to the throne room, left slightly ajar and unguarded. Voices drifted through the crack, a smooth, confident voice carrying clearly.

“...a tragedy that strikes at the very heart of our people,” he was saying. “But we cannot allow grief to blind us to the threat that still exists. A member of my own clan is still missing by their hands. We must bring these traitors to justice.”

I glanced at Talia, whose jaw tightened in recognition. Emil. Had to be. And fuck the bastard for already spinning his story to paint us as the villains.

Malak’s voice entered our ears before I had a chance to ask. “The room is more guard than courtier. I’m counting fifteen, no, sixteen to seven.” A pause. “There’s... something on the throne.”

Something.The way he said it made my skin crawl.

“Ready?” I silently asked the others.

They nodded, and I pushed the doors open.

The throne room fell silent as we entered. Guards immediately snapped to attention along the walls, hands moving to weapons. Sixteen, just as Malak said.

Seven clan leaders and advisors froze mid-conversation, heads swiveling toward us like startled deer. I recognized that look, that rapid consideration of which side to back for maximum survival and profit. Half of them were already inching toward the exits, while the others plastered themselves with fake shock that wouldn’t fool a child.

Emil stood on the dais, one hand resting on the arm of the throne—Talia’s throne. Displayed like some macabre trophy, sat the body of King Adron.

Even from a distance, I could see the wound that had killed him: a messy slash across the throat. The king’s eyes were open,staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Blood had pooled beneath him, staining the marble black.

Beside me, Talia went rigid. I couldn’t tell if it was grief or rage or some combination of both that made her hands clench into fists at her sides.

Emil’s surprise lasted only a moment before his face settled into a smug smile. “Ah, the murderers return to the scene of their crime. How predictable.”

“You killed my father,” Talia said, each word sharp as glass.

Emil tsked, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Such accusations from the princess who fled with her father’s killer. Tell me, how long were you planning this coup? Was it before or after your brother’s unfortunate demise? Oh, didn’t this Kadhan scumalsohave a hand in Prince Javed’s murder?”

I felt the heat of anger building beneath my skin, fire itching to be released.

“In this time of crisis,” Emil continued, back to addressing his supporters, “a pure ifrit must step forward to prevent the crown from falling to murderers and kidnappers.” He spread his arms wide. “I present myself as your rightful king, ready to lead our people back to prosperity and honor.”

The nobles shifted uncomfortably, exchanging uncertain glances. Emil noticed their hesitation and smiled coldly.

“Perhaps we should ask the king himself.” He turned to Adron’s body with theatrical gravity. “Your Majesty, do you have any objections to my taking the throne?”

Silence filled the room. Emil waited a beat, then grabbed a handful of the dead king’s white hair, shaking his head slightly. “What’s that, Your Majesty? You believe I am the rightful heir? How generous.”

Talia made a strangled sound beside me as Emil let the king’s head drop, then shoved the body roughly aside with his foot. He settled himself on the throne, crossing his legs casually.

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