Page 41 of Labyrinth of Broken Vows
"Come to collect your queen?" she teases. "I wish you'd have given me a heads-up. I could've packed my things." Her eyes flicked toward me with a wicked glint. "But that's alright. I'll have my new servant pack for me."
She gestures lazily in my direction, her smirk curving even higher, but before she could revel in her taunt, Thorne's deep voice brakes the tension, low and dangerous.
“That won’t be necessary,” he said, each word cutting like glass. “I haven’t come to collect a queen... I’ve come to slay a bitch.”
In an instant, his guards surge forward, and the room explodes into chaos. Nyria’s soldiers rush to intercept, but Thorne is already moving, a dark blur of fury and precision. His blade cleaves through the air, lethal and unrelenting, as his guardsclash with Nyria’s forces. The sound of steel clashing and bodies hitting the ground echo in the chamber. In the midst of all of this, I can’t take my eyes off of him.
But outside the room, another battle must be going on —shouts and screams reverberate through the walls, a storm of violence that seem to shake the very foundation. In the middle of this mayhem, Nyria shoots to her feet, her predatory eyes locking onto me. I barely have time to react before she lunges. Her fingers curling into claws, and the shadows around her twisting, curling over her skin and snapping out toward me like whips.
A cold, suffocating sensation grips my throat. The shadows coil around me, squeezing tighter with every breath I struggle to take. I gasp, the air forced from my lungs, my vision dimming as the dark tendrils constrict.
“Brielle!” Thorne’s voice is sharp, filled with an anger I haven’t heard before. He stops dead in his steps, his fierce eyes tracking Nyria’s every move.
She smirks triumphantly, her grip tightening around the shadows that hold me. "Come closer, and I’ll crush her windpipe, darling," she purrs , her eyes gleaming with cruel delight.
I claw at the shadows, panic surging through me as the air continues to slip away. My vision blurs, and I can feel my strength fading. Thorne takes one slow step forward, his face twisted in fury, but he hesitates, torn between ending Nyria and saving me.
The world begins to tilt, my mind floating in the growing haze of suffocation.
This is it. This is where it all ends.
eighteen
Thorne
The moment I see the shadows strangling the life out of Brielle, it’s as if my own breath is being stolen, as if her pain is mine. My chest tightens, fury spreading through my veins like wildfire. Every fiber of my being screams for her release. The world narrows to this one moment, this one person, and the way her body fights against Nyria’s cruel grip.
“Let her go, Nyria,” I snarl, my voice laced with a threat that would make any sane creature tremble.
But not Nyria.
She scoffs, her lip curling in contempt as she tightens her hold on Brielle’s throat, shadows constricting her fragile neck like a vice. “Look at you, Thorne,” she spits, her eyes blazing with twisted amusement. “She makes you weak. This is not a queen… this is your downfall. I’m doing you a favor. Your queen shouldbe strong, someone who makes you stronger, not some fragile, pathetic girl.”
I want to make her eat each and every word till she is the one choking. The sight of Brielle, gasping, her life slipping away; I feel it. The pull. The bond that ties me to her, fraying at the edges with every second Nyria holds her life in the balance.
Without hesitation, the crow on my shoulder caws, its wings spreading wide as it launches into the air. I feel its fury as it dives, beak aimed straight for Nyria’s sneering face. A blur of black feathers and talons, it strikes with the fury I’ve never seen before. My companion for years, always perched on my shoulder, the one whose presence saved me from myself so many times acts with a savage intensity at it attacks Nyria.
She shrieks, staggering back as the crow’s beak slashes across her eye. Blood sprays across her pale skin, her hand flying up to cover the ruined socket. The moment her focus breaks, the shadows around Brielle dissolve, like smoke fading into the air.
She collapses, gasping for breath, and Grom is already there, helping her up in his arms. “Take her home,” I bark at Grom, my gaze never leaving Nyria. “Don’t lose her again.”
Grom’s eyes widen, and for a moment, he hesitates. But then he pull her closer, her breath still ragged, and starts for the door.
But Brielle… she moves faster than I expect.
Her grip on Grom loosens. In an instant, she’s pushing away from him, her feet stumbling but determined. Before I can react, she’s running, her arms wrapping around my waist, her body trembling against mine.
“I’m not leaving,” she gasps, the words barely audible against the frantic thumping of her heart. “Not without you.”
The world freezes. The blood pounding in my ears, the chaos of the battle behind us; it all disappears. All I can feel is the heat of her body pressed against mine, the way her fingers cling to myarmor, as though letting go would mean losing everything. I’ve put her through so much bringing her here.
I stand still, my hand moving almost of its own accord to cradle her head. Her hair is soft against my fingers, her warmth seeping through the cold steel of my armor. For so long, I’ve imagined this, what it would be like to feel her, hold her—and now she’s here, in my arms, her breath mingling with mine.
Her head tilts up, her wide, tear-brimmed eyes locking onto mine, filled with desperation and fear. I hold her tighter, as if letting go would mean losing myself. And for the first time in years, I feel like I’ve found something worth fighting for that isn’t just vengeance.
“I’m not leaving you behind,” she whispers again, and her voice, though soft, rings with an unshakable strength that settles deep in my bones. She’s so warm. So very warm. Then I hear it—a sound that rips through the moment like a blade to the gut. The wet crunch of something being pierced, followed by a sharp, pained cry. My blood turns to ice.
I turn, heart racing, just in time to see Nyria, staggering back, her hand clutched to her face. Her face, contorted in agony, her fingers pressed against the hollow socket where her eye once was. But worse, far worse, is the sight of my crow, my loyal companion, skewered by the dagger in her other hand, its dark feathers soaked in blood.
