The first thorn pierced just above Seraphine's right eyebrow. It didn't hurt the way she expected. Not the clean, sharp pain of a knife wound, but something deeper and more intimate just like a splinte working its way beneath her fingernail after handling rough timber, the kind of pain that lingers and throbs with every heartbeat. Blood, warm and sluggish, trickled down the bridge of her nose. She tried to blink it away, but the crimson droplets clung to her lashes, turning the torchlight into a hellish kaleidoscop of red and gold. Kaelan's fingers trembled against her temples. That tiny imperfection in his movements , the slight hitch in his otherwise mechanical precision , made her breath catch in her throat. His hands, usually so sure and steady when sharpening blades or stitching wounds, now shook like an old man's as he positioned the living crown upon her brow. The bramble vines slithered against her skin, their thorns glistening with some unnatural moisture that smelled faintly of rotting roses.
"Don't," she whispered, so low she wasn't sure he'd hear. His eyes , those terrible copper-flat eyes that had replaced the warm brown she knew , flickered. Juste for a heartbeat. Just long enough for her to see something desperate swimming in their depths before the blankness swallowed it whole again.The queen's laughter slithered through the throne room, echoing off the bloodstained marble columns. "Oh, this is precious," she crooned, her jeweled slippers clicking against the dais steps as she descended toward them. "The Dain boy still fights it." She leaned in close enough that Seraphine could count the fine lines around her smirking mouth, could smell the cloying sweetness of pomegranates on her breath. "But we know what happens to stubborn things, don't we?" The second thorn found its home at Seraphine's left temple. This time the pain was different , sharper, yes, but with an electric quality that made her teeth vibrate. Her vision swam, the edges darkening as if someone had spilled ink across her sight. The shadows in the corners of the throne room deepened, twisting into shapes that defied logic , elongated fingers here, a gaping maw there, all shifting and pulsing to some unfathomable rhythm. The torches guttered wildly, though no wind stirred the stale air.
Kaelan's lips parted. His throat worked as if trying to form words, but no sound emerged. A single drop of sweat traced the line of his jaw before disappearing beneath the collar of his tunic. Then a scream tore through the dungeon depths below then.
Not Rook's familiar rasping bellow. Not Brick's thunderous roar.This voice was younger. Higher pitched. Laced with a terror so raw it raised the hairs on Seraphine's arms.Pip's voice. Seraphine's blood turned to ice in her veins. That was impossible. She'd seen the arrow protruding from his chest. Had watched the light leave his eyes. Had stepped over his still, warm body as they fled the ambush. Yet the screaming continued, growing louder, closer , until it seemed to emanate from directly behind the obsidian throne itself. The shadows there had grown fat and restless, pulsing like a living thing. Something moved within that darkness. Something that made even the queen's smug expression falter. The third thorn pressed against Seraphine's forehead, its tip already slick with her blood. Kaelan's hands stilled.
And then , so quick she might have imagined it , he winked. The thorn drove home.