Never Yours ✔️

Ch. 43

 He looked dead, his body limp on the floor, arms sprawled across the wood, mouth slightly parted, pale as a ghost.

Arysa, standing over him, her dagger held loosely in her hand, gown worn and drained of color, hair greasy and tangled, looked like the killer.

But she was the only one who could save him now.

She cut off his shirt and knelt by his side, focusing on the darkness as she sketched across his body. Silence hung over her like the weight of the world, and she could hear it in her ears like a steady heartbeat, pounding away the last few moments she had left.

The potion still worked through her veins, relaxing her and lessoning her inner defenses. The dark mystic came easier this time, and she gasped as it flooded her body, lighting up her insides like fireworks. Her body burned with power and she focused on her uncle, their king, but she hesitated.

This was it. This was really happening.

Serden's words flit across her thoughts.

She might kill them both.

Or she might just save them all.

She took in a deep inhale, and she let go.

The king jerked, his veins spiralling dark, silky black, the runes thickening and moving as though they'd come to life. His eyes snapped open and the black swallowed the whites of his eyes, and as the ink faded into his skin, and he grew still, Arysa's heart ran cold, and she feared for a moment, she had killed him.

But then he jerked upright and Arysa snapped back. The king blinked back the dark in his eyes and and focused his confused gaze on her.

"Arysa?" He murmured, and hope flooded her chest.

"Yes, yes, uncle, its me." Arysa breathed.

His head cocked to the side and his gaze drifted past her to the door.

"You know the armies must stop the end. There are hundreds, hundreds of infestations. Must be finished. Why isn't it finished? Why, Arysa, why?" He began to ramble, and Arysa's hope crashed to the pit of her stomach.

She sat back on her heels and for a long moment she just stared at the king, mumbling about armies and bugs and death.

Then she got to her feet and with a silent resolution, she left him.

In the hallway she locked eyes with the guards standing on either side of the king's doors and nodded. Their lips pressed tight together, but they dipped their heads and moved to stand directly in front of the doors.

Arysa turned and the next few guards she passed, she cast a look and a nod and they abandoned their posts.

General Darkthorn was exactly where she said she would be, in the council room, running her fingers over the last letter Arysa had sent her. At the creak of the door, she looked up, and something fizzled out of her eyes at the sight of the princess. She got to her feet and her features hardened. She walked past Arysa out of the door and plucked a stack of letters out of her pocket, which she handed to the guards to deliver.

Neither of the two needed to exchange a word. Their footsteps thundered through the empty halls, and one by one, general after general appeared by their sides.

When they reached the king's chambers, they looked a force to be reckoned with, 9 generals in complete uniform led by a haggard, worn-down girl.

The two guards at the entrance stepped aside and Arysa pushed open the doors.

They swept into the king's chamber, but almost instantly Arysa stopped cold.

The king stood facing his vanity, doing up the buttons on his tunic, clean shaven, hair neatly trimmed, hands completely steady. He glanced up, frowning when he saw the generals in the mirror, and he turned as he finished the last button.