So long as we’re together, everything is okay. Because I will fight for him, and he will kill for me, and if we need to be the villains, then so be it.
Slade strides straight ahead with murder in his eyes, while the roots of his power writhe and coil along his forearms and neck, mirroring the rot that worms through the ground. When he’s just ten feet away from the stage, his gaze splits to the monarchs and some of the nobles and guards.
They’re huddled together on the stage, and I wonder for a moment if Queen Isolte is trying to squelch Slade’s power with hers. If so, she’s failing miserably.
She’s no match for him.
No one is.
Which is why I’m surprised none of them have used these last several seconds to try and flee. Instead, they’re shouting at King Merewen, telling him to hurry. I don’t understand, but then I see the little boy—the one who must be the prince of Second Kingdom—his father holding his shoulders and positioning him in front of them.
Outrage slams into me like a fist. Are they hoping, by blocking themselves with an innocent kid, that Slade won’t destroy them?
The thought is despicable, but they should know that when it comes to Slade’s magic, he is precise. He could rot them all and not let a single bit of it touch the boy, just like he destroyed the guards that surrounded me.
But then King Merewen snaps something to his son. The boy nods and reaches into the pocket of his robe, and he pulls out a spool of thread. In a blink, he’s yanked the thread between his fingers, and then he closes his eyes in concentration, pulling the unspooled thread into a taut line. Magic sparks to life in the air like someone just poured oil over a flame.
Slade is just three feet from the stage, already sprinting up the steps, when the boy’s magic slams into place.
If I weren’t holding onto the poles, I would’ve fallen down. The collected gold sloshes wildly at my legs. Yet my eyes are riveted ahead to where the entire stage is now covered in what looks like a veil of fabric the same color as the boy’s thread. I’m also contained in a second layer that separates me from them, the veil slightly thicker where it surrounds my enclosure.
The whole thing swells and undulates like laundry hanging from a clothesline and blowing in a breeze. Stretching over us like a dome, it’s not quite solid, the fabric turning translucent as it moves, glistening in the sunlight.
Slade slams into it, and the fabric bends around him before pulling tight and shoving him back.
“You cannot get through,” King Merewen calls out with arrogant victory, still gripping the shoulders of his son. The boy continues to squeeze his eyes shut, his small fingers holding onto his thread.
Slade raises both hands and shoves them against the barrier. Feet braced, muscles bunching, rot pours out of his touch with livid fortitude, and I watch as veins stretch up around the domed fabric to spread its infection.
Instead of the rot making the billowing shield deteriorate, the corroded capillaries seem to do nothing at all. Slade growls out, pushing even more power, so thickly that it seems to tingle against my skin.
But it does nothing to the shield of blowing fabric.
The power suddenly cuts off, my riveted gaze blurring as Slade starts to pant, sweat dripping from his hair, anger grinding through his jaw.
“King Ravinger, as I said before, you cannot get through. My son’s veil is impenetrable. But let us speak,” King Merewen says, holding out his arms like he’s some benevolent, enlightened man. “We are not your enemies.”
Slade bares his teeth at him, giving a look that even chills my blood. “Anyone who hurts Auren is my enemy.”
“But that’s just it, King Ravinger. She is the enemy,” Queen Isolte says.
Queen Kaila nods and steps past her brother. “Exactly. We’ve just proven it here at the Conflux, which is why it was so imperative we got her away from you. She’s dangerous. Tricking kings and taking their power. We didn’t want to stand by and let it happen to you too.”
Fury makes the gold still pouring from my hands go molten. It lands in steaming drops that hiss as they fall.
“Her claws needed to be ripped from your mind. See for yourself,” King Merewen says, gesturing toward me. “She has stolen gold-touch, but now, she has also stolen your rot. You should’ve turned her in sooner.”
Slade’s eyes jump to me, falling down to the gold now lapping at my thighs, at the rooting lines that swim in their depths. All while gold pours from my hands with an unnatural pull. My eyes feel heavy. My heart lagging.
“She stole nothing,” he says on a growl. “Release her. Now.”