Chapter 8
Isolde POV:
The Obsidian Tower offered a perfect, glittering view of the city, but I couldn't care less about the lights below. I stood in the center of the lavish penthouse, my eyes locked on the massive magical monitoring crystal hovering above the black marble pedestal.
For the last three years, the crystal had burned with a chaotic, violent, blood-red light—a direct reflection of the Mad King's frenzied state in the labyrinth miles beneath us.
But right now, the red light was flickering. It was dimming.
I lifted my right hand. My perfectly manicured, crimson nails dug into my palm. The ancient Vora rune burned into my skin—the fake blood-bound mark I had paid a black-market sorcerer a fortune to forge—was losing its glow. A true blood-bound shared the King's lifespan and soul, but my forgery only siphoned residual magic. And now, it was failing.
My stomach dropped into my designer heels.
The King was calming down. Something, or someone, in that hellhole was soothing the virus in his blood.
My entire life, my unlimited credit accounts, the terrifying respect the other Consuls showed me—it all hinged on one lie. I was the only woman who could supposedly withstand the King's aura without going insane. If he woke up, if he was cured, he would instantly know I was a fraud.
The heavy oak doors of the penthouse swung open.
Malakor strolled in, his tailored black suit immaculate. He was tossing a black-gold dagger from hand to hand, a cruel, knowing smirk playing on his lips.
"Well, well," Malakor drawled, his eyes flicking to the dimming crystal. "It looks like our untouchable, high-and-mighty blood-bound is about to become a useless piece of trash."
My face flushed with hot, ugly rage. "Shut your mouth, Malakor! He is my King! No one replaces me!"
Malakor stopped tossing the dagger. He walked up to the crystal, the blue light reflecting in his cold eyes.
"Cassian went down to the buffer zone today," Malakor said smoothly. "My spies intercepted the perimeter reports. There is a survivor on the bottom floor. And it's a woman."
Jealousy, hot and venomous, bit straight through my veins. I remembered growing up in the slums, fighting for scraps, desperate to be someone. I wouldn't let some nameless rat steal my crown.
"Impossible!" I shrieked, my voice echoing off the glass walls. "Only I have the fortitude to survive his presence!"
"Facts are facts, Isolde," Malakor sneered. "If this little rat actually cures him, what do you think the King will do when he finds out you've been draining his treasury and parading around with a fake mark? He will rip your spine out through your throat."
A cold sweat broke out across my back. The image of Kaelen's jaws snapping shut over my neck made my knees weak.
I lunged forward and grabbed the lapels of Malakor's expensive suit. "Kill her. Send your executioners down there right now. I'll give you half my estates. I'll give you anything!"
Malakor grabbed my wrists and violently shoved me backward. He casually brushed the wrinkles from his jacket. His eyes burned with raw, naked ambition.
"The Long Night is coming," Malakor said softly. "I need the King to remain a mindless, raving lunatic. If he stays mad, the council will have no choice but to name me Regent. I will control the armies."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, heavy black metal box covered in jagged, glowing green runes. He held it out to me.
"This is the master override for the Abyss security core," Malakor said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "I've bypassed Cassian's locks."
I stared at the box. The dark magic radiating from it made my stomach churn.
"Press the button," he commanded. "It will drop the containment seals on level seven and flush the mutated beasts directly down into the King's nest."
My hand hovered over the box. "If the mutated beasts overwhelm him... if they hurt the King..."
"The King is immortal. He will heal," Malakor interrupted, his eyes flashing with malice. "But a fragile, soft human woman? They will tear her apart. There won't be enough bone left to fill a teacup."
The thought of that woman screaming, bleeding, being shredded into nothingness erased every ounce of my hesitation.
I snatched the box from his hands and slammed my thumb down on the black button.
A silent, invisible shockwave of dark magic blasted through the floorboards, shooting straight down the foundations of the tower into the earth.
Malakor let out a low, dark chuckle. He turned and walked out of the penthouse, disappearing into the shadows of the hallway.
I turned back to the crystal. A sick, twisted smile stretched across my face as I imagined the carnage unfolding miles below my feet.
The heavy iron gates of the seventh level groaned upward, and in the pitch blackness, pairs of glowing, sickly green eyes snapped open to the sound of wet, sickening chewing.
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