Page 118 of The Serpent Prince

Underneath the smirk, however, she felt a deep unyielding sickness and hatred that reminded her of a caged, beaten animal that wouldn’t hesitate to bite the hand that fed it.

She knew the sensation and felt like they both should be put down. There was something wrong with both her and Kiran.

But however horrible, his plan had been brilliant. Brutal.

He was good. So good at getting exactly what he wanted, at using people like pieces in a game they didn’t know they were playing. Imani had been—and still was—one of those people.

She slinked into the shadows to avoid being seen, not wanting to chance such a public encounter with him right now as he made his way inside the unharmed parts of the castle to go to what she assumed would be the throne room while people rushed to put out the other fires that raged nearby.

This would be the true test of his right to rule.

CHAPTER 43

Dazed, Imani slowly ambled into the throne room amongst a throng of other survivors. She kept to the shadows in the back of the room, not wanting to face Kiran’s empty, merciless expression again. The skulls on the armrests of the throne gleamed in the firelit room.

He had already approached the throne and was pacing in front of it, obviously trying to decide if he wanted to risk death for a chance to wield its power as monarch. The crowd didn’t seem to bother him.

Finally, he turned toward the corner and stared right at her. “Imani, my heartmate, come to me.”

The room hushed, and she shrank back into herself a little. But, finally, she stood tall and picked up her tattered, bloodied skirts, confidently striding toward him.

Once inside the throne’s radius, Imani craned her neck to look into his eyes. With one nod, she silently told him to do it—sit on the throne and prove to everyone who he was now.

With a nod back, he turned and squared his shoulders as he pushed his hair off his forehead. He took a deep breath, facing the chair.

Everyone fell into a chilling silence.

Then he stepped forward.

The pain seemed to start in his head, because he started grabbing and tugging on his hair with a clenched jaw. Another step, and he clutched his chest, letting out a growl of pain.

Imani couldn’t even process what she was watching and hearing. The throne wouldn’t give its power away so easily. And yet, it was willing to see what Kiran could endure, because it wasn’t killing him. If he had been unworthy, she was sure those first two steps would have stopped his heart.

Another step, and he gritted his teeth against the pain, crying out and wrapping an arm around himself, as if he was going to be sick.

His eyes found hers. The fierce emotion raging inside almost brought her to her knees. She reached for him. Then he screamed in pain and fell to the ground.

Gods help her, she ran to him. He was becoming king in front of their eyes.

“Kiran, you don’t know what you’ve done,” she breathed after kneeling down next to him.

He hissed and clenched his jaw. The pain was about to get worse.

Imani gripped his bicep and soothingly told him, “I’m here … I’m here.”

“Why have you been avoiding me? You ran as soon as my father died. Something is going on,” he whispered through gritted teeth, eyes fluttering open and closed as he became king of the Niflheim Kingdom.

He missed nothing, though. She had been avoiding him—formulating a plan.

Brands of power that matched the skulls on the armrests of the throne seared themselves into his palms. He stared at them in horror and screamed.

She knew more than most how the magic felt burning inside his bones and muscles. This was the test the relic put the new monarch through.

She ignored his questions, knowing the exact pain he was enduring. And gods help her, all she wanted to do was comfort him.

“It’s okay, my darling.” She kneeled. “It will pass soon. I know⁠—”

His scream shook her chest, an agony she knew few had experienced. She was one of them.