Page 23 of The Serpent Prince

Her shadows lashed out and protected her from what would have been another brutal hit. A shout poured out of her mouth, shadows escaping with her breath, and the depraved asshole snarled at her to be quiet, as if this was her fault.

“There’s that wild magic again,” he purred, as if drawing it out had been his intention all along.

A harsh groan echoed around the room as Imani struggled to push herself upright. She pushed her hair out of her face and smeared some of the blood around a bit. Her shadows pulsed inside her veins, blackening them. She’d held them back, even though they would have protected her from most of the hits. She wanted to feel the pain. To push Kiran.

“Is that all you got?” Imani asked, her voice colored with midnight, and shadows, and death.

“I have more power than you can withstand. But I’d rather not do that to you right now.”

“I would rather you not do that, too. So strange that we have something in common.”

Kiran slid his hands into her thick, silky hair. “I’ll heal you, then you’ll start talking.”

“I don’t want to be healed,” Imani protested, trying to get away from him.

He reached down and touched her cheek. Even with just that small physical contact, energy began surging into her skin. He felt it, too, letting out a breath. From that place, he stared at her whole body, as if she were the only thing he had ever wanted—a prize he had desperately sought and finally claimed.

Such a mercurial mood from him was enough to give her the courage to ask, “Why do you care about healing me, anyway? I’ll glamour the injuries later.”

He grinned. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, my little pain monger?” With a wave of his wand, all her cuts were numbed, and in the next instant, they closed. Blood still ran down one cut, though. She relished that he listened to her even slightly.

“And how would you know what I like?” Imani snapped before she could bite her tongue.

Ignoring her, his posture reminded her of someone who was bored, and yet his expression was serious.

“You’re going to tell me how Esa and I die. Then you’ll answer any other question I want before I give you your wand back,” Kiran explained emotionlessly. “If you don’t, I’ll let you see exactly why I’m the First Witch and you never will be. Please, don’t make me prove it,” he warned.

Imani swallowed down her rage at the bindings. She had no idea he’d abuse them this much, although she probably should have anticipated it.

“I understand,” she whispered, infuriated and unwilling to even look in his direction.

She cleared her throat and looked Esa in the eyes, feeling a sense of overwhelming power grip her heart. Indeed, it felt good to withhold information Esa wanted. “Esa, you’re executed with Lore. Both of you are burned at the stake,” she said, her voice flat.

Nodding, Esa remained silent. Imani found it strange she didn’t have any questions, didn’t say anything to anyone. She turned her head toward the window and stared listlessly. It was as if she’d known the truth all along.

Absentmindedly, Imani picked at the sleeve of her dress as she thought about how to explain Kiran’s. And all the while, his eyes bored into her, drilling her with an unnerving precision.

“Kiran”—she lifted her head to look him in the eyes—“you stab yourself.”

Grabbing her face with both hands, Kiran roughly pushed his thumb into the cut he’d left on her face. “You’re holding details back. Unlike Esa, I want to know everything.”

Eventually, when she didn’t reply, despite the pain of him digging into her cheek and the binding pressing on her will, he shoved her head away and glared.

“Speak,” he demanded.

She resisted still, then bit back a howl like an animal caught in a trap as her head splintered in pain.

“Fine. It’s snowing, and you don’t die alone. You stab another person in the stomach alongside you before you do the same to yourself, and no, I don’t know who it is.” She regretted telling him as soon as she had, but there was nothing to be done about it. After a pause, she added, “And you smiled while you did it.”

His lips tugged downward on the sides, and a spark of something flashed in both his eyes. Like fear. Like something deep down in the Drow elf wanted to live rather than destroy. It was probably one of a handful of real emotions that she had seen on his features.

He quickly smoothed it away.

“When does this happen?” He was smooth and quiet.

A stab of hurt hit Imani, remembering his vision. Out of all of them, Kiran’s was the most disturbing. With that serene smile on his face as he bled out and the red covering everything in the image, she shuddered and rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know. It’s difficult to know for certain with just the vision alone. You look the same, if that helps.”

Imani could feel him hesitate for a second, and then he stared back at her. “And Tanyl? You’re sure he’s an imposter wearing the crown this very moment?” Kiran’s eyes narrowed at her, warning her to tell the truth.