Page 120 of The Nymph King

“I choose you,” she said, brows furrowing in determination.

At that, something inside him changed again, and his grip relaxed slightly as he leaned into her touch, finding a bit of control in her nearness. “Stay with me,” he murmured, softer now, their foreheads still pressed together.

Meira pulled back just enough to move, her wand already in hand as she turned toward the chains, her attention snapping to the restraints with new purpose. Saevel followed instantly, his posture tensing, ready to act the second he was free.

Imani had allowed Meira to carry a wand again before they entered Zorah, though the decision had nothing to do with trust. They were walking into hostile territory where an unarmed witch would become a liability to everyone around her. The wand restored Meira’s ability to defend herself and contribute ordinary magic without returning the power Imani feared most.

She had also made the terms clear. Meira could carry it while they hunted Saevel and confronted Kiran. If she turned that wand against Imani, Esa, Lore, or anyone under Essenheim’s protection, she would lose it again before she could regret the choice.

Meira had accepted without argument.

Looking around the room, Imani estimated the time again. They had already spent several more minutes talking and assessing the restraints. At best, less than twenty minutes remained, and the climb back through Zorah would consume most of them. She motioned for everyone to take care of the chains.

The rest of the group lifted their wands and began murmuring incantations to break the warded chains wrapped tight around Saevel’s arms, legs, waist, and neck. Magic pressed into the chains and locks, and Saevel grunted as he struggled against their tight hold, his form flickering between man and bear as he fought the metal.

One by one, the iron began to rip apart, cracking under the pressure until the last lock finally broke under their combined force, metal splitting with a sharp crack that cut through the chamber. The echoing screech filled the cavernous space.

A roar tore out of Saevel the instant he began to release himself, deep and consuming, raising the hair along Imani’s neck as the sound carried through stone and bone alike.

A tangible wave of magic began to burst from his signature, revitalizing him and anchoring him as he straightened, the restraints falling away with a loud clang.

The instant the final restraint fell, Saevel’s magic changed. An angry haze that had churned around him for months compressed toward his body, then burst outward in a concentrated wave. Pressure struck Imani across the chest and sent cold air racing over her skin as the chamber air thickened around him. His signature no longer leaked from him in uneven bursts or battered uselessly against the chains. Dust lifted from the stone, Meira’s hair stirred away from her face, and the remnants of broken iron trembled where they had fallen.

He rose to his feet, testing the ground and rolling his shoulders as his strength returned, no longer bound to the carved, imposing throne behind him. As he stood panting and stretching his muscles, Imani knew Saevel would have been a king with or without a throne.

In the next breath, Saevel rounded on Imani and forced her back against the wall.

“You’re his,” Saevel snarled. “You’re Kiran’s heartmate.”

His hatred cast a heavy silence between them, but Imani glared back, chin lifted. She wouldn’t be ashamed to be Kiran’s heartmate. They certainly belonged to each other, black hearts and all.

“I am. Yet I’m here now with you and not with him. So do with that knowledge what you will.”

Saevel balled his fists. As he looked toward the throne room doors, Imani let out a small sigh of relief, sensing him bending to her desperate desire.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Take me to my fucking brother.”

CHAPTER 37

Zorah’s palace stretched around them as they moved toward the exit, its jeweled mosaics still glinting in the orange glow of their wands, yet the magical signature had changed, and the air thickened as Saevel advanced through it.

His shadow stretched long across the stone. Meira stayed close to his side, never drifting far, her hand brushing his arm in passing, their movements aligning without thought as the bond held them steady. Saevel glanced at Meira more than once as they moved, grounding himself in her, his posture angled toward her even as his attention tracked the path ahead, protective in a way that left no question about who she was to him. Meira tipped her head up toward him once, giving him a brief look. The exchange was silent but unmistakable—we’re ready.

Imani cut through it before the moment could linger.

“Move,” she said, her voice like a whip, snapping their focus ahead. Sunset was already approaching above Kehomel, and the parley would begin as soon as darkness settled over the city. They had only the remaining descent through Zorah, the climb back through the royal vaults, and the final approach to the Throne room before Kiran expected the kingdoms to assemble before him.

If they lost too much time underground, Saevel would arrive after the parley began, and Kiran would control it. No room remained for dallying or reflection. Only their singular focus on reaching the Throne room as night fully fell.

Streets rushed past as they picked up their pace, their illuminated wands catching on stone and glass, lighting doorways left ajar, and interiors frozen in place as they jogged through the empty city. Footsteps echoed hard against the road, and Imani could hear their panting breaths grow more jagged as they tore on.

Once at the library, they wove between towering shelves and long tables without breaking stride; they cut through the library as the door came into view. The wards that once guarded the hidden entrance lay stripped and inert, their spellwork undone. Imani pushed open the massive door with a groan and stumbled into the narrow passage beyond, where damp, cold air rushed against her skin.

Zorah gave way behind them as they crossed back into Kehomel under the Menlone Mountain. The little remaining daylight filtering through the upper passages had already weakened as dusk approached.

The royal vaults greeted them with the scent of stone and old magic, breath coming in puffs of fog as the climb began. Stairs rose ahead, narrow and steep, their boots striking stone in quick rhythm as the palace above drew closer with every step.

Her bond with Kiran pulsed insistently in her chest, pounding louder with each step as they climbed higher. The king was close. And waiting.