(Arkael Ashborne)
Arkael lied easily. “No.”
Because if the council knew the truth—that the Devil’s magic touching the Heir’s could form a bond strong enough to reshape realms, burn worlds, break thrones—they would demand war.
A war they were not ready for. A war they would lose. He could already see it: his people charging across blackened plains, their bodies falling in waves against obsidian gates, their names added to the table beneath his hands.
“Then what do we do?” Mereth whispered.
Arkael stepped back into the centre of the circle. “We watch.”
Disbelief exploded across the faces of his council.
“Watch?!”
“While he corrupts her—?”
“While he learns what she is?”
“While she is alone in his den?”
Arkael’s roar shook the cavern. “ENOUGH.”
Flames erupted from cracks in the gro
