Lucian didn't flinch at my threat. He merely smiled - that thin, razor-sharp smile of a man who believed he’d already won the board.
He took a step toward us, the black ink of his shadow magic hissing as it touched the white marble of the Sanctum.
"You are exhausted, Selina," he said, his voice a silky caress. "Your Spark is flickering. You can barely hold that slab of granite you call a mate, let alone fight a Prince who has mastered the Old Tongue."
He raised the Devage spellbook, the pages fluttering as if caught in a ghost-wind. "Let him go. He is a statue now. A monument to the folly of the surface. Come with me to the Anchor, and I will show you what it means to truly rule."
I didn't answer him. I couldn't. All my focus was poured into the man in my lap.
Finn was cold. His skin
