A Throne of Shadows and Thorns

I was sent to kill the Shadow King. I ended up on my knees in his chambers with his teeth in my thigh. My hands wouldn't stop shaking. I stood in the back of the Great Hall in a patched robe that was too big for me, watching a thousand students in black silk kneel as he entered. The air itself seemed to hold its breath. Kael Nocturne. The Shadow King. He didn't walk in. The shadows brought him. They pooled at the far doors and surged forward, and he was just there, on the obsidian throne that floated three feet off the ground. He was taller than the stories. Broader. Black hair, unbound, past his shoulders, damp like he'd walked through a storm. A crown made of living shadow floated above his head, turning slowly. His skin was pale. His jaw was sharp. And his eyes— silver rings around pure black pits. He became king at sixteen after his entire family was slaughtered by Thorn Assassins like me. My thorn dagger was strapped to my inner thigh. Poisoned. One cut and even a Shadow King would die. Then his eyes found mine. Across fifty feet, across a thousand bowed heads, his silver eyes locked on mine and narrowed. He inhaled. Slowly. "You," his voice said, low, vibrating through the stone floor, through my bones. "You in the back. Come here. Now." A thousand heads turned. My stomach dropped. I forced my feet to move. One step. Another. The aisle seemed a mile long. I stopped three steps from his throne. Close enough to kill him. He stood. I had to tilt my head back to look up. He smelled like winter and smoke. He circled me. Slowly. "What's your name, little thing?" he whispered behind me, his breath cold on my neck. My body shivered. "Elara Vane," I said. My voice cracked. "Elara Vane. You smell like thorns and lies." My blood went ice cold. His hand shot out and gripped my chin, yanking my face up. His fingers were cold, rough. His thumb brushed my lower lip. "Look at me." I looked. His silver eyes burned into mine, peeling me open. "Everyone here fears me," he murmured, lips inches from mine. "Why don't you fear me, little thorn?" My lip trembled. "I don't fear monsters. I kill them." His eyes flared. Pure silver fire. His cruel mouth twitched. No one had ever spoken to him like that. "Then try," he breathed against my mouth. He let go and turned to the Hall, his voice booming cold. "Elara Vane. Assigned to me. Shadow Combat. Personal training. Midnight. Old Library. Do not be late." The hall exploded. Gasps. Whispers. Personal training with the King was a death sentence. No first-year had ever been assigned. Midnight. The Old Library is forbidden after dark. The shadows there are alive. They eat memories. I went anyway. I had to. Him, alone, no guards, no witnesses. My only chance. I strapped my dagger to my inner thigh. Silver thorn venom, distilled from my own blood. The only thing that can kill a Shadow King. I wore a tight black top and tiny shorts under my robe. The library doors were twenty feet tall, covered in moving thorns. They opened as I approached. Inside was impossible. Shelves that went forever into darkness. Floating books whispering. The floor made of living shadow that moved under my bare feet. In the center, shirtless, was Kael. I forgot how to breathe. His back was to me, pure muscle, covered in moving shadow tattoos that swam across his skin like serpents. Black pants hung low on his hips. He was punching shadows, each punch shattering a shadow into dust. "You're late, little thorn," he said without turning. "How did you know it was me?" "I'd know your scent anywhere now. Thorns and defiance and cheap soap. Driving me insane all day." "Close the doors," he ordered. The huge doors slammed shut behind me, locking. "Take off your robe," he said, walking toward me. "What?" "You can't fight in that tent. Take it off. Now." My hands shook violently. If I took off my robe, he would see the dagger strap. I dropped the robe. It pooled at my feet. His eyes dropped slowly, hungrily, taking in my body, my legs, the leather strap on my inner thigh. "What's that?" he asked, stopping right in front of me. "A knife," I said, barely a whisper. He knelt. Right in front of me. The Shadow King, on his knees, his face inches from my inner thigh, from my dagger. His cold fingers brushed the leather, then my bare skin. I gasped. He looked up, silver eyes burning. "You bring a knife to kill me, little assassin? Did you really think I wouldn't know? A Thorn walking into my academy?" He KNEW. Rage snapped inside me. I ripped the dagger free and pressed the poisoned tip to his throat, drawing black blood. "Yes! I came to kill you! You killed my family! You burned my village!" He didn't flinch. He stared at my mouth, not the blade. His hand gripped my waist. "I have killed many families, Elara. But not yours. Your family was not killed by shadows." "Liar!" "If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead before you set foot in my hall. Do it. Cut my throat. If you can." His pulse beat against my blade. He dared me. I couldn't. My hand shook harder. Tears streamed. My chest heaved. "Can't do it, can you?" he whispered softly, cupping my tear-streaked cheek. "You don't want to kill me. You want something else." "I want you dead," I choked, but it sounded like a lie. "No," he said, and knocked the dagger from my hand with his shadows. It clattered across stone. "You want me." Then his mouth crashed onto mine. He kissed me like a man starved for three years. Brutal. Desperate. Cold and hot. He tasted like winter and smoke. His tongue forced into my mouth, claiming, and I moaned into his mouth and grabbed his black hair and kissed him back like I would die if I didn't. He growled deep and lifted me, my legs wrapping around his waist, his hands gripping my bare thighs. "You have no idea what you do to me," he panted against my neck, biting down my throat. "I have not wanted. For three years. Nothing. And then you walk in smelling like my enemy and my salvation." "Let me go," I gasped, arching into him. "Never." He carried me to the obsidian table and laid me down. Books flew off. "I should kill you," he whispered, his hand tracing up my leg, from ankle to knee to inner thigh. "Assassins who come to kill the King are executed at dawn." "Then do it," I whispered, trembling. He smiled dark, possessive. "I have a better punishment." His shadows held my hands above my head, gentle but unbreakable. "Kael," I breathed, scared. "Shhh, little thorn. This will hurt. Then you will feel like you belong to me. Because you do." He opened his mouth. Canines longer, shadow-tipped. And he bit down hard on my inner thigh, right where my dagger had been. I screamed. Not just pain, though it burned like silver fire. Violent pleasure exploded, my back arching off the table, eyes rolling back. His mark bloomed. Black thorns with silver tips, intricate, alive, burning permanently into my skin, pulsing. He licked it, tongue cold, mouth bloody with my blood. "Mine," he growled against my thigh, looking up, mouth bloody, eyes silver fire. "My thorn. My assassin. My queen." "What did you do to me?" I whispered, shaking, staring at his glowing mark. "I marked you. A Shadow King only marks one woman in his life. His fated mate. His forever." "The Blood Moon Ball is tomorrow. Every unmarked woman will be there. Including Lyra Frost, who has wanted my throne for three years. She will see my mark on you. And she will try to kill you." He picked up my dagger and placed it back in my trembling hand. "Keep it. You'll need it. Because after tonight, you are the most hated girl in the Academy. My enemies will come for you to hurt me." He opened a door made of darkness in the air. "Kael!" I called, voice broken, thigh throbbing. "Did you really not kill my family?" He stared at his mark on my thigh, face unreadable, eyes sad for the first time. "No, little thorn. But I know who did. I have known for ten years. If you want the truth about that night your village burned, you will come to the Blood Moon Ball tomorrow as my mate and survive without trying to kill me again." "Oh, and Elara? If you ever put that pretty little dagger to my throat again, I will put you over my knee and make that mark burn in other places too." The door closed, leaving me alone on the cold table, marked, shaking, his bite throbbing between my legs, my revenge in ashes, his heartbeat now beating inside my own chest. And somewhere in the dark library, a shadow whispered where only I could hear, "He is lying to you, little thorn. He did kill them. Ask him about the boy in the fire. Ask him about your little brother." Tomorrow is the Blood Moon Ball. I have just become the property of the monster I was sent to kill. And someone in this academy knows the truth about my family — and wants me dead before I learn it.