Sasha’s POV
The door groaned open again, iron scraping against stone like a scream with no mouth to give it.
Not the guards this time.
Not a shade.
Not a whispering shadow with dead eyes.
Him.
The Hollow King stepped through the doorway like a storm clothed in flesh—his crown of blackened bone throwing broken, twisted shadows across the floor with each flicker of green flame.
The sconces lining the chamber walls pulsed in rhythm with his steps. It was as if the chamber itself breathed for him, shuddering at his presence.
In his hands—
A silver tray.
It gleamed like it didn’t belong here. Polished. Pristine. An offering of deceit. Piled high with food: roasted meat still steaming, thick slices of golden bread, and ripe fruit that glistened unnaturally—red and orange and too perfe
