“And how does it feel, witchling? To have formally allied with me and to have taken out one of your enemies?” he asks as he continues to find areas of my body to touch and soothe. After today, we both need the comfort of physical touch, assuring each other that our mate is well and whole.

I pretend to think for a moment, scrunching my nose, and it brings his lips back to mine once more. When we finally part, I whisper, “It feels like this.” Then I wrap us both in warm and calming light, using tendrils to caress his face and backside, earning me a low hum of pleasure. Thorne moves us to the bed in a flash and is pulling my shirt above my arms when a prickling on the back of my neck gives me pause. It’s the same feeling I had when we were in the laundry room at the rebel stronghold, like someone’s entering the mist. Another check in tells me all is still well. But I’m not convinced.

“Wait,” I say, and Thorne immediately releases my shirt.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, concern crossing his eyes.

“I don’t know, exactly. Something’s off in the palace.” His brow furrows as I close my eyes to try and understand the uneasiness I’m feeling.

Someone bangs frantically on the apartment door. Our eyes lock for only a second before we’re both up and moving back through the sitting room. Thorne answers, revealing a harried Carex, face ashen and body trembling. Tension visibly coils in Thorne’s shoulders, so I intervene before Thorne kills him with the same brutal efficiency he displayed today.

“What do you want, Carex? How did you get out of your rooms? You were supposed to be under guard,” I demand. I don’t want Thorne to kill Carex—not yet, at least—but neither am I pleased to see him.

“Your Majesty, you must come quickly. It’s—I can’t believe—how—why—You must hurry,” he sputters, sounding like a madman, his eyes wild.

I place my hand over his arm to calm him, shock and worry churning low in my gut. Thorne takes up a defensive stance beside me. “Carex, tell me what’s wrong,” I urge at the same time Thorne hisses, “Spit it out.” The magic of the aether-voice lingers, though from which of us it came I’m unsure of.

“King Mazus… is... here. In the throne room,” he finally says, and all the color drains out of Thorne’s features as my heart drops out of my chest.

“That shouldn’t be possible,” I whisper, and Carex shakes with fear.

“How did this happen?” Thorne barks out.