Alaric looked down.
His face changed.
“What?”
Elara grabbed his arm.
He whispered, “The storm wasn’t the only thing bound.”
The Queen began laughing.
Stone cracked around the throne.
A line split the floor.
Cold blue light rose from below.
The entire court backed away.
Seraphine smiled.
“You wanted freedom.”
The crack widened.
A roar came from somewhere beneath the palace.
Not Alaric’s roar.
Something much larger.
Older.
Elara looked at him.
“What is that?”
Alaric stared into the blue light.
“The creature the first kings imprisoned when they made the storm pact.”
The floor erupted.
Everyone ran.
A colossal claw punched through stone.
Not fur.
Scale.
Black scale the size of shields.
The palace shook.
Seraphine screamed with laughter.
“The Storm Wyrm.”
Elara stared.
She had freed it.
Alaric grabbed her around the waist and lifted her aside as another claw burst through.
“Move!”
They ran.
The throne collapsed.
Stone blocks crashed.
The Wyrm rose from beneath the palace.
Its head broke through the roof.
Hundreds of feet of serpentine body coiled beneath shattered foundations.
Black scales.
Silver horns.
Eyes like white fire.
The storm outside returned instantly.
Not because anyone controlled it.
Because the creature carried it.
The court fled into the courtyard.
The Wyrm screamed.
Lightning struck every tower simultaneously.
Alaric set Elara down.
She looked up.
“This is my fault.”
“No.”
“I released it.”
“You released what she had no right to bind.”
“That distinction will comfort the dead.”
Alaric grabbed her shoulders.
“Elara.”
She looked at him.
“Listen.”
His amber eyes held hers.
“We fix what we can.”
“How?”
Alaric looked toward the Wyrm.
“I was created from part of its power.”
Her heart dropped.
“The curse.”
“Yes.”
Seraphine had tried binding the storm crown through Alaric.
Meaning—
“You can fight it.”
“For a while.”
Elara understood his wording.
“No.”
“Elara.”
“No.”
“I may be the only thing strong enough.”
“You just told me you refused to ask me to sacrifice myself.”
“And I am not asking.”
He stepped backward.
“This is mine.”
Elara grabbed his arm.
“No.”
He looked at her hand around his fur.
“Elara.”
“You don’t get to spend eighteen years protecting my choice and then steal yours from me.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“You want to die?”
“No.”
“Then stop speaking like it’s settled.”
The Wyrm roared.
Alaric looked upward.
“We are low on time.”
“Then think faster.”
He almost laughed.
Even now.
Elara looked toward the shattered throne hall.
The golden crown lay near the entrance.
The crownstone had broken.
But Seraphine’s necklace chain remained.
A thought came.
“The pact required two bloodlines.”
Alaric stared.
“What?”
“Royal blood and keeper blood.”
“Yes.”