A few seconds ago.
The king was no longer a man.
His resting chamber reeked of iron and rot.
Lorian lay slumped against the broken marble dais, his once-ornate robes shredded and blackened with blood.
Both of his arms were gone at the shoulder, and his legs ended at frozen stumps just above the knees, as Siris's frost still clung like pale shackles of ice.
He was unconscious right now, but his breaths came shallow and ragged, every exhale a wet rattle.
Selena had been meticulous.
Every cut on his chest, every gouge along his ribs, was no accident. They weren't designed to kill—only to make him remember.
"…Alone," she whispered, dragging a clawed finger down his cheek until it left a crimson trail. "That's what I wanted from you. I wanted you to leave me alone because I knew I wouldn't be loved."
Another slash.
The skin of his shoulder peeled back.
