Queen of the Underworld | Book 3

• fifty-eight •

I kept my eyes fixed on the doors at the end of the crowd we walked towards and tried not to look anywhere else. But my eyes wandered over the crowd, and I realized with a heavy weight in my stomach that I recognized some of the men and women around us.

They were the mercenaries I had seen at the party I went to with Asmo before.

A woman spit in our direction. I barely glanced at her before she was catapulted back several hundred feet and pinned against the wall with such force the bricks cracked and rained around her.

I glanced back at Asmo whose eyes momentarily flashed yellow. His eyes didn't leave the doors in front of us even though I knew he was the one responsible for that outburst.

My pulse quickened the closer we got to the door. I kept my breathing even as we approached and when the doors opened, I braced myself for what I would see.

The large, heavy doors rumbled as they opened with ease on their own.

With bated breath, I entered not bothering to take in my surroundings. I walked forward needing little guidance from Asmo as he still stood next to me.

If this really was my death, I would enter it with whatever dignity I could muster.

My legs felt heavy as I walked forward, each step more agonizing than the last. I swallowed a lump in my throat as I pushed myself forward.

Asmo still didn't let go of my wrist.

Julian was in the room, in the corner out of sight with a group of guards around him.

Our eyes locked and I felt my heart melt.

He didn't look much worse than he had in the room where we were split up. It looked like they didn't do much else to him other than take him to the throne room like Asmo did to me.

He nodded once in reassurance. He was all right.

My throat was dry, my heart was still beating hard in my chest. "Julian," I breathed.

Asmo pulled me by my hand again making me turn my attention back to the figure at the end of the Throne Room.

Mal sat in the large throne, the one that was meant for the queen of the Underworld.

Had Perri seen her, she would have approved of her choice of clothing.

Mal was ready for war.

Her long black hair hung in voluminous waves over her shoulders. She had on a black, simple armor over tight-fitting clothes. Tight-fitting so she could move easily, I imagined. The collar of her top was high, covering her neck, her sleeves long enough to reach her fingers. Her pants were simple, just plain black under it. The armor seemed to shine as she moved in the light, very much like the throne she sat in.

A large, dark crown sat on her raven head. It looked impossibly heavy and made her look taller than she really was. Six large spikes adorned the large crown, each just as tall as the other adding another more inches to her height. Each spike had a chain wrapped around it and connected one spike to the other.

It wasn't delicate. It wasn't dainty or beautiful like the others I had seen in the vault.

It was a war-time crown.

And she looked impossibly regal with it.

A man crouched next to the throne on her left. He had a hand up covering his face as he whispered in her ear, much in the way children would do when saying secrets. He spoke to her in hushed tones but she was no longer paying attention to him. Her ruby lips smiled as I approached. Her familiar sapphire eyes gleamed with fascination.