The chamber felt colder when he stepped back toward her. Not the kind of cold that came from stone or air but the kind that came from power, ancient and wrong, gathering like a storm.

Jadon’s breath trembled. Her arms hung heavy in the chains, her skin slick with sweat, her pulse uneven from the wolfsbane. But her eyes were still sharp. Still defiant.

The Rogue King lifted his hand again. “Stage one was the opening,” he murmured. “A tether. A thread.”

His fingers glowed with dark ...