The vase flew across the throne room, shattering against the walls. The Lycan Queen was furious. More importantly, she was rattled.
Her chest heaved as she paced the length of the empty hall, staring at the ruby crown.
It was inert.
It didn't matter how many times she slit her palm and draped her blood all over the stone. It didn't respond to her. Didn't expand. Didn't react to her. She was without a crown, and if she didn't act fast, she would lose her throne and her life.
A knock echoed through the chamber. "Your Majesty--"
"I told you I was not to be disturbed," Lysandra snapped, her fingers clutched around her neck. The skin was bruised and purpling. If the girl had squeezed any harder, she would have broken her neck.
No. How wrong that statement was.
If the girl had wanted her dead, she would be already be dead.
The double doors parted anyway, and the Lycan Queen's lips curled with displeasure as Mercer strode in insolently.
