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21. Thorne

TWENTY-ONE

THORNE

T he wall of bones that Thorne collided with felt thin and papery, but that didn't stop it from doing its job. As a mighty, healthy lion shifter, he managed to plow through them, but it wasn't before Cassia had shifted and slipped away.

The shifters all pounced on top of him at once as he tried to chase after the dreadful queen. It was obvious in their lion forms how sickly they were, but nearly ten to fifteen were trying to pile on top of his back. The king's spine began to sink despite still moving forward, dragging along a collection of what felt like eager and distressed ants.

The men he had entered the castle with were also occupied. Thorne started to flick the shifters off his back like maddening pests, sending a few flying into the cold, marble floor. In a way, he admired their loyalty to Cassia—but it was in many ways blind and relentlessly delusional.

At first, he attempted to merely disable them, tire them out until the reality of the moment dawned on them. But they were rather pesky and tenacious, gnawing at the king's tail, ankles, and elbows, leaving sad but stingy bite marks that could have easily belonged to mosquitos.

He was having no luck gaining on Cassia, who was in the melee but kept barely escaping his grasp. He felt that his men were also being gentle with their enemies, a kind of sorrowful understanding of their predicament.

Vale, on the other hand, was having no such problem. He and his men had swiftly and effortlessly destroyed the shifters who were psychotically attempting to protect their kingdom and ruler. Thorne had felt it psychically despite the fact that Cassia had more soldiers on the defense.

The king heard the doors of the castle rattle. Vale and his team were trying to get in, but it had been locked shut. The bang was heavy, and the king tried to communicate with his lead enforcer.

What's going on?

The door is jammed. We are nearly there, My King.

Don't break your back. We've got this in here.

Yes, My King.

Defeating the ailing shifters wasn't as simple as swiping them with their claws or ripping their throats to pieces. Cassia had been right about one thing in her fantastical rant. The power of hungry men is not something to underestimate.

They attacked in groups, applying strength in numbers rather than individualistic skill or agility. The king was able to grab hold of one or two, knock them unconscious with a thundering slap or cerebral snap of the neck, but then ten more would be on him. It was becoming quite infuriating and was starting to test both Thorne's stamina and patience.

He'd had enough, and his compassion for the attackers was waning.

Cassia! he bellowed telepathically. Show yourself and fight me!

There was no response. Only the sound of blended roars and mewls of desperation.

The king gathered all his strength, tensing his muscles into rigid rock, then whipped all the crawling, ant-like beings off of his back. They flew quite miraculously, a few of them smacking roughly into the wall, and others crashing into the steps in front of the throne.

He didn't give them any time to regroup. Thorne, along with the five other shifters he'd brought with him into the castle, went into full battle mode. They obliterated the clan of weak lions with spectacular speed and acrobatic accuracy. Before the king needed to catch another breath, the throne room was bathed in the blood of his foes.

Except, he didn't really think of them that way. It didn't please him to have to make such a decision, but he had to defend himself and if they continued to pursue him, he had no choice.

All that was left was to deal with Cassia. He howled into the void of the drab, crimson-soaked room, sensing the queen's zesty scent not too far away.

Come out and submit!

He heard the same dark chuckle again, but instead of bouncing off the walls, it was in his head.

Cassia stepped out from behind the throne. The sight of her threadlike frame shocked Thorne to his core. The blonde of her fur looked ragged and mute. The bones of her neck, ankles, and ribs stood out like worn-out cables of an old marionette.

But the eyes, the power and fury of those eyes remained. It cut through the king like a sword buried deep into his belly.

What do you know of shame? she began, taking slow, methodical steps toward him.

She was stalling. The door behind them clattered, and mingled between were Vale's uncharacteristic pleas of terror.

The people of the kingdom have infiltrated the property! They are trying to get inside!

Cassia must have picked up the telepathic message because she began to grin in the way only feline creatures knew how. It was ghastly.

They are coming for you now. Nothing you can do, she sniggered.

But Thorne wasn't afraid. Something else, something benevolent hanging in the air left him tranquil and assured.

Vale, do not fight them. Let them come.

Her grin dropped away, replaced by an irate growl. Cassia crouched in a pre-emptive battle stance, and Thorne told his men to stand by.

Thorne crouched, too, and waited patiently. She launched at him, and he stepped out of the way with the grace of a dancer. She skidded across the marble floors, nearly losing her footing in the pools of blood. He waited for her to spin around, unperturbed, and attentive.

Cassia's frustration got the better of her. In the past, she had been a noble, diligent fighter, executing with surgical precision. But her insanity had rendered her sloppy. And Thorne was fine with putting her in her place.

She came at him again, and that time, he did not step away. He let her leap into the air, and then he caught her by the neck, her flimsy skin layered with the taste of sawdust. He slammed her down onto her back, splashing the blood of her comrades around them like some nauseating art display.

I will let you live if you leave here immediately. Wander outside the Wildwoods and find your own life again.

To his surprise, she nodded and responded to him in a doll-like timbre that gave him chills along his neckline.

I will, Thorne. I promise I will leave this place forever. You have my word.

Good.

Thorne lifted his paw from her and slowly backed away. Meanwhile, he could hear the doors beginning to splinter, and his men waited for his instructions with bated breath.

They are nearly in, My King, Vale beseeched him.

Wait. Trust me.

He motioned at his men, then at Cassia, who remained lying in the puddle of the coppery, bright blood.

Take her into custody. We will release her at the edge of Wildwoods.

Thorne turned his back on the former Queen of Wyeberry. He knew what was going to happen next, having not required the gift of foresight like his beloved witch possessed. He knew people, and he knew shifters.

But Cassia was desperate. Her sudden movements toward him were achingly slow, making small sloshes of sound through the sea of red. She tried to jump onto his back as her soldiers had, then perhaps sink a final, mortally wounding bite.

But her attempt failed.

The king slashed her across the face hard enough to break the skin. Pink blood sprayed and she fell back to the ground with a harrowing thump.

Within the same instant, the doors of the palace burst open. Thorne stepped aside and went to his men, who watched in reverence as the starving locals raced passed them—some in their human form holding machetes, pitchforks, and butcher knives, others having shifted with gnarly angry grins—and crowded around the anguished body of their former queen.

Thorne led his men out of the throne room as the mob began to mangle their ruler. It wasn't something they needed to see. It was up to her people, the people who she had radically let down, to act as judge, jury, and executioner of her demise.

Vale and the rest of his men stormed the castle. The unwell shifters of Wyeberry continued to ignore the King of Savanna and his healthy, rugged soldiers.

We have to find Breya now. Search the castle from top to bottom. It can't be too late.

They did as he ordered, and Thorne himself abandoned the hellish caterwauls of the woman who was nearly his bride.

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