The queen's eyes never left Liam. Her gaze was quiet and full of torment, like the hush before a storm breaks. She knew it now—there would be no warning, no time to plead, no second chances. Liam was one breath away from sealing a fate he would never recover from.
And she had no power to stop him.
But… perhaps she didn't need power.
Think. Her mind raced, memories colliding like waves in her head. Ancient spells… forbidden arts… the deep soul-rites passed down only to the ones who had ruled and wandered long after flesh had failed. She had consumed the wisdom of ages in her long, cursed life—fragments of forgotten magic, whispered by the dead.
There was one rite she could use. Dangerous. Reckless. Something that required a steep cost. It wasn't strength. It wasn't battle.
It was escape.
