Chapter 37 · The Last Oath: Blood on the Throne

“Get your hands off me, Julian!”

Viviane slammed her shoulder into the Cardinal’s chest, but he didn't budge. He had her pinned against the cold marble of the High Altar, his grip on her wrist like a steel vice.

“Such passion,” Julian sneered. He leaned in, his breath smelling of old incense and decay. “Is this what the convict taught you? The pact isn’t a chain anymore, Viviane. It’s a doorway. And I’m the only one with the key.”

Silas didn't use a spell. He didn't have time. He lunged, throwing his entire weight into a tackle that sent Julian sprawling across the blood-slicked floor. The Cardinal hit with a wet thud, his ornate robes billowing like a dying crow.

“Key this,” Silas spat. He dropped his forearm across Julian’s throat, pinning him hard.

Viviane scrambled up, chest heaving. Her hand went to her sword hilt, but her fingers were shaking too hard to draw.

“Too late, Silas,” Julian gasped. A thin line of blood leaked from his lip, but he started to laugh—a wet, rattling sound. “Look at your wrist. Look at the mark.”

Silas glanced down. The pact scar wasn't just glowing; it was pulsing.