Chapter 5 · The Throne Under the Palace

The floor split under my boots.

I grabbed the nearest pillar and missed. Stone tore my palm open. Behind me, someone screamed, and the court broke apart in a storm of silk, claws, and expensive shoes.

“Nia!” I shouted.

Her voice came through the silver pendant at my throat, thin and warped by distance.

“Mara—help me—”

The pendant burned against my skin.

Then another voice answered from below.

“Mara Vale.”

I froze.

It wasn’t Nia.

The voice sounded like a woman speaking through a locked door. Low. Dry. Close enough to crawl under my skin.

Ronan caught my arm before the crack swallowed the tiles beneath me. His fingers locked around my wrist, right over the fresh black mark our marriage contract had burned into both of us.

“Don’t move,” he snapped.

“Get off me.”

“You’ll fall.”

“Then fall with me.”

His jaw tightened. Around us, the royal court shoved toward the exits. Guards drew their swords. Nobles yelled orders nobody followed. The giant doors at the end of the throne hall slammed shut by themselves, trapping all of us inside.

Drake Thorn stood on the other side of the widening crack.

He wasn’t running.

That told me more than his pale face did.

“What is under this palace?” I demanded.

Drake looked at the split floor. Then at me.

“You shouldn’t have signed the contract.”

Ronan pulled me against his side. “Careful.”

Drake’s eyes flicked to the mark on our wrists. “You have no idea what you just married into.”

“Funny,” I said. “I was about to say the same thing.”

Another shudder hit the hall. The stone under us groaned. Dust dropped from the ceiling and landed in the hair of a councilwoman who had spent the last hour calling me a gutter rat.

She looked at me like the dust was my fault.

I pointed at the floor. “Maybe complain to the palace.”

“Mara!” Nia screamed through the pendant.

My stomach dropped.

I twisted toward the crack. “Nia! Where are you?”

“Below—below the—”

Her voice cut out.

The pendant went cold.

I shoved against Ronan’s hold. “She’s under us.”

“I know.”

“Then let me go.”

“No.”

I stared at him. “You promised.”

“I promised to get her out alive. I didn’t promise to let you jump into an ancient hole because you’re angry.”

“You made that promise in front of your entire court.”

“And I’m keeping it.”

“By holding me here?”

“By making sure you don’t die before I can reach her.”

His voice stayed flat, but his thumb pressed hard against my pulse. He was scared. Not for himself. For me.

That should have made me feel better.

It didn’t.

The crack split again, racing across the floor between us. A red glow leaked from the darkness below. It lit the bottom of the throne platform, turning the old black stone the color of fresh blood.

Several wolves in the court dropped to their knees.

Not because anyone ordered them to.

Because their bodies did it for them.

Ronan’s grip jerked tighter. His wolf pushed against his skin, and his eyes flashed silver.

“Stay behind me,” he said.

“No.”

“Mara.”

“I’m not standing behind the man who just told me my sister is under a haunted palace.”

“Fine. Stand beside me. Just stop trying to make this harder.”

“Your cousin knows what’s down there.”

Ronan looked at Drake.

Drake had moved closer to the edge. His face had lost all its courtly polish. He looked sick.

“You knew,” Ronan said.

Drake swallowed. “I knew the seal was failing.”

“What seal?” I asked.

He ignored me.

Ronan took one step forward. “What seal?”

“The old one.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only answer you’re getting until we leave this hall.”

A laugh burst out of me. It came out sharp and ugly. “You think you’re leaving?”

The voice below spoke again.

“Mara Vale.”

This time, every candle in the hall went out.

The court went silent.

Even Ronan stopped breathing.

The darkness lasted two heartbeats. Then pale blue fire crawled up from the crack, licking over the broken tiles without burning them. The flames bent toward me.

One by one.

Like fingers pointing.

A guard lifted his sword. “Witch.”

Ronan moved before I could.

He crossed the space between us and slammed the guard into the nearest wall. The man’s sword clattered across the floor.

“Say it again,” Ronan growled.

The guard stared at him, white-faced.

Ronan pressed a forearm to his throat. “Go on.”

Nobody spoke.

The mark on my wrist pulsed hot. Ronan felt it too. His head snapped toward me, and for one second the silver in his eyes vanished beneath something darker.

Pain.

No. Rage.

The moon-rage from the rumors. The sickness that had made him tear through his own guards during the last full moon. It climbed across his face in quick, ugly lines.

His hand shook against the guard’s throat.

“Ronan.”

He didn’t answer.

The guard made a choking sound.

“Ronan, look at me.”

His fingers tightened.

I stepped closer and grabbed his marked wrist. Heat jumped between us. The black lines on our skin flared, then settled.

Ronan blinked.

His grip loosened.

The guard collapsed onto his knees, coughing.

Ronan stared at our joined hands.

“That thing below is doing this,” he said.

“No,” Drake whispered. “She is.”

Ronan looked up slowly. “Explain.”

Drake’s gaze stayed on me. “The throne heard her.”

My mouth went dry. “What throne?”

“The one your mother woke.”

The words hit harder than the quake.

My mother’s name had been used all night like a knife. Every time someone said Grayharbor, every time Drake mentioned the massacre, every time Ronan’s father came up, it felt like someone was digging through a wound that never closed.

But this was different.

My mother had never told me about a throne.

She had never told me about wolves, witches, royal contracts, or anything that could call my name from under a palace.

“She didn’t wake anything,” I said.

Drake’s expression twisted. “You don’t even know what she was.”

“I know she was my mother.”

“You know the story they gave you.”

I took a step toward him. “Then give me a better one.”

“Not here.”

“Now.”

“Mara.” Ronan’s voice was a warning.

I ignored him. “You knew her. You knew what happened at the east gate. You knew my mother was there, and you still stood in front of me acting like I was some random thief who got lucky.”

Drake’s mouth tightened.

A tiny movement. That was all.

But I saw it.

He was afraid I’d ask the right question.

“Why did she die?” I said.

The blue flames climbed higher.

Drake took a step back.

“Ask your new husband,” he said.

Ronan’s face went still.

I turned to him. “What does he mean?”

“My father died before I took the crown.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“I don’t know what happened at the east gate.”

“Your family does.”

“I said I don’t know.”

“And you expect me to trust that?”

“No.”

His answer came too fast. Too honest.

The floor buckled under us. I stumbled, and Ronan caught my waist. For a second, my back hit his chest. His breath brushed my ear.

“Trust me enough to get Nia,” he said.

That was the problem.

I didn’t trust him.

But I trusted the way he had stood between me and a blade. I trusted the way he had put his crown on the table when Drake tried to take it. I trusted the way his hand shook whenever he thought I was about to disappear into danger.

That wasn’t enough for a marriage.

It might be enough for a rescue.

I pulled away. “Get me to her.”

Ronan nodded once.

Then he turned to the guards. “Clear the hall.”

A councilman stepped forward. “Your Majesty, you can’t enter the lower ruins. The throne must be contained.”

Ronan drew his sword.

The blade came out with a clean metallic hiss.

“I wasn’t asking.”

The councilman stopped.

Drake moved toward the side stairwell. “The lower ruins are sealed.”

“Then open them,” Ronan said.

“I can’t.”

“You helped build the seal.”

Drake’s face hardened. “I helped maintain it.”

“Same difference.”

“The stairway won’t open for you.”

The voice below laughed.

It sounded like stone grinding against stone.

“It will open for her.”

Every eye in the hall turned to me.

My silver pendant tugged at my neck.

Once.

Twice.

Like someone on the other side was pulling it.

I touched it with my good hand. “Nia?”

No answer.

The pull came again, stronger.

Ronan stepped in front of me. “Don’t touch it.”

“It’s connected to her.”

“It’s connected to whatever is down there.”

“Then I need to know what it wants.”

“No. You need to stay alive.”

“Stop making that sound like the same thing.”

His eyes narrowed. “You think I’m trying to control you?”

“I think you’re used to everyone obeying you.”

“I’m used to people not throwing themselves into traps.”

“I’ve survived worse than a trap.”

“Have you?”

The question landed low and hard.

I stepped closer. “Say what you mean.”

“I mean you keep acting like dying is a fair price if Nia gets one more day.”

My hand curled into a fist.

He didn’t look away.

“Maybe it is,” I said.

“No.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“I’m your husband now.”

“Debt-bound husband. For one year.”

“Still my wife.”

The words should have made me furious.

Instead, the mark on my wrist warmed again. His pulse matched mine through the bond.

One beat.

Two.

Then Nia screamed.

I shoved past him.

This time he let me go.

The side stairwell stood beneath the broken royal banner. Its door had no handle, only a shallow hollow shaped like a hand.

Blue light leaked from its edges.

I reached for it.

Ronan caught my shoulder. “Wait.”

“You said we were going.”

“I’m going first.”

“You don’t know where she is.”

“I know traps.”

“You also know nothing about witch thrones.”

“I know enough to recognize a bad idea.”

“Congratulations.”

I pressed my palm into the hollow.

The door opened.

Not outward.

The stone folded into itself, sinking down like it had melted. A staircase appeared under the palace, narrow and wet, with black roots wrapped around every step.

The smell hit first.

Old blood. Burned herbs. And the sour stink of fear.

Nia.

I started down.

Ronan followed so close his shoulder brushed mine.

“Stay behind me,” he said.

“Ask nicer.”

“Mara, please stay behind me.”

I glanced at him.

He hated the word. I could tell.

That made me keep moving.

The stairwell twisted beneath the palace. The sounds of the court disappeared after the first turn. No guards followed us. No council members. Just Ronan, me, and the blue fire burning in cracks along the walls.

The farther down we went, the hotter my pendant became.

My wrist burned too.

Ronan noticed. “How bad?”

“Manageable.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

“Then ask a question I’ll answer.”

He swore under his breath.

“Do you always talk this much when you’re scared?”

“I’m not scared.”

“Sure.”

“I’m angry.”

“Those aren’t opposites.”

He stopped.

I took another step before realizing he wasn’t beside me anymore.

Ronan stood with his head tilted, listening.

“What?” I whispered.

“Footsteps.”

I heard them too.

Bare feet on stone.

Slow.

Coming from below.

I pulled the knife from my boot. Ronan raised his sword.

The footsteps stopped.

A small shape appeared around the bend.

“Nia?”

My sister stumbled into the blue light.

Her wrists were tied with black cord. Her dress was torn at the shoulder. Blood ran from one eyebrow down the side of her face.

I ran toward her.

Ronan caught me around the waist.

“Wait.”

“That’s my sister!”

“Look at her feet.”

I looked.

Nia’s bare feet were covered in black mud.

No. Not mud.

Ash.

She took another step toward us.

“Mara,” she whispered.

Her eyes were open, but they didn’t focus on me.

The pendant pulled hard enough to cut my neck.

Ronan’s sword lifted.

“Nia,” he said. “Stop.”

She kept walking.

“Don’t point that at her.”

“I’m not pointing it at her.”

“You’re holding it at her throat height.”

“Because something is behind her.”

The blue fire along the walls went out.

A shadow moved behind Nia.

Tall. Thin. Too many joints.

I stepped forward.

“Nia, listen to me. Look at my face.”

Her lips trembled. “Mara, don’t let him open it.”

“Open what?”

“The door.”

“What door?”

Her head jerked toward the darkness behind her.

“The throne.”

A hand wrapped around her shoulder.

Black fingers pressed into her skin.

Ronan lunged.

The shadow yanked Nia backward.

I grabbed her hand.

Our fingers locked.

“Nia!”

Her skin was ice-cold. Her nails dug into my palm.

Ronan seized my waist with one arm and swung his sword with the other. The blade cut through the shadow’s wrist.

No blood came out.

The severed hand dissolved into smoke.

The thing behind Nia shrieked, and the stairwell shook so hard my teeth slammed together.

Ronan dragged us both back.

“Run!”

“No!”

“Mara, move!”

Nia clung to my hand. “Don’t leave me!”

“I’m not leaving you.”

The darkness split open behind her.

Not a doorway.

A room.

A huge underground chamber waited beyond the crack, filled with dead candles and broken bones. At the center stood a throne carved from black stone.

Roots covered its arms. Silver symbols cut across its back.

I knew those symbols.

They matched the marks on my mother’s pendant.

The voice spoke from the throne.

“Mara Vale.”

Nia squeezed my hand.

Ronan pulled me back. “We’re leaving.”

The throne answered before I could.

“Liora.”

My mother’s name.

The sound knocked the breath from my lungs.

Ronan went rigid.

Nia stared at the throne. “Mom?”

The black stone cracked down the middle.

A thin line of blue fire opened from the seat to the floor.

Drake’s voice echoed from somewhere above us.

“Get her away from it!”

Ronan shoved Nia behind him and grabbed my wrist.

But the throne had already chosen.

The crack widened.

Stone split with a deep, wet snap.

Something moved inside.

A pale hand pushed through the opening.

A silver ring circled one finger.

I knew that ring.

I had watched it flash whenever my mother reached for me.

I had buried her wearing it.

The hand stretched toward me.

And the throne whispered my mother’s voice.

“Mara, darling…”