Chapter 11 · The Throne's First Name

"Take your hand off me, Rafe."

The blackstone throne had wrapped a strip of red light around my wrist. His fingers were the only thing keeping me from being dragged into it.

He tightened his grip. "If I let go, it takes your arm."

"Then break the throne."

"I'm trying."

The red band yanked again. Pain ripped up my shoulder. My knees hit the stone, and the old ledger slipped from my other hand.

Rafe caught it before it struck the floor.

I shoved at his chest. "Don't touch my book."

His palm stayed firm against my waist, keeping me upright. Heat burned through my coat. His breath brushed my temple.

"You're welcome."

"Keep your welcome. Give me the ledger."

"Not while the throne's trying to read you."

"It already read me. It called me the blood anchor. It knows about my mother. It knows you're royal. What else does it need?"

Rafe's jaw locked.

There. That was the answer.

The throne didn't just want our blood.

It wanted our names.

The first blood lock had opened when my palm met Rafe's. The second had answered his buried royal mark.