Page 21 of The Serpent Prince

Pulling her hand away, the vision disappeared before she saw it entirely, but she knew he was the one.

Imani watched him for a few seconds for any sort of reaction. He had extremely blue eyes, and she wondered about his breed. As she studied him more, it eventually hit her that this was the man who had tried to pry open Ara’s trunk and steal from her.

She looked down her nose at him. How he’d managed to survive the shadows, she didn’t know, and she didn’t care. He would die soon, anyway.

To be absolutely sure of her decision, she tested the other two. In one vision, the young man’s head lay on the ground, severed from his body, and in the other, she saw his torso next to his head. Both visions also showed the man in the middle dead, which meant Saevel had already killed him.

She was certain now.

“It’s him,” she announced, pointing down the center of the half-circle.

Kiran sauntered over and stood over the blue-eyed male, watching him closely. “Are you sure?” The playfully devious tone left him as his features smoothed into a far more serious expression.

She nodded.

With a lazy wave of his hand, he ordered another guard to retrieve his brother.

Several moments ticked by as they waited for the heir to arrive. He must have been far out of sight and earshot. Everyone knew he hadn’t heard Imani’s admission.

Kiran stood close, but his body did not touch hers. In that space, something like a current began to run between them. It took everything in her power not to lean into it. She’d never give him the satisfaction—no matter how much she wanted to sleep with him, he was a cruel beast who had to die.

“You know, Imani,” Kiran purred, crossing his arms over his broad chest, “most people would agree that you owe me some form of gratitude for saving your life. I haven’t even heard a thank you.” A sly smile followed the remark.

She scoffed. “We agreed that all I owe you is the answer I already gave you. If you didn’t need me for whatever scheme you have brewing, then you would have left me for dead, you murdering bastard.”

He stepped closer, his face scrunching with disapproval while his eyes danced with amusement. “That’s rich coming from someone who admitted to murdering a man in cold blood just a few days ago.”

She ignored the comment. Yes, she’d killed people, but she didn’t do it for fun.

Imani turned her back to him and saw Saevel strolling forward in a wrinkled shirt, half-tucked into trousers, looking like he definitely came from a bed, asleep or not.

“Good morning, little elf,” Saevel murmured, grinning at her, then he clapped his hands together. “Now, what does my brother require of me on the start of this fine day?”

The smile slid back onto Kiran’s face. “I rounded up the surviving traitors, as requested, brother. Have at them. Remember, you can only pick one. The rest are mine.”

The other royal guards and witches smiled too wide and chuckled too loud.

She pursed her lips. This place was no different than the court at Stralas. Imani was surrounded by sycophants.

Weaving between the men on the ground, Saevel took his time perusing his victims. He glared at some of them, shoved their heads further down to ensure they stared at the ground, and taunted them with a few malicious words. Finally, he stopped over the stone-faced male in the center.

Scratching the scruff on his face, Saevel looked up at the sky. An internal debate seemed to sound in his head. After dragging his hand through his hair and mussing it, he then dropped his heated, angry gaze back on the man. Then, baring his teeth, he nodded. But while the heir’s mouth might have been stretched into something that resembled a smile, his eyes were stark cold.

With a flick of her attention to the side, Kiran watched the scene with a gleeful smirk, casually twirling his wand in his hand like he was watching a pet perform a cute trick.

There was something wrong with the Illithiana brothers.

Imani shivered, knowing she had been correct—sometimes her own magic spooked her a little.

A snarl from Saevel drew her back to the half-circle. In one smooth movement, the prince lifted his wand and exploded in violence faster than it took Imani to suck in a startled breath. He roared, and the man’s head came clean off—a spell she favored and knew well. The man wouldn’t have suffered.

His death should have satisfied her, but it worsened that pit of foreign feelings in her stomach, causing it to crawl into her chest. Despite it being a calculated risk she had needed to take, now that Kiran knew about this power of hers, she dreaded what came next.

CHAPTER 8

Hours later, the three of them—Imani, Kiran, and Esa—were tucked away in Kiran’s rooms, a carafe of wine on the table. The interior was far nicer than anything she had ever seen in her entire life, except at the palace in Stralas. The furniture was made of supple black leather with red satin pillows against the wooden armrests and backrests. The dark shades did nothing to dissuade the sinister yet opulent feeling of the rooms.

Biting his lip, Kiran watched her closely with his disconcerting, luminous green eye and damning black one. She hated the way it made her feel. Gods, he was shamelessly beautiful.