The Primal of Death. My would-be husband. Nyktos. The very key to stopping the slow, painful destruction of my kingdom. Suddenly, that feeling of familiarity made sense. I had heard his voice before. I have no need of a Consort. The Primal inhaled sharply as emotions rolled through me, wave after wave, crashing into a rising tide of so many feelings that I choked on them—the disbelief, the hope, the dread, and the anger. So much anger. “You,” I croaked.
