A force that swallowed breath, choked thought, bent the fabric of the air around it.

  Magic pulsed through the stone, thick and primal, ancient and furious. It pressed against my skin, as if the stars themselves had bent low to watch what was coming.

  This wasn’t the world exhaling.

  This was the world kneeling.

  The shadows in the room stilled mid-flicker. The torches guttered. The floor beneath my feet hummed. A warning. A herald.

  And then he stepped into view.

  Ashterion.

  Not the consort with a knife-edged smile and a noose of silk around his throat. Not the male who wore arrogance and wielded cruelty as a shield.

  This was no shield.

  This was a god.

  Midnight-blue eyes burned, galaxies condensed to fury and fire. Shadows didn’t trail him—they bled from him, bled like liquid night, swallowing light, devouring sound. They weren’t tendrils anymore. They were force. They were rule.

  And the magic⁠—

  Gods.

  It came off him in waves that shattered the world. Stone cracked, walls groaned, magic screamed through the air as if it was trying to get away from him and couldn’t.

  The leash was gone.

  Whatever collar Xyliria had held him with had broken. And in its place stood a High Lord reborn in shadow and ruin. Unbound. Unforgiving.

  Power didn’t just radiate from him. It erupted. It claimed everything it touched.

  Behind me, someone cursed under their breath.

  No one moved.

  Because how could we?

  He was devastation incarnate.

  A deity in a court of mortals.

  His gaze swept the chamber, marking every detail with terrifying calm. The fallen guards. The blood-soaked floors. Xyliria’s body, sprawled unnaturally, chest torn open.

  When his eyes found mine, everything stilled.

  And the fury beheld there… it wasn’t rage. It was closer to grief.

  No one dared breathe as he crossed the space between us, each step deliberate, the marble fissuring beneath him, shadows spilling in his wake. The air grew heavier, denser, the fabric of reality bending around him as he moved.

  He stopped before me, close enough that I could feel the chill emanating from his skin, the raw power beneath it. His mouth was no longer set in that mocking smirk but drawn into a solemn line. The shadows clung to him differently now—not as servants but as extensions of himself, moving with his breath, his thoughts, his very essence.

  He towered over me, a living eclipse, the world dimming around his form.

  The darkness moved faster than I could breathe. It surged forward, swallowing the others whole.

  Panic surged up my throat as all of them, even Varyth, disappeared into the abyss. Their expressions barely had time to shift, to register their fate, before they vanished.

  I whirled back to Ashterion, ready to fight him to the death if I had to.

  But he only tilted his head, watching me with an almost lazy curiosity. “You’ll find your friends returned to your court.”

  I stilled, my breath shallow.

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  “Not today.” He shrugged, as if the thought had never truly occurred to him.

  “What about tomorrow?”

  That earned a slight twitch at the corner of his lips. “No, not then either.”

  I folded my arms, wary now. “Why am I still here, then?”

  Ashterion leaned against the nearest pillar, hands tucked into his pockets, the power pouring from him crumbled the stone where his back touched it. “You did kill my wife,” he said, almost idly. “Am I not allowed to ask some questions?”

  A dry, bitter laugh clawed its way up my throat. “Clearly, you can ask whatever you want,” I said, gesturing vaguely to the trembling walls around us. “You’re breaking the world by existing right now, so I doubt anyone’s going to stop you.”

  Ashterion’s mouth quirked, though it held a hint of exhaustion. He let his head tip back, eyes closing for the briefest moment as if he were savouring the chaos, the sheer weight of his own presence.

  “You’ll have to forgive me,” he said, rough with a power too old to name. “It’s been a while since I’ve been at… full strength.”

  The shadows stirred behind him, crawling lazily along the floor, the ceiling, the edges of my vision. They weren’t threatening. Not exactly. More like curious cats, investigating someone new to their territory.

  He cracked one eye open, sliding back to me with that same ancient amusement. “I’m choosing to enjoy it.”

  My heartbeat thudded, because that? That wasn’t a threat. That was honesty.

  “Not to worry though,” he added, his mouth tilted, like a dare that hadn’t been spoken yet. “It’s purely aesthetic.”

  The shadows curled around his fingers, graceful and deliberate.

  “No harm will come to you, little fireling.”

  I shouldn’t believe him.

  But I did.

  The shadows continued their lazy dance around us, some venturing closer to me, curling around my ankles before retreating. They weren’t threatening, the grip a gentle caress, as though in thanks for the freedom they now had.

  “What are you going to do now?” I asked, gesturing to the throne room, the fallen body of his wife, the empty space where my friends had been moments before. Soldiers’ bodies scattered the space, but Ashterion’s focus fell on one in particular.

  Merrick lay still as carved stone, unconscious, right where I’d dropped him with my pommel. Blood traced a thin line from his temple into his hair.

  The sight of him shifted something in Ashterion’s expression. The terrible power that had been radiating from him like heat from a forge... flickered.

  He moved with inhuman grace, crossing to where Merrick lay in three fluid strides. The marble still fractured beneath his feet, but his touch when he knelt was careful. Tender, even. His shadows curled protectively around them both as he slid one arm beneath Merrick’s shoulders, lifting him with the reverence one might show sacred relics.

  “Merrick.” His voice was softer than I’d heard it. Stripped of the lazy arrogance, the cruel amusement. Just... worried. “Come on, brother.”

  Merrick’s eyelids fluttered, then snapped open. He blinked once, twice, struggling to focus. When his gaze finally found Ashterion’s face hovering above him, relief flooded his features.

  “Ash?” he croaked, thick with confusion. Then his eyes sharpened, memory flooding back. “The female—she was fucking aggressive—” He tried to sit up too quickly, wincing. “Did you—are you⁠—?”

  “I’m fine,” Ashterion said, helping him upright with steady hands. “Everything’s handled.”

  Merrick’s gaze swept the throne room, taking in the destruction, the blood, Xyliria’s body. His eyes finally landed on me, standing there in the wreckage.

  “Well…” Merrick scrubbed a hand over his face, leaving streaks of dirt and blood. “Shit.”

  “What are you going to do now?” I asked again, cutting through their quiet moment.

  Merrick’s expression was openly curious. Ashterion’s was unreadable once more, the mask sliding seamlessly back into place.

  He stood slowly, his gaze returning to Xyliria. “Clean up, I suppose.”

  “So… Xyliria?” I asked, the name scraping out of my throat. I didn’t know how to finish the question. Dead? Gone? Torn to fucking ribbons?

  “Yes,” Ashterion said, far too fucking casual. “Her death was… most convenient.” A grin curled across his mouth, wicked and unrepentant. “She was a truly tiresome creature, and I was rather sick of playing to her whims. So, thank you for that.”

  I levelled a flat look at him. “Why didn’t you kill her yourself?”

  Ashterion twirled the wedding band on his finger. “And here I thought you might be clever after all. But if you can’t figure out the answer to that… perhaps not.”

  Merrick snorted from the ground.

  I stared at him, refusing to back down from his mocking tone. “You were bound to her somehow. Magically. That’s why you couldn’t stop her.”

  His smile thinned, shadows hissing at his feet. “Very good.”

  “The marriage contract,” I said, remembering his cryptic words from before. “You said something about reading the fine print.”

  Ashterion’s laugh was a low, bitter thing. But he didn’t answer.

  Instead, he asked, “How’d you do it?”

  I sucked in a breath through my teeth. “Do what?”

  “Kill Xyliria.” He flinched as he said her name, but there was no rage in him. No grief. Just a faint trace of amusement mingled with genuine curiosity.

  “She was hardly a weak fae,” he mused. “And yet, here we are. So, tell me, how did you manage it?”

  I shrugged, folding my arms tightly over my chest. “A dagger to the heart seemed to do the trick.”

  Ashterion chuckled. “Mmm.” His expression was far too knowing. “That’s not the whole answer, though, is it?”

  Whatever had happened in that moment—whatever power had surged through me, whatever had wrapped around Xyliria’s throat and devoured her magic—I wasn’t about to share it with him.

  “Are you planning to keep me here as punishment, then?”

  Ashterion pushed off the pillar, moving with that liquid grace that seemed more pronounced now, more primal. The shadows followed, so much like mine yet not like mine at all.

  “No,” he said smoothly. “I’ll return you to your court shortly.”

  I scoffed. “Oh, how generous of you.”

  He smiled faintly. “But first some advice. You⁠—”

  “I don’t want anything from you.” My voice was filled with lingering rage, with exhaustion, with the weeks of torment that had led to this. “Certainly not advice.”

  “Fair enough.” Ashterion nodded, clearly unsurprised. “I’m giving it anyway.”

  I clenched my fists, every muscle in my body coiled tight, ready. For what, I didn’t know.

  He paused just long enough to let the weight of it settle.

  “Be careful.”

  I stilled.

  “I may be a male who wears the skin of a monster proudly.” A cold smile tugged at his lips. “But there are others who are much more adept at hiding what they are.”

  My heartbeat pounded against my ribs.

  “You’ve placed your trust—your life—in another’s hands,” he continued. “But tell me, fireling.” His lips curved, but there was no humour in it. “How well do you truly know him?”

  I knew exactly who he meant.

  “Don’t,” I hissed, stepping forward. “Don’t you dare try to turn me against him.”

  Ashterion laughed, shaking his head. “Predictable.” He took a step back, slipping his hands into his pockets as though the entire conversation was of no consequence to him. “Just keep what I’ve said in mind.”

  I wouldn’t.

  I refused to.

  I forced my breath to steady. “I don’t need your bullshit advice,” I said icily. “I want to go home.”

  A slow nod. He had expected that.

  “Then go.”

  I eyed him suspiciously. “Just like that?”

  “What else would you have me do? Keep you here? Throw you in a cell?” He glanced down at Xyliria’s body, his expression umoved. “You’ve already done me a favour.”

  A chill ran through me at the way he dismissed his wife’s life and death as a passing inconvenience.

  “You’re letting me walk away?” I pushed, testing, needing to understand.

  Ashterion let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “I have no reason to keep you. Your friends are already gone.” He gestured vaguely with one hand. “Returned to your court, safe and sound. I have nothing to gain from your continued presence.”

  My hands curled into fists at my sides. “And what about the war?” I demanded. “What about the destruction you started? What about⁠—”

  “There is no war,” he interrupted smoothly.

  “What?”

  “You can tell your High Lord,” Ashterion said, his voice neutral, “that my forces will return to my territory. We seek nothing.”

  I didn’t trust him. I would never trust him.

  My blood burned at the way he spoke, the sheer detachment.

  I clenched my jaw. “You really expect me to believe you’re going to walk away from all of this? No war? No retaliation?”

  Ashterion studied me for a long moment before he said, “I have other priorities right now.”

  The hairs on my arms rose. “Like what?”

  “Oh, I have plenty of plans.” Ashterion smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “But for now, I think I’ll return you to your court as requested. Wouldn’t want dear Varyth crawling all the way back here for you.”

  I scowled. “Go to hell.”

  “Been there, done that.”

  I stared at Ashterion as shadows curled at his feet. Xyliria’s blood clung to my hands. Merrick watched us from the floor with rapt curiosity.

  “That’s it?” I demanded. “After weeks of torture, after everything she did—you’re done?”

  His lips curved into that infuriating half-smile. “Disappointed? Were you hoping for one last fight?”

  I wanted to lunge at him, to sink my blade into his throat and watch his smug expression fade. But exhaustion weighed on me, the aftermath of power tingling beneath my skin.

  “I should kill you too,” I said quietly.

  “You could try.”

  I stared at him, my chest rising and falling with each uneven breath. His gaze held mine, unwavering, daring me to make the first move.

  The grand hall was impossibly vast around us, the silence broken only by the soft drip of blood from my fingertips onto the marble floor. Xyliria’s body lay motionless nearby, her once-perfect face frozen in that final expression of shock and fear.

  “You won’t, though,” Ashterion said finally, gentle, almost contemplative. “Not today.”

  I hated that he was right.

  “How do I know this isn’t another trap?”

  “You don’t,” he said, “but I have nothing to gain by lying. Xyliria is dead. Her war is over.”

  “Her war,” I repeated, weighing the words. “Not yours.”

  “Perspective is everything, isn’t it?”

  The Ashterion who had once smirked from Xyliria’s side was gone. In his place stood something older. Hungrier. Something that would never bow again.

  Then, the darkness surged toward me, black tendrils curling fast and sudden, pulling me under.

  “Oh, and Isara?”

  I gritted my teeth. “What now?”

  A pause. A crack in his voice of something I couldn’t quite name.

  “Vel’anthira elirenai.”

  My brow furrowed. “What does that mean?”

  But before he could answer, the shadows yanked me away.

  77

  Mist and the scent of twilight roses enveloped me as I stumbled onto the grass outside the Luceren castle. My legs buckled, exhaustion and shock finally catching up as the rush of the fight faded. I sank to my knees, fingers digging into the damp earth, anchoring myself to reality.

  I was home. We were safe.

  Hands touched my shoulders, my arms, steadying me as I knelt in the damp grass, my body trembling from the remnants of power thrumming through me.

  “Isara,” Linc’s tone was urgent, rough with concern. “Are you alright? Talk to us—are you hurt?”

  Darian crouched beside me, his usual smirk absent, his eyes scanning me like he was trying to find where I was broken. “You look like hell.” But there was no bite to it, only worry.

  Linc’s expression was harder. “You were going to kill yourself,” he bit out. “For me.”

  I swallowed, unable to look at him. Unable to look at any of them.

  But Linc wasn’t finished. “You don’t get to make choices like that for us, Isara. Do you understand?” His voice shook. “I would rather have died than have you⁠—”

  He broke off, his jaw clenching as he struggled to contain his emotions. The silence was unbearable between us, filled with raw pain.

  “I couldn’t do it,” I whispered. “I couldn’t kill you. I couldn’t kill Varyth. I—” My breath hitched, the memories flooding back with brutal clarity. “I couldn’t make that choice.”

  Before either of us could say another word, I saw him.

  Varyth.

  Blood streaked his bare chest, his ashen hair tangled, his pale skin marred with bruises and wounds, but none of that mattered.

  He was alive.

  My body moved without thought. I scrambled to my feet and launched myself at him.

  Varyth barely had time to brace before I crashed into him. My arms wrapped around his neck, my fingers tangling into his hair, seeking proof that he was real. That we were here. That we were free.

  His arms locked around me instantly, crushing me against him, his breath a shudder against my temple. His scent hit me—blood, sweat, mist. Familiar.

  “You’re here,” I gasped, my fingers digging into his back, the fabric of his tunic bunching beneath my grip. “You’re here⁠—”

  Varyth pulled back to cup my face between his hands. His thumb brushed over my cheekbone, my lips, as though needing to confirm that I was whole, that I was truly in front of him.

  “Isara.” He said my name like it was the only thing keeping him breathing.

  His mouth crashed against mine with a hunger that didn’t come from the body but from the soul, from the raw, aching place that had feared this would never happen again.

  I moaned into him, arms wrapping tighter around his neck as his fingers speared into my hair, tugging just enough to make me gasp. My lips parted, and he took. Every inch of control I had left, every thought that wasn’t him, gone. Obliterated.

  I kissed him back like I wanted to burn the world down with our mouths. Like I could carve away the pain if I just kissed him hard enough, deep enough, long enough to forget everything except the shape of him against me.

  “When you’re healed,” he growled against my lips, “when you’re whole again, I’m going to make you scream. Until you forget every name but mine. Until your legs shake and your voice breaks and you beg me not to stop.”