He leans back slightly, studying me with an intensity that feels palpable, even through his mask. “And what exactly do you wish to discuss? The Legion has taken root, and soon it will be too late for negotiations.”
I stand tall, my resolve hardening. “I believe there’s still a chance for peace, but it requires understanding from both sides. The Grove cannot afford another war.”
The Golden Son nods slowly, but his expression is a mystery behind the mask. “No, it cannot. But you knew that months ago when I came to you in peace and offered you a solution. Not onlydid you refuse my generous offer to be your master, you attacked my men.”
“They attacked first. We were defending ourselves—”
“And to further insult me, you marry the Fae responsible for the deaths ofthousandsof human lives.” His hand grips his knee, the roped muscles of his forearms tightening, the only sign of his anger.
As his words hang in the air, I realize that this conversation will not be easy.
“I’m asking you to consider a different path,” I say, my voice steady despite the tension coiling in my chest. “A path that could spare countless lives, including those of your own men.”
“Where is your prince?” he asks, disregarding my plea. “My scouts say he was not amongst the Fae you arrived with.”
“That is not your concern,” I reply curtly, my heart thumping hard in my chest. “All I care about is—”
“Yes, yes.Your people.” He rises from his chair, and with a fluid flick of his wrist, he returns his sword to the sheath at his waist. He steps toward me, closing the distance between us. “You ask me for mercy, but what do I get in return?”
I hear his breaths beneath the mask as he looms over me, his gaze so intense that I struggle to meet his eyes. “What is it you want?”
A rumble escapes his throat. “I want to crush every Fae into dust beneath my boot. I want to feel the snap when I rip their wings from their backs with my bare hands. I want to burn their houses to the ground and then piss on their ashes with my human cock. Can you give me any of that… Amara?”
I gulp, his words leaving me speechless, and I fight to keep from trembling before him. I shake my head.
His eyes roam over me, lingering longer than they should have.
“Then you have nothing I want,” he mutters bitterly. “Get out.”
He turns his back on me, and my ire flares. “No. You cannot do this; my people—”
“You are the reason this is happening to your people!” he bellows, snapping back to me. “You refused to bend the knee, insisting on your precious neutrality. But there are no innocents in this war. Whether human or Fae, this is the way the world is. This is how we made it. It is them or us. There can be no in-between. Yet, despite your piousness, you sold yourself to those winged bastards instead of fighting alongside your people. Us. The Legion.Humans. Instead, you chose the Fae.” His fist clenches. “And what was the price paid, Amara, Jewel of the Tenders? How much gold and jewels were bartered for your… charms?”
My teeth grit, anger surging in my belly, rage clawing at my neck like a rabid beast. “How dare you? You knownothingof which you speak.”
“Fine. Let me tell you what I do know,PrincessAmara. I know that the Legion marches for The Grove at dawn, and I know the next time we meet, I will not be so gracious.” He leans in, his eyes narrowing. “Now leave while I still allow it.”
I don’t waste time arguing. I throw back the curtain of his tent and storm out into the makeshift stronghold. The stag drops onto its knees so I can mount its back, and once I grip the reins, it rises to its hooves. With a whisper from my mind, it breaks into a gallop, soldiers scrambling out of its path or risking being trampled.
At the perimeter, Arax waits for me, relief flooding his face when he sees me coming. His wings burst from his back, and he takes to the air to keep pace with me as I flee.
“Princess,” he asks, the wind whipping against us. “What happened?”
I hiss through gritted teeth as I urge the stag to run faster. “We go to war.”
Here in the moonlight, I’ve never felt like such a fool. My attempts to stop this conflict only led to the Golden Son spitting vile threats and reducing me to a stuttering girl pretending to be a leader. I’m not sure which is worse: returning with my tail between my legs or informing my friends, my people, the council, that I have failed and the Legion marches at dawn.
Solena paces the room we share, assuring me I did all I could, but her words offer little comfort when I know there was one more thing I could have done—followed her advice and killed the arrogant bastard when I had the chance.
I can’t stay here, consumed by these thoughts.
If war is coming, I must be as strong as I can be for the last stand.
I push myself off the bed, craving the cool air to clear my mind and pull myself out of this haze. My feet carry me through the village and into the woods, toward the clearing. The night is crisp, the breeze a welcome reprieve from the heat of anger and disappointment. When I reach the clearing, I sit in the soft grass, closing my eyes and allowing the world around me to fade away.
When I open them again, I am no longer in the clearing. The shrine of the Sisters of the Vine rises before me, its glowing runes casting an ethereal light across the ancient tree and its web of power. My sisters—Lira, Mirael, and Saren—are already gathered there, kneeling in silent prayer, their eyes closed as they commune with the Souls.
“We need the power,” I say urgently as I approach them.
