I count them as they circle the palace like vultures around carrion. Six. Seven. Eight massive dragons.
Without hesitation, without mercy, they unleash fire on Buckingham Palace.
The flames are immense, roaring tongues of orange and red that leap from window to window with impossible speed. The fire spreads faster than any earthly blaze should, consuming centuries of history in minutes.
My lungs stutter. The destruction is alarming, but I have to remember that fey can portal. They can flee the inferno. This is merely encouragement for them to leave. Haste added to the decision to escape Earth before it is too late. A disaster to prevent them from doing something spiteful and vindictive before they leave.
The sound of the fire is overwhelming, the roar of flames, the crack of timber, the crash of falling masonry.
But then, underneath it all, cutting through the chaos like knives, there are screams. The sound slices through the night air, high and desperate. People trapped inside, people dying. Not everybody has been able to reach a portal.
I step forward instinctively. “People are trapped.”
Dyfri’s hand on my arm stops me cold. His grip is gentle but immovable, and when I look at his face, I see something that takes my breath away.
“The only ones trapped are those who have wronged me,” he says, his voice carrying absolute certainty and zero regret.
He looks utterly powerful and malevolent, like a force of darkness incarnated. The firelight dances across hisfeatures, casting shadows that make him look like some ancient god of vengeance.
And I think I have never been more in love with him.
The realisation should probably terrify me. I’m watching him orchestrate the burning of one of Britain’s most important buildings, listening to him condemn people to death with complete calm. By any reasonable measure, I should be horrified.
Instead, I’m awed. This is Dyfri unleashed, all his careful control and political manoeuvring stripped away to reveal the raw power underneath. This is what it looks like when someone finally stops hiding who they truly are.
And I’m in full agreement with his moral compass. Anyone who has hurt him deserves to die. Rapists don’t deserve to live.
Dyfri closes his eyes, and immediately the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
Magic. I can feel it building in the air around us, a pressure that makes my teeth ache and my vision blur at the edges. It has begun. Dyfri is weaving his part of the immense spell that will seal the portals forever.
I look around the dark, exposed park we’re standing in. The rain is coming down even harder now, turning the ground treacherous beneath our feet. We’re completely vulnerable here, silhouetted against the burning palace like perfect targets for any remaining MI5 snipers.
For a moment, panic flickers through me. Dyfri is so exposed right now, so focused on the spell that he couldn’t defend himself if someone attacked.
Then I shake my head, pushing the fear aside with an almost violent effort of will.
Dyfri isn’t vulnerable. He has me.
I’m here. Standing in the rain and the chaos and the madness, watching the world burn around us. To guard his back, to watch the shadows, to stand between him and anyone who might try to hurt him while he’s saving both our worlds.
The magic builds around us like a living thing, pressure and power and something that feels bigger than the storm raging overhead. I can feel it in my bones, in my teeth, in the very marrow of my existence. This is power beyond human comprehension, the kind of force that reshapes reality itself.
And in the middle of it all stands my husband, orchestrating the salvation of two worlds while rain streams down his face like tears.
I plant my feet in the muddy grass, spread my stance for better balance, and scan the darkness around us. Every shadow could hide a sniper. Every sound could be footsteps approaching. MI5 has already tried to kill us once tonight, and they probably know we’re here. They definitely know what we’re doing.
Let them come.
I think of Cai’s blood pooling on those mall tiles. I think of the betrayal, the calculated decision to side with our oppressors. I think of everyone we’re fighting to save, everyone depending on us to succeed.
My hands clench into fists at my sides. I may not have magic, may not understand the complex forces Dyfri is wielding, but I understand protection. I understand loyalty. I understand love.
Nothing and nobody is going to hurt him. Not while I have breath in my body. Not while my heart still beatsin my chest. Not while there’s strength left in my arms to fight.
The best I might be able to do is jump in front of a bullet. Take it for Dyfri. And that’s enough. It will save him and protect him and as long as that goal is achieved, I don’t care what it costs me.
The spell is building towards some climactic moment I can feel approaching like a freight train. The air itself seems to hold its breath, waiting for the moment when everything changes forever.
