Our camp, a fragile sanctuary carved from the desolation of the Deadlands, sprawls at the mountain’s base. Make shift tents dot the rugged ground, fabric rustling in the cold breeze that sweeps down from the jagged peaks. Fires burn low, casting flickering shadows on the weary faces of those gathered. The air smells of smoke, blood, and earth—a stark reminder of the battle we just survived.
We aren’t planning to stay long. This is a pause, a temporary reprieve to give the injured time to recover, to allow their wounds to close enough that the journey ahead won’t tear them open again.
Around several large piers set up in the center of the camp, seelie and unseelie alike move with grim purpose. Old animosities are forgotten as they work side by side, dressing wounds, sharing supplies, and passing out bowls of food and water.
My eyes follow Maxon as he makes his way around the camp. He should be resting. His own body bears the marks of thebattle—deep cuts, bruises, and the exhaustion that I can feel through our bond. But rest isn’t in his nature, not when others still suffer. He moves through the camp, his steps slow but steady, checking on every soldier who fought to rescue him. Even in his weariness, there is strength in the way he carries himself, a quiet determination that seems to lift the spirits of those around him. The soldiers who meet his gaze straighten, even if they are barely able to stand.
“Hey, how are you holding up?” Zaria’s soft voice rings out next to me.
Turning, I wrap my arms around her. “I’m okay. How are you?”
Her arms tighten around me. “I’m okay.”
Pulling back, I see Raiden standing behind her. “I’m sorry, Batman. I didn’t–”
Raiden shakes his head. “Everly, you did what you had to. I understand, and if it was Zaria in there with her, I’d do the same, and you know it.”
I nod, tears lining my eyes again. “But I . . . ” my voice trails off. My emotions are too volatile. There is no excuse. I chose my friend over the safety of the realm. What kind of queen am I?
Nolan’s words echo in my head.You’re weak. We need someone who is cold and calculated and not emotional.
Zaria wraps her arm around me, and I rest my head on her shoulder.
‘You are everything I could want and more, Stóirín. Don’t you ever forget that. Your kind heart is what had me entranced from the start,’Maxon says in my mind, his love and unwavering support soothing my frayed edges.
“Everly, we are in this together. The Shadoweaver won’t stand a chance,” Zaria assures, with more conviction in her voice than I feel.
“So, the Shadoweaverisfree from the prison?” one of Raiden’s soldiers demands, his eyes landing on me.
I flinch, feeling the weight of his accusing gaze, and quickly step away from Zaria, nervously biting my thumbnail. I know the accusation is coming, but my stomach still plummets, a cold dread washing over me. Nymeria and Anika step between me and the gathering crowd. A silent reminder to them not to try anything. My eyes move over the soldiers, and I spot Kaden and the two luxaryn coming our way.
“She didn’t have a choice,” Fenris growls, appearing in front of me.
“Like hell she didn’t!” one soldier shouts.
The tension crackles, a tangible force threatening to snap. Raiden steps forward, his hand shooting up, his presence commanding immediate attention. “She is your queen, and she will be respected!” he bellows, his deep voice carrying over the unrest. The commanding edge in his tone silences the soldier’s protest, though resentment still flickers in their expressions.
I feel it before I see him—Maxon’s fury, a fiery torrent burning through the bond we share. He approaches with deliberate strides, his anger an almost physical force that presses against me. As he reaches my side, his voice cuts through the taut air.
“What’s done is done,” he declares firmly, his words clipped but resolute. “We will deal with the threat. Everly did what she had to do to save a friend. You can’t say you wouldn’t do the same if it was your sister, brother, or best friend in there.”
I swallow hard, my gaze sweeping over the soldiers who have gathered, their faces etched with fatigue, anger, and fear.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, my voice carrying the weight of my guilt.
Maxon’s hand finds mine, his grip firm, grounding me in the moment. His eyes scan the crowd, daring anyone to challenge him. “None of you were there.” His voice is low but commanding. “You have no idea what happened, so none of you can pass judgment.”
A flicker of movement catches my attention. Kian, Tristan, Fenris, Kaden, and Zaria—each of them battered and worn, their faces pale and drawn—step forward, forming a line of solidarity at our side. Their presence speaks volumes, a silent declaration that whatever happened, they stand with us. The soldiers shuffle uneasily, their anger faltering as their gazes dart between us. The unity in our stance seems to dim the embers of rebellion, though their unease still lingers in the charged air. I glance around the camp, my eyes scanning the crowd, but there’s no sign of Nero or Alivar. I haven’t seen them since we first set up camp. They didn’t look injured—tired, maybe, but not hurt.
Maxon’s voice rises, cutting through the quiet. “The Shadoweaver was never going to give up. Her power reached beyond her prison. She would have poisoned our minds in an effort to get free. She did it before, wiping out the druids. If we stand strong, stand together, the Shadoweaver won’t break us.”
Chapterseventy-three
Maxon
Slowly, I push into her, my movements deliberate and unhurried. This isn’t something to rush—I finally have her back in my arms, and I intend to savor every moment. Each thrust is measured and deeper than the last, a steady rhythm that binds us closer with every motion. My hands tighten, fingers tangling in the cascade of her silky golden hair, pulling gently to tilt her head back, exposing her neck.
I grit my teeth as she tightens around my cock, the feeling like the most intoxicating elixir, sending waves of pleasure coursing through me.
