Instinct takes over. I raise my hand, summoning a gust of wind with a sharp flick of my wrist. The arrow veers off course, spinning harmlessly to the ground. The archer stumbles, caught off balance by the force of the wind.
Another arrow slices through the air, this time aimed directly at Alivar. Without thinking, I sweep my arm sideways, sending a blast of wind that shatters the arrow mid-flight.
The crowd runs to the castle for cover, guards and soldiers swarming the gardens.
A familiar voice shouts out from behind us, full of panic. Quickly, I turn to see Gideon being ripped from Malick’s side, and roughly shoved to the ground by a rebel.
“Gideon!” the cry tears from my throat before I realize I’m moving. Adrenaline surges through my veins as I dash down the stairs of the dais.
“Everly!” Raiden’s voice booms, but I don’t stop.
The ground trembles under my feet as I run, sending a column of earth spiraling skyward, crashing into the rebel who stands towering over Gideon. The impact sends him flying, his body crumpling against the nearest tree with a sickening thud. Malick is holding his own against the other rebel, his movements sharp and precise. For a moment, I think he has the upper hand—until I catch the glint of a dagger slipping from the rebel’s sleeve, aimed low and fast.
Fury sears through my veins like wildfire.
I thrust my hand forward, drawing from the earth beneath me. A column of dirt erupts from the ground, slamming between Malick and his attacker with a thunderous crack. Before the rebel can recover, I summon a gust of wind that howls like a living thing, sweeping him off his feet and hurling him backward.
I reach Gideon, dropping to my knees beside him. “Are you hurt?”
He shakes his head, dazed but uninjured. Malick is already there, pulling him to his feet and shielding him with his broad frame.
“We need to move,” Raiden growls.
The sound of soldiers fighting with rebels snaps me back to the present. “Get him inside,” I tell Malick, my voice steadier than I feel.
Raiden inclines his head, his eyes swirling pools of silver. “I’ll cover you. Go with them.” His jaw is set, his blade already in hand
“Nope,” the word escapes my lips before I even think about it. I push past him, his surprised look barely registering.
The air seems to thicken, and then the red haze descends. It's like stepping into a storm; the sharp edge of fear fades, replaced by the roaring heat of my own magic. Rational thought vanishes, swept away like leaves in a gale.
The magic from before rises swiftly, and this time I don't hold it back. My hands lift in front of me, trembling, not with fear but with power. The sensation swells—hot, vibrant, alive. Magic flows outward, unrestrained, like a dam finally broken. The earth responds to my call, and the vines surge forth.
They snake across the ground with impossible speed, weaving past our soldiers and lashing toward the rebels. The scent ofdisturbed soil fills the air, sharp and earthy as the vines break free from the garden’s edge.
Thick as pythons, they wrap around legs and arms, yanking the rebels off their feet. Their bodies hit the hard-packed earth with dull, bone-jarring thuds. A few manage shouts of warning, but it's too late—the vines are ruthless.
I curl my fingers inward, and the vines obey, tightening their grip. High-pitched cries of panic mingle with angry roars. The rebels thrash, clawing at the tendrils that hold them, but the more they fight, the tighter the vines constrict.
With a flick of my wrist, I command them to drag their captives toward the outer wall of the garden. The vines pin them there, pressing them into place like insects trapped in a spider’s web. The vines pulse beneath my control, waiting for my next command.
Raiden’s voice cuts through the noise. “What the hell?”
I turn to him, my breath heaving, the heat of the magic still burning in my veins.
Behind him, the remaining soldiers glance at me with wide eyes, their weapons slack in their hands.
Chapter forty-seven
Everly
“Your Majesty, maybe you should retire for the day.” Lutin’s voice is low but insistent as his footsteps quicken to keep pace with me.
I don’t respond, my gaze fixed on the doors to the great hall. I reach them first and push through with a single-minded purpose.
Inside, Raiden has arranged over two dozen fae rebels in two rows, their hands bound behind their backs, their heads bowed, forced to kneel on the cold marble floor before the throne. A murmur runs through the room as I enter, though it dies as quickly as it began.
Nolan sees me and rushes over, his face taut with concern. “Your Majesty, this is no place–”
