“We’d never see each other again,” I argue, protests growing weaker.
Phillip smiles, dimples showing, and pushes his chair back. “C’mere,” he says, holding out his hand. The moment I place mine in his, he pulls me into a hug, arms so tight and strong. When did he get so much taller than me?
“After the wedding, we’ll be moving to Ella’s family’s holdings. With a sea between us, we’ll be just as likely to see each other as we will in different worlds. But if you go back, then we’ll both have our happiness. I’ll know you have a life you deserve rather than staying here an old spinster, growing bitter toward the world.”
The fear of being a spinster is a real one, but the thought of me ever becoming bitter is enough to get a watery chuckle out of me.
“Besides, would you really rather be here tending the sheep when you could bequeenin another realm?”
That gets more than a chuckle, and I swipe at the straggling tears.
“Well, when you put it that way, it does sound rather silly, doesn’t it?”
Phil laughs, hugging me tight again. “Of course it does. Because any sane person knows which to choose. If you decide to stay, I truly will think you’re fit for the asylum.”
More laughter. More tears. Lots more hugging. My baby brother is far from a baby now. He’s a man. Strong and capable. Even without me.
I couldn’t be prouder of him.
“I hope you and Ella have all the happiness and good fortune that life can bring,” I say, taking one last deep breath of his scent before releasing the hug.
“And you with your demon king, as well, dear sister,” he says, smiling.
For the first time in weeks, I feel lighter. Like I can breathe normally again. Making the decision to go back to the demon realm has lifted more from me than I realized I was carrying. Knowing I’m going back to Xandril gives me something to hope for again.
Now I just have to figure out how to get to him.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Xandril
Frost covers the reach once more.
It’s only been days—weeks? Time has no meaning—since Ingrid left, and already all the progress the reach made has reverted.
The heartbreak, failure, and betrayal are each enough on their own to destroy a man’s will, but all three together have left me empty. Numb. Lacking the patience to even entertain the concerns of my best friend, as well-meaning as they might be. Val can’t seem to land on encouraging me or shaming me, and neither have helped, so I sent him into the terraced hills to look into rumors of illegal mining on our side of the border.
It’s the type of mission I could have sent anyone on, but having an excuse to send Val far, far away was too appealing.
“Your Highness?” Morwen asks, stepping into the throne room like it’s a tomb.
It might as well be at this point.
“We have someone requesting audience?”
“Send them away,” I growl, content to wallow in the darkness of the throne tree’s bare canopy.
“Yes, Your Highness. Only… It’s Duke Calessevan? And he says he has information about your bride.”
I straighten in my seat, a spark of hope lighting in spite of myself.
What could he have to say about Ingrid that could make any difference? What information might he have that would be worth an audience?
I can think of nothing, but still, the draw of hearing something—anything—about Ingrid is irresistible. I must keep her memory alive in any way possible.
“Send him in,” I order.
Morwen bows, retreating from the room long enough to fetch my visitor.
