“Are you on drugs? Do you even hear yourself?”
“You’ll see soon enough.”
I was too exhausted to even try and unravel whatever nonsense riddle they were spitting my way.
The Heartspire rose before us like a cancer made of diamonds and light, and my first thought was that someone had fucked up spectacularly in the architecture department. It should have been beautiful—a palace of living glass that caught and refracted sunlight into rainbow cascades that danced across every surface. Instead, it hurt to look at, its perfection somehow wrong, like a smile with too many teeth or a laugh that goes on too long. Every angle was precise but felt off, like someone had built it accordingto mathematics that didn’t quite match reality.
The rot was worse here, so much worse. The gardens that should have been paradise were nightmares of decay, flowers blooming and dying in accelerated cycles—bud to bloom to empty husk in seconds. Trees growing and withering in moments, their entire lifecycle compressed into seconds. The fountains ran with something that wasn’t quite water—too thick, too dark, with an oily sheen that made my stomach turn.
The very air felt sick, heavy with the scent of corrupted magic that made my marks burn like someone had traced them with acid.
“The Crown Prince’s work,” the rider said, noting my horror with what might have been satisfaction. “He’s been trying to force the realm to accept him for years. This is the result—a kingdom dying from the inside out because its would-be ruler carved false marks into his skin. Because he couldn’t accept rejection. Because he had to have what wasn’t his.”
“Kaelren didn’t cause this.” The defense came automatically, even though I wasn’t entirely sure it was true.
“No? Look closer.”
And I did, though I wished I hadn’t. The patterns in the rot, the way it spread in veins and fractals—it matched the corruption I’d seen in Kaelren’s marks. But reversed, somehow. Like a photo negative. Like an echo bouncing back wrong. Like—
“A rejection,” I breathed, understanding hitting like cold water. “The realm is rejecting him.”
“The realm is rejecting both of you. But Auradelle believes he can change that. Fix you. Use you. Shape you into what the realm needs rather than what you are.”
We passed through gates that opened without touch, into a courtyard where fountains ran aqua-blue water. Guards in thorned armor watched us pass, their faces hidden behind mirrors that reflected nothing—not us, not the world, just empty silver that suggested voids where people should be.
The throne room was worse than the gardens, worse than my worst expectations. Beautiful and terrible in equal measure, every surface reflecting and refracting light until reality became a kaleidoscope of possibility.Standing there was like being inside a prism, broken into component parts and scattered. My reflection appeared on every surface, but each one was different—some younger, some older, some corrupted like Kaelren, some glowing with power I didn’t possess. Yet.
And there, at its heart, stood Auradelle.
He looked exactly as I remembered from our first encounter—that sharp, cold beauty that made you want to look away and stare at the same time. His platinum hair caught the fractured light, and his winter honey eyes held that same frozen core I’d noticed before. But something was different now. He seemed more tired, more desperate, though he hid it well behind that practiced royal composure.
His robes had changed—they seemed to shift between white and gold, more elaborate than when I’d first met him. Like he was trying harder to project power, to convince himself as much as anyone else that he was in control.
And his smile—his smile was the worst thing about him. Warm and welcoming and absolutely sincere, like he was genuinely delighted to see me. Like we were old friends reuniting after too long apart.
“Miss Hawthorne,” he said, and my name in his mouth sounded like a prayer and a curse all at once. “Welcome back. I’ve been waiting for this moment since you slipped through my fingers.”
The Hunt released me, and I stumbled, catching myself before I could fall because I’d be damned if I was going to collapse at this asshole’s feet. The restraints on my wrists dissolved, but I could still feel their echo, burning under my skin like phantom pain.
“Usually people just send a nice invitation.” I managed, proud that my voice didn’t shake. “Not supernatural bounty hunters. But then again, you’ve never been one for normal social conventions.”
His laugh was genuine, delighted, which somehow made it worse. “Still that wonderful defiance. Even better than when we first met. That fire—you’re so much like her.”
“Like who?”
“Your grandmother, of course. Josephine.” He stepped closer, and I sawhis gaze catch on my throat. “And wearing Jo’s locket. How wonderfully sentimental.”
Everything in me went cold, then hot, then cold again. “You know about Jo?”
“Know about her?” His smile widened, showing teeth that were just slightly too white, too perfect. “My dear child, I knew her personally. Before she fled to Earth. Before she abandoned the realm that needed her.”
He reached out as if to touch the locket, and I jerked back hard enough to stumble. My back hit one of the mirrors, and I hit my head hard enough to see stars.
“Stay away from me.”
“You’re lying,” I said, but my voice shook. “My grandmother would never—she wouldn’t have—”
“Wouldn’t have what? Fallen in love with a prince? Borne his child?” Auradelle tilted his head. “She was human once too, before the marks changed her. Before she became something more.”
