But still?—
His jaw tightened.
He’d keep an eye on her.
Not because he cared.
Because the power she held, the force she had unleashed to kill Xyliria. He couldn’t afford it becoming Varyth’s. That was all.
He rose, couldn’t stay still. Couldn’tbreathein that fucking room anymore. The balcony doors groaned open. He stepped into the night barefoot, the cold stone biting into his soles.
His shadows followed silently, coiling around his ankles like they, too, didn’t know where to go now.
The wind hit him in the chest. He braced both hands on the railing, staring out across the sprawl of his court—homes, taverns, places where life continued—the illusion of peace. It all looked smaller now. Everything did.
He tilted his head back. The stars stretched endlessly above him. They used to feel like his. Now they just felt far away.
The breeze lifted, caught in his hair. For a heartbeat, he thought it carried her scent.
But no. Just night and ash and distant storms. Familiar. Lonely.
Ashterion sighed, rubbing a hand across his face.
He didn’t know what the fuck to do next.
EPILOGUE
MERRICK
Merrick stood at the edge of the throne room as four guards hoisted Xyliria’s corpse onto their shoulders. Dead weight. Nothing more.
The bitch was finally gone.
Her head lolled at an unnatural angle, inky hair matted with crimson, those perfect features slack with death. For four centuries, that face had haunted his nightmares—not because of its beauty, but because of what lived behind it. The cruelty. The calculated malice. The way she smiled when she made people bleed.
Now she looked like what she’d always been—nothing.
“Careful with the body,” Elowyn called out, though her tone held no reverence. “Ashterion wants it burned beyond the borders. Don’t let any of the ash drift back onto Nyxarian soil.”
The guards nodded and began their procession out of the throne room. Merrick watched them go, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached.
Good fucking riddance.
Elowyn moved to stand beside him, her usually pristine appearance was dishevelled, silver chains tangled, amethyst eyes dark with exhaustion.
“Well,” she said, voice flat. “That’s done.”
Merrick said nothing. The relief hadn’t hit yet—wouldn’t for a while, probably. Four centuries of rage didn’t just vanish because the object of it was finally dead.
Elowyn turned to face him fully, studying his expression with that shrewdness she wielded like a scalpel. “Free or not,” she said quietly, “he’s not okay.”
Merrick’s jaw tightened. He’d watched Ashterion retreat into himself after the female had vanished, had seen the way his brother stood in the wreckage like he didn’t know what to do with his own hands. The power radiating from him had been terrifying—not because it was violent, but because it waslost.
“No,” Merrick said finally. “He’s not.”
“How long do you think it will take him to remember who he used to be?”
“Assuming he wants to remember at all.” Merrick scrubbed a hand through his dark hair, leaving the strands dishevelled. The lightning beneath his skin crackled restlessly, responding to his agitation.
