Karse tilted his head. "This is allveryfascinating, but I’d like to get to the part where I burn you to cinders."
"A pity." Malus's attention never left Briar, who pressed herself harder against the wall, unable to look away from his calculating gaze. "We'll continue this another time, yourmajesty. When there are fewer interruptions."
Karse scoffed. "Don’t count on it. I'm very persistent. Also violent. Persistently violent."
The sound of armored footsteps echoed from multiple corridors—Star Court reinforcements finally responding to the breach. Malus glanced toward the sound with mild irritation.
"How tedious." He stepped back into his circle of Withered. "Until next time then. Do try to keep her intact—" his eyes found Briar again, "—I'd hate for my brother's secret to be damaged before I can properly examine it."
Without another word he melted into shadow, his remaining Withered dissolving into darkness and dead leaves left to scatter on a wind that shouldn't exist. The onlyevidence of their presence was the destroyed gate, the wounded guards, and the lingering smell of decay.
The Star Court guards burst into the courtyard just as the last shadow faded, finding only the aftermath of violence and five exhausted defenders standing among the wreckage.
Chapter seven
They moved with practiced efficiency, some securing the perimeter while others tended to the wounded. Their captain, a severe-looking fae with bark-textured skin, surveyed the destruction—the shattered gates, the withered vegetation, the golden vines still twitching with residual magic.
"My lord," he addressed Arion, though his eyes kept returning to Briar. "The wards are compromised. We need to—"
"Secure the grounds, tend the wounded," Arion said curtly. "We'll discuss the breach later."
Briar stood frozen against the wall, watching the organized chaos unfold. Her mind felt fractured, unable to process what had just happened. Malus had come for her. Had called her Eliam's queen in front of everyone. Had spoken of taking her apart to find what was hidden inside her. The warmth in her chest pulsed erratically, still agitated from the threat, from the violence, from the way everyone had fought over her like she was a prize to be won.
Arion crossed the courtyard to her, concern etched across his features. His light magic still flickered faintly around his hands, and she could see exhaustion in the way he moved. He'd fought for her. They all had.
"Briar," he said softly, already moving toward her. His hands went to her arms first, fingers gentle as they traced where her sleeve had crumbled to dust, checking the exposed skin. Finding no wounds there, his hands moved to her shoulders, then carefully tilted her head to examine her neck.
She stood frozen, letting him inspect her like she was made of glass. His touch was careful, clinical almost, but she could feel the tremor in his fingers. The concern in every movement. When his hands finally came up to cup her face, turning it gently to check for injuries, something twisted in her chest. She didn't deserve this tenderness, not after what she'd done, not after the chaos she'd brought to his court.
"Are you hurt?" His thumbs brushed across her cheekbones, and she had to close her eyes against the gentleness of it.
She shook her head, not trusting her voice. Frederick shifted against her neck, hidden beneath her hair, a small cool comfort against skin that felt too hot under Arion's careful attention.
"Malus says things," Arion finally said, his voice carefully neutral. "Twists words to hurt. To manipulate."
She opened her eyes to find him watching her with something desperate in his expression. He was giving her an out. A way to dismiss what Malus had said as lies, as cruelty designed to cause chaos. Part of her wanted to take it, to let him believe whatever story would make this easier.
"When he said—" Arion stopped, swallowed, started again. "The things he claimed about you and Eliam. About you being..." The word wouldn't come. He couldn't say it.
"His queen?" she finished quietly.
Pain, or maybe disappointment, flickered across Arion's face. As if by saying it aloud she'd made real what he'd been hoping would remain unspoken.
"Eliam was going to name me his consort," she continued, the words scraping her throat raw. "Before. Before everything fell apart."
Arion's expression shifted through several emotions. First surprise, followed by confusion, then something that looked like pity. "Briar… it's alright. You don't have to feel ashamed. You were trapped, doing what you had to in order to survive. Agreeing to whatever he wanted—"
"Stop." The word came out sharper than she intended. She pulled away and watched as his arms sank slowly to his sides. "Just, please, stop."
"I'm only saying you don't have to—"
"You're wrong." Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms. The warmth in her chest flared. "You think it was about survival but… I wanted to stay. I wasgoingto stay."
The silence that followed felt suffocating. Arion stared at her, clearly struggling to reconcile this with whatever image he'd built of her—the trapped human, the victim needing rescue.
"I chose him," she said, her voice rising despite the shake in it. "Not because I had to. Not because I was afraid. I wanted to be his queen. I wanted—" For a moment she couldn’t breathe let alone speak. She had spent days running, hoping, and it wasn’t until she had to speak the words out loud that she realized just how foolish she had truly been. Eliam had only ever been honest with her, told her that it wasn’t about love. She was the one who had chosen to believe otherwise. "In the end he threw me away, cast me out like I was nothing… like none of it mattered."
"Briar—" Arion reached for her again.
