And I am torn between dropping to my knees before her, worshipping her, and closing her in my arms, suffocating her with kisses.
Then reality gets me in its chokehold.
There are no more kisses for us.
No future.
I have to kill her.
I take a hesitant step toward her, as she does toward me, two lost souls trapped by the insidious threads of Seuta, light, and shadow dancing in the final moments of this world.
There’s something oddly different about her, more visible now when we’re closer. I refuse to accept the truth, though her perfect skin, her eyes glowing with immortal radiance, and her hair flowing in thick curls beneath her waist speak volumes.
Her wild, blinding magic, draping around her makes me pause.
The shrieks in the crowd and the clanking of weapons confirm my dreadful suspicion.
This is no human standing before me.
It is when she summons her Sunblade that I know it with certainty.
Talysse is one of them.
The archenemies we hunted into extinction. Those who refused to lay their weapons at our feet, prolonging the bloodbath of the war and triggering the Hex.
A Seelie.
And Seuta makes it worse—her ragged doublet and shirt display her neck and collarbone—the place where her burn scar once was. There, carved into her skin by the Elders, is her Ancestral Mark.
My knuckles turn white, and the Shadowblade slides into my palm.
“Stand back,” I snarl to the knights who are closing their circle around us.
“Prince Aeidas,” she says, and Atos take me, her smile makes my pulse quicken and my cock stir, “it’s good to see you alive and well.”
Even her voice sounds different now.
I open my mouth, my brain unable to produce a fitting response, when an agonizing howl makes me whip my head toward the audience. This was my mother’s voice. Our eyes meet briefly when a spear bursts from her chest, coloring the white gown she’s wearing deep crimson. Next to her, my father’s headless corpse slowly buckles its knees and collapses.
If Talysse—if that Seelie has something to do with this, I swear—
Death comes like a hurricane from the night sky, furious, unbidden, and unexpected. As if the cruel, cold stars shower us with blades, taking my people down one by one.
A legion of Seelie storms into the amphitheater, led by—
I raise my Shadowblade to skewer the damned traitor. When did this bastard sprout wings?
Do all the humans turn Seelie now?
Galeoth—fast and brutal, deals death among my court. He’s wearing golden armor, and his powerful white wings carry him with an unfathomable speed. He’s barking orders to his soldiers, who sow death among our ranks.
Unseelie blood splashes the ancient mosaics; pleas and shrieks echo through the woods.
I shout commands to the remaining soldiers, regrouping them. Transforming my blade into a spear, I manage to take many of them down. But more and more sweep in from the collapsed roof, death reincarnated as warriors with swift white wings.
The air is thick with the metallic scent of blood. I surrender to the battle fury and lose sight of Talysse, in the eye of the storm, unharmed by the Seelie. Of course, they won’t harm her; they’re her people. Her eyes are wide, her Sunblade up. She seems as confused as I was just a minute ago.
Galeoth’s voice slices the cries and the hollering:
