“I guess Pharis was willing to die for her too,” she said, “like you were. He literally gave his life—after collecting every power he could to save her.”
But had he saved her?
I looked up toward the sky where Raewyn had vanished. She was literally in the grasp of a dragon, the wildest creature that existed in all the realm.
If my brother had perished in the fire, he was no longer in control of the beast.
Who knew how far it might take her and what it would do to her when it landed? That was if it even took her to the ground. It might just tire of carrying her and drop her on a whim mid-flight.
Raewyn.I had lost her.
Mareth dropped to her knees as well, throwing her arms around me and pressing her face to my chest, weeping over our losses.
It felt as though the dragon’s sharp talons had pierced my chest, ripping my heart free and dropping it from a great height.
Wrapping my arms around my sister’s shaking shoulders, I let my own tears fall.
When we’d both cried ourselves dry, Mareth got to her feet and snuck a wincing glance over at Father’s body, which was no more than a gold-capped skeleton now.
Amid the rubble of the viewing platform and scattered about the arena, there were other remains. Which of them belonged to Pharis?
I stood, my eyes scanning the devastation for another melted crown, half hoping to see one, half hoping not to.
Surely if he’d lived through the bedlam, he’d be standing here with us?
Though we had not parted on good terms, I still grieved for my brother. For the close, loyal relationship we had once shared.
Mareth’s swollen eyes came back to meet mine.
“Stells… you’re King now,” she said.
With a jolt, I realized she was right. No more infinite stalling or interference from Father.
No threat of displacement from Pharis.
No one controlling my every move. I was now my own man.
I was the undisputed King of Avrandar and the Sixlands.
And I couldn’t have been more unhappy.
Chapter31
Duty
King Stellon
Sitting on the coral throne, I looked over the collection of expensive fabrics and flower varieties and elaborately prepared food dishes displayed before me in the throne room.
I had no interest in any of it.
“Your Majesty,” the royal event planner appealed, “I need your approval before I can order the seamstresses to begin sewing or tell the chefs to begin gathering the necessary ingredients to entertain such a large crowd.”
“It’s all fine,” I said, with a lazy sweep of my hand to dismiss her.
“But Your Majesty,” she protested. “Do you have no opinion at all? It’s your coronation ball.”
My personal guard herded the woman and her assistants out of the room, leaving me with just my top advisors.
