“You don’t frighten me anymore,” I declare.
A jolt of energy surges through me. The temple trembles, and dust rains down from the vaulted ceiling. I lift my chin, turn, and sit. The icy surface meets my thighs. I stare defiantly into the shadows swirling around me. Let them come. I am ready.
A cry of triumph echoes through the chamber. Drayven breaks free from his thorny prison, Demaya’s blade clattering to the ground beside him. I hear it all.
Whatever spell had been cast over this chamber is released.
Time seems to slow as Drayven runs to me, eyes locking with mine. His expression is a storm of emotions—determination,relief, fury, and something else—pride—as he falls to his knees at the foot of the dais.
“Flori,” he chokes out. “I’m sorry.”
I raise my brow.
“About everything,” he elaborates. “I should have told you from the start. Should have trusted we’d get through this together.”
“Yes, you should have.”
“You saved yourself.” His smile is sweet, yet sad. Lost. “You didn’t need me.”
I’ve never seen him so unsure of himself. It occurs to me that I’ve felt so sure of myself, so needed, all these years because of my special blood. Even before that, I was provided for and treated with care as a young girl because I might one day grow into a fertile woman. For an orphan boy with nothing to offer but his love, he sacrificed even that to keep me safe.
Well, he thought he did.
He thought becoming Kasaros’s Huntsman would ruin my opinion of him forever.
I let him sweat for a moment. Let him think I don’t need him or that I’m angry. I am. But not at him. Sort of. Well, yes, I’m angry he kept his presence a secret from me all these years. But no, I blame our stupid world for the danger I was just in. I blame the God whose throne I sit on. Kasaros doesn’t care who claims me and becomes king. He only cares if he loses this wager between us.
But I don’t see this as a loss. The game isn’t over—not yet.
Chapter 20
Florienne
The throne remembers every queen who sat upon it, and waits for the one who will break it.”
—PROPHECY OF THE IRON KINGDOMS
Ipart my torn shirt, revealing the golden tattoo on my chest. The rosebud remains closed.
Drayven’s eyes widen as he takes in the marking. His breath catches, and hope blooms across his features. I savor the moment, drinking in his vulnerability and devotion. He only shows this side of himself to me. It feels even more precious because I know it won’t last.
“Yes,” I say. “You should have trusted me. You should have told me you lived, but I understand why you didn’t.”
His brows twitch together. “You do?”
“It can’t be easy loving me, knowing what I’m destined to become. But you never left me.”
“No.” His eyes flash. “Never.”
“And I didn’t save myself.” My bravado wavers. Tears sting my eyes. “You’re a fool to think that.”
He steps up the dais, but I plant my foot on his chest, halting his ascent.
“I don’t need a king who speaks for me,” I declare. “Nor do I need one who waits for me to speak first.” Softer, my voice almost trembling. “I just need you, Dray. I need you and me together, no matter our adventures.”
His eyes darken, hunger igniting within them.
“I know,” he growls, peeling off his blood-soaked jacket. Seeing his scarred, muscular torso sends a bolt of heat through me. I saw greed and selfishness when faced with the Baron’s summoning scars. But with Drayven, I see everything he’s too afraid to admit. My skin grows tight and prickly. My fingers flex on the armrests, eager to touch him.
