Now it would only make her prey.
Rune clenched his jaw, a low snarl curling in his chest.
Only the foolish would dare, but fools were plentiful in his court. Even if they did recognize her Primordial bloodline and accepted her as queen, whispers would spread through the court the moment they noticed the Gate fully opened.
A king with something to lose was the most dangerous thing of all.
The shadows in the room had quieted, sensing the shift in him. Rune leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, the note still clenched in his fist. His eyes dropped to the false god mark now back in place.
He was not like the others.
Not like Jökull, who had given his immortality to Sunnëva. Not like the old gods of the High Heavens, who bestowed eternity with a whispered vow.
Rune had no such gift to give.
Whether by age or wound, Alora coulddie again.
His lips parted with a shallow breath escaping at the horrid memory of holding her lifeless body. Trepidation now settled in his chest like a stone. He could protect her from enemies. He could command the night to tear the stars from the sky if they threatened her.
But time? Time was crueler than fate.
The note caught fire beneath his fist, crumbling to ash.
Alora had chosen him. Loved him for what he was.
And now, he would be asked to prove he was worthy of it. But Rune knew he wasn’t. All his existence he’d fed on his ownselfishness, demolishing, conquering. Whenever he wanted, he found a way to have it.
He could give her kingdoms, wealth, even the world.
But not forever.
Rune’s heart—the damned thing—pulsated painfully in his chest.
He could take her now and steal her away into the Netherworld where eternity resided. Lock the doors of that Realm and never let her feel death.
But she wouldhatehim for it. Because Argyle still needed her. She would never leave the Mortal Realm to suffer Vorak’s coming alone.
Inhaling a sharp breath, he summoned the Veil’s Eye, revealing the Gate chamber. The glyphs within the frame blazed red, but to his surprise, the center did not.
The Netherworld Gate was awake, yet the portal remained closed.
Before he could question it, a pale glow flickered beyond the balcony. Rune already knew who it was before he stepped through the doors of the terrace, the chill of morning brushing against his hair. And there she was, leaning against the stone rail, hair aglow with sunlight.
Sunnëva.
The golden light of dawn brushed over him and he stilled, realizing it didn’t burn him.
Another gift of his bride, though he sensed that was temporary.
Rune heaved a heavy breath and joined Sunnëva at balustrade, looking out at the horizon. The fog had drawn in, veiling Argyle out of sight below.
“Why are you here?” he demanded.
“Good morrow, Sunnëva, could you spare me some insight into my mountain of dilemmas, please?” she sighed dramatically.
He dragged a hand down his face with a groan. “Why must you continue to appear when I am dreading what comes next?”
She smiled, eyes still on the horizon. “Perhaps because I want to make sure you don’t fail.”
