Eiren turned her gaze toward him, delighted. “Ah, Stormcrowned,” she said silkily. “You gave her away, didn’t you? Promised her to a king who loved his games more than her light. Let her stand unarmed before a god-maddened blade.”
Her grin widened. “You held her hand from birth… and failed her at the end.”
Thauren didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Only tears streaked down his storm-bronze cheeks, unashamed and silent.
“And you,” Eiren purred to Alarik, “You kissed her mouth and swore you’d crown her. But your hunger for power led her to death’s arms instead.”
Alarik looked shattered.
Not broken but cleaved. His jaw clenched. His eyes were wet, wild. “What have you done to her?”
“I honored her,” Eiren said with mock grace. “I made her useful. She was too soft for your world. Too good. So I took her to mine.”
Elenwe stepped forward, her bow clinking softly against her back. Her gaze locked with Thauren’s, just for a flicker.
Nothing passed between them.
No recognition.
No love.
Only emptiness.
“She gave her life for the kingdoms who discarded her,” Eiren said coldly. “And now… she will take life in return.”
Maris couldn’t move. Her limbs leadened. Her fingers trembled on the hilt of her sword. This wasn’t just a display. This was cruelty orchestrated as art.
Eiren raised both arms like a conductor.
“Two dreams, butchered. One for love. One for peace. And both… forgotten. Until now.”
Astrielle moved to one side. Elenwe on the other. A nightmare mirror of what was lost.
Maris could the kings breaking beside her.
Kael was stone, but she could see the storm beneath the surface.
Alarik was rage barely contained by skin.
Thauren was grief incarnate.
And Eiren smiled like she’d already won.
Chapter sixty-nine
The Shape of Ruin
-Kael-
Kael didn't move, didn't give the goddess show her desired. He refused.
But he remembered them.
Astrielle.
