Hyram groaned behind him, but that was the last sound he would ever make. Rooke stepped up, took his head between his hands, and twisted with such ferocity that when Hyram’s body fell to the ground, his features faced backwards. He deserved no last words, no grandiose death.
For a moment, everything went still.
The mists lingered. The manor stood silent. Rooke remained.
The worst kind of confirmation that Hyram had been telling the truth.
Corabeth stood, numb to it all. Rooke’s chest heaved as he towered over Hyram’s body. Like perhaps there was a possibility that he was not deadenough.
She walked over to Rooke and took his hand. “Come,” she said, pulling him towards the manor.
“No!” Rooke cried out, raging against the stars, eyes on the unmoving Hyram. Like he could still somehow bargain with him.
Corabeth pressed her warm lips against the back of Rooke’s hand, and at this, he finally looked at her. Tears streaked his face as his wild eyes searched hers, and then dimmed. He relented, allowing Corabeth to pull him through the quiet garden.
Not even a raven called.
When they came upon the wide snow-covered stone staircase that led to the house, Corabeth simply slumped, sitting on the steps. Her hand slipped from Rooke’s grasp as he remained standing, still refusing to bend to the fates.
“I’m the last remaining Fabel,” she said, feeling detached from it all. “The plan doesn’t change. You kill me. You end this.”
“No!” Rooke argued once more. He fell to his knees before Corabeth, taking her hands into his. Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed his forehead against hers.
“One last strike, my weapon,” Corabeth whispered, “Then—no more.”
Hot tears tumbled down her cheeks, their trails cooling quickly in the bitter cold.
"I came here to die, after all," she said and almost laughed. On that night, she had begged for death. Now, when all she wanted was to live alongside Rooke, she would get it.
“I will not kill you,” Rooke answered, shaking his head.
“If you can’t do it, I’ll do it myself,” she said, but Rooke’s grip on her hands only tightened.
“No, Corabeth, we stay,” Rooke said and opened his eyes. “For each other, we stay.”
Corabeth pulled back slightly, brows furrowed. “I can’t ask that of you. I won’t.”
“You’re not. I’m asking you. For the first time in an age, I have something to live for, and I will not give it up. I love you, Corabeth, with the entirety of my cursed soul. With such fierceness, it has already carved your name into my bones. Without you, I will not find peace even in death,” Rooke said, any signs of doubt evaporating. A million emotions swam in his eyes, but hesitation was not one of them.
“But you suffer,” Corabeth said, her voice breaking. She lifted a hand to Rooke’s cheek and cupped it gently, drying his tears with her thumb.
“Not when I’m with you,” he said and leaned into her touch. “Never with you.”
For a long while, neither of them spoke. They simply stared into each other’s eyes. Corabeth hoped, feared, that Rooke might take it all back. For him, she hoped. For herself, she feared. He deserved to be free of this curse, to finally rest, but she did not want to die. Not when they’d barely had a taste of their happiness.
“You want to stay like this?” she finally asked. “Truly?”
“Yes,” Rooke replied, barely letting her finish.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Corabeth,” Rooke assured. “If anything, it is I who would be asking too much of you. I cannot leave here. We’d have to stay.”
Corabeth sniffled as light laughter bubbled out of her despite everything. “Oh no,” she said, words dripping with sarcasm, “Life in a mansion. However will I cope with that?”
Rooke grinned through his own tears. “Others cannot find this place. You will be cut off from the rest of the world.”
“If you’re trying to give me reasons to leave,” Corabeth said, “you’re doing a terrible job. I tried living in the outside world. Look how that turned out.”
