I shake my head and keep hold of Nash. “It’s okay,” I tell him, trying to hold us both together. Hot tears drip onto my cheeks, but they aren’t mine. They’re his.
The blood threads snap into alignment, and the gold sigil bearing down on Gwyneth shatters as the spell completes. The pull shifts, no longer outward, no longer loose, but focused, directed.
The Idols react too late. Their power tears free, driving into me all at once, forcing a cry from my throat as it floods through my body, too much, too fast, more than I can hold. It burns through every part of me, threatening to break me apart under the weight of it.
My grip tightens on Nash. “Now,” I gasp, forcing the word out through the pain. “Give in.”
The paint from the ceiling breaks free and swirls toward me, absorbing beneath my flesh, every beginning, every ending, every wound, every joy. It burns. My bones crack and reform.
The Idol reflecting a thousand sharp faces moves. Not toward me. Not toward Nash. Toward Gwyneth. Power gathers in his hand, a wicked grin gracing his lips. He drives forward, aimed straight for the center of the blood bound tight, for the one holding it together.
It is clean and direct, meant to end with a single strike. My gaze widens, and my hand reaches out. Charming doesn’thesitate as he steps in front of her with his blade raised, an extension of Excalibur answering the call to defend. The impact throws him back a step, the force of it driving through him as the power breaks against the sword and spills into his body instead.
He grunts, his knee hitting the marble, his free hand pressing against his side as blood seeps between his fingers. “Do it,” he forces out, lifting his head and meeting my gaze. “I’ve got her.”
Gwyneth’s panicked gaze wavers between us.I have my knights. Look after your prince.
Nash’s hands tighten on me. His head drops to my shoulder, his breath uneven as the power continues to tear through me. I clutch his head and hold him close. His fangs descend without warning or pause, sinking into my neck.
Pain flares, sharp and immediate, but it is nothing compared to what follows. The power inside me shifts, dragged toward him, pulled from my veins as he devours it. It does not flow cleanly. It fights, tearing through both of us as he forces it out of me and into himself.
My body weakens, and I feel him slow, getting ready to pull away, but he hasn’t taken nearly enough.
“Nash,” I breathe. My legs fail, and warmth seeps down my back from the wound. He holds me tighter. “Don’t stop.”
The pull grows stronger as the Idols’ power continues to pour into me with an unrelenting flow, even as he takes it. It burns through what remains, pushing past what he can siphon, pushing me closer to the edge.
My vision dims as he feeds, his grip the only thing keeping me standing as the life drains from me faster than he can save it.
Around us, Gwyneth chants, this time to release the power back to the realm where it has always belonged.
I’m dying. Not for the greater good, but for something greater. Him. And I would do it over and over again. There’s only one thing left, and he needs to take that too.
“That’s enough,” Theo snaps. “It’s done, brother.”
When did he change back?
I shake my head. It’s not enough to give them the construct; they need the freedom that comes from chaos. And that never resided with the Idols—it’s inside of me.
“You can’t stop,” I tell him. “Take it all, Nash. Free everyone. No more cages. This is my gift.”
Nash stills. I feel it before I see it. The shift in him is sharp, a line drawn between what he has taken and what remains. His mouth lifts from my neck, his breath ragged against my skin, his hands tightening on me as though he is holding me together by force alone.
“No,” he growls.
“You have to,” I say, forcing the words through a throat that feels like it’s closing. My hand finds his face, my thumb dragging across his cheek, catching the wet heat there. “It’s not done.”
“It is enough,” he snaps, his voice breaking. “I won’t take more.”
“You will.” I hold his gaze, forcing him to stay with me even though everything inside me dims. “Taking their power isn’t enough. You have to break the chains that bind it.”
His head shakes, his grip tightening, his body braced as if he can anchor me here by will alone. “I refuse to lose you.”
A small breath leaves me, something close to a laugh but without the strength to carry it. “You already chose me once,” I say, my voice softer now, steadier than I feel. “Now I choose you. Remember what brought me back to you.”
Understanding lands in his eyes. The knights rage around us. Behind him, Gwyneth’s voice rises, no longer holding the spell in place, but releasing it. The sound cuts through everything, clear and certain, carrying the power outward, away from us, into the realm that has been waiting for it.
The ceiling fractures, the painted stories tearing free as stone cracks and falls. The walls split, gold veins ripping loose and collapsing as the space shifts into something broken and unfinished. The structure that once held the Idols begins to fall, piece by piece, until it stands as something else entirely—the tower from my dream.
