“Guards, release these two prisoners from their cells,” Hart calls out, making me grin.Yes, brother. This is exactly what we need.
One guard shuffles along the corridor. The rest of the prisoners are quiet, sensing the danger and wanting no part of it. He twists the key in each of their cells and backs up, but doesn’t retreat as his hand grazes the pommel of his sword. He’s ready to jump in should his new king become overwhelmed by these two criminals. Hart scowls but doesn’t bark at him for doing his job.
The guy Hart picked out is short but strong, built with muscle and power. He could overpower most females, and from his words, doesn’t hesitate to use that strength against them.
He bows to Hart as my target joins us with a quick glance at the guard blocking his escape route.
Hart remains relaxed, unthreatened, sure of his ability. As he should be.
“Are we free?” Hart’s guy checks.
Hart’s lip curls. “Sure.”
His shoulders relax, and he reaches to grasp Hart’s arm. “You’ll make a fine king.”
Hart moves so fast it’s a blur, breaking the criminal’s wrist with an audible snap. He screams in agony, and the larger guy freezes, realizing this is an execution, not the bid for freedom he was hoping for. He takes a step backward toward his cell, and I shake my head, a smile curling my lips. We can’t have that now, can we?
The guard expects my command and moves to slam the cell door closed, locking the guy in with me. I wiggle my fingers at him. “Are you going to beg like your pregnant wife? Or squeal like the cowardly pig you are?” I take a step toward him. Hart is in full destruction mode, playing with his kill much like the criminal played with a woman’s body that he had no right to.
“Neither, Prince Malachi,” he growls.
Good. It’s more fun if they fight back.
I lose myself in the red haze, my fists connecting with flesh, arcs of coppery blood spraying across the cell. The other prisoners shrink back into the shadows, the whites of their eyes glowing with their terror, while the guards keep watch without interfering. This isn’t a swift execution; it’s a slow destruction, a dismantling of every lie and hurt they’ve inflicted on others.
When the haze lifts, I find the men broken in pieces on the stone floor, my chest rising and falling as the vestiges of adrenaline fade from my veins. And for a perfect moment, the pain dissipates under the cloak of victory before the hollowness creeps back inside. But I’ll hold on to it and hope that one diurnal, I’ll wake up to find it will have expanded beyond a single moment to two, and then three. That’s how you beat grief. You can’t hurry it along or bully it into compliance.
Perhaps when it comes to losing Daphne Stone, all we will get is a moment.
Chapter Two
Nash
Eron’s face morphs from curiosity to devastation as Gwyneth recounts the fateful night we lost him, then her. My mind formulates plan after plan of how we can turn back the hands of time and defy the Idols, but nothing works.
Charming stands behind Gwyneth, a hand on her shoulder while she explains everything. The exhaustion is wearing her thin. We lost the woman we fell for, but she lost her entire family. When we had to return to our castle, it was not even a question that she would follow. Protecting Daphne’s sister is the least we can do after she sacrificed herself for us.
My gaze falls on the most hated sword in the realm.
Malachi can’t accept that he’s worthy of it, because he never imagined he would be the Stirling to wield Excalibur. But Daphne saw every facet of our light hidden in the shadows and brought them out for the realm to see.
The unique and special way she approached every diurnal can’t be replicated or replaced, meaning she has left a giant hole in our lives. None of us understands how to keep moving forward without the woman who couldn’t put one foot in front of the other without chaos and sweet destruction.
Her soul haunts me. At night, her ghost sits heavily on my chest, making it impossible to breathe. When the sun comes up, there is no warmth, no excitement for what the day might bring. I squeeze my eyes closed and sigh. By tomorrow, our kingdom will have a new ruler, and if we follow the narrative, he needs to look for a wife to produce the next line of Stirlings. I already know in my gut that Hart won’t do it. This story is going to die right alongside him, and at the rate he’s choosing violence to cope, that might come sooner than any of us are ready for.
People move around me. Hart returns, bloodied, mirrored by his twin. They retreat to their chambers to wash up for the night’s festivities while Gwyneth explains how her latest idea is a nonstarter. I nod along, while inside, the beast stirs in my chest, and my heart breaks all over again. When will this pass? I fist my hands and drag in another breath. Each one hurts more than the last.
The genie swirls into the room. Gone are his elaborate displays used to make Daphne smile. He, like everyone she touched, is missing something vital.
“Is the coronation tonight?” he checks.
I nod.
“Then you have everything you need.”
I glare at him. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about. You converse in riddles and cut off your sentences. And I haveeverything I need for what?” He’s been doing this for weeks—checking in, nudging, and sending us down rabbit holes of information that lead us nowhere.
“What you desire. A wish.”
