“I was going to say you were something else.” His lips press into a grimace. “I’m sorry. I acted recklessly.” He peels his shirt off and hands itto me.
I pull it over my head, thankful that it falls to my mid-thighs. I wave the apology away. It doesn’t feel deserved. Not after I just lied to him about why he’s alive. Not after I might have just thrown our future away by promising a favor to the Goddess of Hell.
“We need to get back to the battle,” I say as I rise.
He pushes himself to standing and tries his best to brush mud and dirt from his pants, but it barely makes a difference. “What was going on when you left?”
“I killed Cora.”
He turns his head to me. “You did what?”
I fight to contain the smile. It’s a sick and twisted joy that comes from killing another person, but she wasn’t even a person. People have have hearts, souls, a conscious. Well, I guess technically she had a heart.
Asmo nods appreciatively. “Alright, then. That’s a conversation for later. What else?”
“When I left, everyone was still fighting the witches and the Cursed.”
“Let’s go then. We have a kingdom to secure.”
We walk back in silence, hands clasped, both of us on high alert for any sign of witches or Cursed, or anything else Cora managed to drag up with her from below. But there is nothing. Nothing crafted from dark magic, at least.
Deer have begun to venture through the trees once more. A rabbit hops past us. The rain has stopped and the clouds have begun to disperse.
I don’t hear any screaming, which means the battle has either been won…or lost.
Back at the battleground, Barrett and August stand before a group of witches. They sit on the ground, hands bound behind by their backs, hissing and spitting at the two High Princes. On the other side of the field, Elle and Basil help wounded hybrids walk to an area filled with makeshift cots. Healers tend to stab wounds, burns, and the like. I smilewhen I see Brynn, the healer who helped my cambion burn, among them.
Witches lie bloodied and limp on the floor, their heads burned or missing altogether. Hybrids and Fae drag them into a pile. Ivan has begun creating a separate area for fallen hybrids, resting their bodies with care side by side.
Once, I kissed August on this field. I watched young hybrids chase each other as their parents smiled at them. I met my mate here.
Now, it’s a graveyard.
“We need to get those witches into the dungeons,” Asmo says, pulling me from the memories of my coronation day.
Throw the witches into the dungeons, dispose of the dead ones, hold funerals for the deceased hybrids, heal the wounded, figure out what the hell is going on with Marik, save the world, redeem a favor for the Goddess of Hell?—
Asmo steps in front of me and tilts my face upward. “Hey,” he says softly.
I blink and focus on him, shoving my racing thoughts to the side. “Sorry,” I say. “Witches. Dungeon. Yes.”
He stares at me, eyebrows drawn together. “I know this is a lot. It’s okay to not be okay right now. But stay strong for everyone. You can lose it later.”
I clench my jaw. He’s right.Add “lose it later” to the list.
He rolls his shoulders back and strides toward everyone. I imitate him, hoping to show everyone that I’m confident, that I know what the fuck I’m doing, that I’m not a fraud. All the emotions from the first week of being High Queen resurface—the anxiety, the insecurity, the feelings of being an imposter. I just won back my kingdom. My home.
But all I can think about is the unknown fate I just doomed myself to.
“Mae!” a voice calls. I turn. Elle, her hair threatening to come undone as she sprints toward me. She pulls me into a fierce hug. I cling to her. My sister. “You’re okay.” She pulls back and stares at Asmo. “You’re alive.”
He cocks his head. “Yes?”
She shakes her head. “No, I just…I thought you were dead.”
“Happy to disappoint, then.” His smile is razor sharp, his teeth dazzlingly white.
“Your Highness,” Ivan calls as he walks toward us. But his gaze is fixed on Asmo. “We need to transfer the prisoners and get the wounded inside.”
