Despite the blood- and sweat-stained leathers I still wear, I feel like a High Queen again.
The doors part open and I turn, ready to compliment Ivan on his speed. But it’s not him.
It’s the stag.
His warm brown eyes stare at me as he walks toward me. Mother, I could fall to my knees and weep right now. For a moment, I can pretend I’m in the past, when everything was normal. When I was prancing the halls with Elle, when William was still beside me, before I found out that Willa and Marik weren’t who they claimed to be. Before I learned I had a mate, who turned out to be like his brother—a liar and a manipulator. Oh, and a Prince of Hell, apparently.
I reach for the stag. He huffs a warm breath into the palm of my hand. “Hello, you,” I whisper.
He blinks in response and presses his muzzle into my hand. I fight tears, shoving them aside and straightening my spine. We walk to the dais together, and I perch on the throne of branches and berries. The stag takes his usual spot, right beside my feet.
It feels surreal to be back. The throne room is a different version of itself—the ancient hardwood floors replaced by cool, white marble. Black veins trickle through the marble, reminding me of Cora.
I inhale. Maybe I’ll keep the marble in reminder of all that I’ve overcome to get back here.
The doors open again. Asmo strides in, black hair perfectly in place and eyes cool as he stares at me. He’s silent as he strides to the throne. He doesn’t place the crown on his head.
He turns to me, his expression pained. “Mae, I?—”
Ivan strides into the throne room, and Asmo’s mask of indifference slides back over his features. It takes everything in me to not crawl away in horror. He is as practiced in this as Marik is.
I was—I am—sucha fool.
The rest of the Herd comes next, including Etta, Basil, and Amaris. I force myself to look at each of them, to distract myself with memorizing their features, to ignore the anger that simmers below the surface. Holly walks beside Elle, who twists her fingers together. Barrett and August walk together, hair mussed and cheeks gaunt. Levana follows all of them, head down.
“Thank you for meeting with us on short notice. I know we agreed to meet in the morning, and I’m sure you all are exhausted,” I say as warmly as I can muster. “However, it didn’t feel right to rest while the fate of the kingdom hangs precariously.”
Murmurs of agreement sound, and August gives me an encouraging nod. I ignore the way that small gesture makes me feel. Like home. My throat burns, and I swallow the thick lump in my throat.
Ivan clears his throat, hands clasped together. “I would recommend ordering an increase in guard patrol and burning the witches’ bodies immediately.”
Asmo leans forward. I ignore the urge to turn toward him. “Are the witches in the dungeons?” he asks. Ivan gives him a firm nod. “Good. Ensure there are always extra guards there.”
Barrett clears his throat. Wisps of hair hang from his bun, framing his rugged face. “I would recommend a higher-ranking official watching, too,” he says.
I lean back in the throne with a sigh. “I agree, but I only trust us, and we all need to sleep.”
“I can sleep down there,” Barrett offers.
“Me, too,” August adds.
I shake my head. “You don’t have to. I’m sure there’s another way.”
“If there is, I’m too tired to think of it,” August admits. A still-healing cut marks his bicep, red and angry.
“Go home,” I order the both of them. “Send someone you trust from your courts in your place.”
They nod graciously.
I squeeze my knuckles as I think through what should come next. I wish I could just ask Asmo, but I’m feeling too stubborn and embarrassed and prideful to do so. “Hunt the witches in the remainingcourts,” I say. “They can either surrender and be placed in our dungeons to await their fate, or they can be sent back to Hell. Round up anyone harboring witches and toss them in the dungeons to await a trial.” I take a deep breath as I give my next order. “Bring in Houses Serpent and Panthera for the same.”
August and Barrett wince at the order, but they don’t object.
Levana’s voice projects from the back. Like everyone else, she is covered in filth and her shoulders slump from exhaustion. “This battle is won, but the war is not over. Not yet.”
Amaris narrows her gaze, watching her with some mix of suspicion and interest.
I quirk my head. “What do you mean? Cora has been defeated.”
