“Fine.” My palms slapped against my thighs. “I promise I willtrynot to kill you. At least until we find the Dark Kingdom heir, happy?”
A branch cracked in his grip as he shoved it aside. “Do you mean that?”
I bit my cheek to keep from grinning, because for a heartbeat, the dragon prince, all myth, and menace, sounded almost…fragile.
Not the heir carved from smoke and wraith, but the man whose pulse had thundered when I faced the Eldritch.
Fromfear.
“Yes,” I lied. “I did saytry.”
From the corner of my vision, I could see how deeply he rolled his eyes and I bit back another smirk.
Our steps fell into rhythm without meaning to, the conversation dying the moment the stench of rot at last subsided. Gravel crunched under our boots, wind hissed through the trees. I let the quiet sit for a while.
After a few paces, Ronan slowed, just enough that I felt him thinking. Calculating. His brows curved together, glare cutting sideways like he’d finally pieced something together.
“Your blade is nix metal, yes?”
My fingers moved over the hilt, my skin absorbing its pulse. “Yes.”
Inhaling, his eyes searched the depths of mine as I met his stare. “Why rip the Eldritch to shreds if you knew your blade had already killed it?”
He towered, waiting. And for a second, I almost didn’t know what to say. Why did it matter what I did? Sure, the blade was killing it, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to try and attack me while it waited for death.
So, I told him the truth. “Because it told me to.”
Smoke recoiled, and for once, he had no retort. Only the cold understanding that I didn’t mean the Eldritch, but what lived inside me.
At what it could make me do.
The fresh hoof prints leading straight back to camp were a relief to see as we made it to the forest’s clearing.
At the boundary, Nezra and Inessa were tending to Niveus and Zyran, both pausing to stare as we emerged. Nezra dropped her rag, rushing toward us, her stare sweeping the mud and gore clinging to every inch of me. Then her eyes darted to Ronan, who wore the monster's crimson in honor.
“What the hel happened to you two?” she asked, searching behind us as if the forest might spit out more horrors.
I twisted my hands together, Gus’s death tightening the remorse in my chest. Ford rose from the bonfire, where Elva and Callum remained, likely waiting for the lunch we failed to bring.
Ronan rubbed the nape of his neck, sweat glistening against his tanned skin as I parted my lips to speak. But his voice cut through first. “Gus was killed.”
Elva gasped, hands shooting to her mouth as Callum surged to his feet, running toward my side. His grip found mine and the suddenness of his touch was a shock after weeks of cold silence. His eyes scoured me, searching for wounds, the tenderness in his gesture nearly breaking me.
Ronan’s voice stunned me more. “He ran into an Eldritch. He was gone before we reached him. I’m sorry.”
My head snapped toward him. Sorry? That word didn’t belong in his mouth.
Callum dropped my hands, saying nothing as he stepped back, still observing the slaughter soaking my leathers, my face. As if that was confirmation enough that I still breathed.
My head shook, my chin lowering. “There was a hoard of them.”
“Nezra,” Callum swallowed. “We need an illusion—”
“Was,” Ronan cut in, sharp as a damn blade. “They’re dead. Thanks to Verena.”
I turned back to Callum, my fingertip grazing the side of his hand as it lifted to brush wet strands of hair from my lashes. His eyes stayed fixed ahead, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away.
And when my hand lowered, his shifted—a subtle move, a breath closer, and stayed, instinct making the choice for him before thought could.
