I don’t feel anything at all.
“Let go of me. There’s nothing to make right.” What we once had is gone. Over. Done. I shake free to find him staring at me as if I’ve lost my mind.
“You don’t mean that,” he says with a grimace.
I mean those words with my whole heart. “Let’s just get back to Rosehill, find Kerris and Everett, and tell them what happened.” Together, we’ll figure out how to fix this mess we’re in.
Shaking his head, he cards a hand through his matted curls. “What’s the point in going back? They’re not going to let any of them go. The Unseelie cannot be trusted.”
“You’re not seriously suggesting we leave everyone behind.”
He reaches for me, but this time, I’m ready, sidestepping his hands.
“I’m just trying to keep you safe,” he insists.
Safe?
Heavens above.
Doesn’t he realize that love isn’t safe? It’s putting yourself out there, making the hard choices, letting yourself fall without knowing if you’re ever going to land.
“I don’t want to be safe, Nolan. I want to be happy.” The only way that’s going to happen is with Maddox by my side.
40
“Candles are used as symbols for a life no longer seen, but whose presence remains like a flickering flame in the hearts of those they once held dear.”
— Honoring the Dead
Idon’t walk; I run. Away from Nolan and the past we once shared, toward the city. Toward the help I need to save Maddox and the other Seelie being held against their will in Riverglade. Sweat runs like rivers down my temples and spine. Collects beneath my arms and the heavy curtain of curls clinging to my neck. When the glow of Rosehill finally breaches the darkness, tears flood my eyes, blurring the road in front of me.
I’m almost there.
Almost there.
The most haunting melody drifts on the night’s breeze. Melancholic and distraught. The sound of sadness played by a string quartet.
People fill the street, dressed head to toe in black.
“What’s going on?” I ask a woman with a black veil pinned to her violet curls.
From beneath the curtain of lace, her brow furrows as she takes in my sweat-soaked dress and unkempt state.
If this were any other day, perhaps I would care that my bare feet and skirts are covered in muck. Seeing as there are more pressing matters, I don’t.
“Tonight is the royal funeral,” she says.
A funeral. That explains the attire and the somber music—but aroyalone? Does that mean something happened to Kerris or Everett?My thundering heart stops dead in my chest; fear climbs my throat, leaving my voice barely a whisper. “Who passed?”
She blinks at me, her head tilting like a crow’s. “The queen’s cousin, of course.”
Thank heavens it’s not Kerris. Not Everett.
The queen’s cousin.
Wait . . .
I’mthe queen’s only cousin.
