Page 208 of The Fallen Fae King

Many are injured, limping, or starved.

I have no idea what the method of execution will be, but I can’t fight to save every one of them.

I have never cared about the lives of my soldiers before. I know Daire does. I didn’t understand the way that he spoke about his featherglass.

I tried to have empathy for his grief for that Human Shifter who was murdered. I made him a shrine.

Yet I only now understand how he felt.

“You mean lie,” I say, quietly.

“Give them hope,” Ahm corrects. “Taran is wrong about it. He doesn’t understand. Hope is powerful. It has been the only thing that has kept any of us alive, rather than simply surviving for years. Did we believe that we would escape this hellhole? By my fangs, of course we didn’t. But hope…it kept us from despair. And if our people die with hope in our hearts, then we will fight like warriors, rather than fearful worms in the dust. You can grant them that.”

It’s a heavy role as the leader to know the truth and still walk toward my death, while having the strength to lie to those I rule so that they run with joy toward it.

I straighten my shoulders, before marching toward my army.

The vampires turn their anxious gazes toward me.

I burn with pride, as they drop into the formation that I taught them, which would look like a scarab beetle if they had shields to raise over their heads.

I never gave speeches to my Eternal army. I rode on my demonic lion in front of them, and they followed.

But now, these vampires aren’t looking at me like I am a King or commander. I am simply a captive like them, to whom they have given their trust.

“Remember my training. Watch each other’s backs.” I push my long hair out of my eyes, scanning up and down the lines. “No matter what comes through that door, don’t let fear guide you but the pounding of your own blood. You know how to fight now. We will survive. By the Void, let’s prove to these dragons that they are right to shackle us in silver because they should fear us.”

To my surprise, the vampires cheer.

Then they clank their shackles together, chanting the battle cry of my kingdom. “Blood! Blood! Blood!”

Savage joy surges through me.

My shadows lash around me, darkening the arena.

I raise my own bound hands. “Blood!”

The arena falls to a shocked silence.

I turn back to meet Taran’s gaze in challenge, before dropping my hands with a clanking of my shackles.

Suddenly, the blast of trumpets splits the air. Their fanfare rolls through the arena like thunder.

I flinch, scanning the crowds, which are filled with fresh excitement.

Then my heart stutters.

Freya.

She looks like a flame come to life.

She is dressed in a red, woolen dress, which glitters with thousands of golden threads woven through it. An amethyst feather pins her dress on one side, and on the other, a golden wooden dragon.

She is wearing a dragon crown on her head.

So, she truly is the Dragon Empress now.

My heart aches that Freya has removed my crown, while Daire lost his.