Satisfaction and something akin to gratitude fills my chest.
“No one? Good. This is as it should be.”
“You’re such a… fae prince.” She laughs into the pillow as I reach for her bare shoulder, leaning close.
My lips trace her skin before I press away to admire her curves and the intricate lines of a tattoo I haven’t yet had a chance to inspect.
An inked dragonfly.
Every muscle in my body turns to stone.
Dark red eyes glow amongst colors of purple, blue, and black.
Beneath its body, the word Garnet is written.
Above it, barren, silver branches reach toward delicate wings—seizing, capturing.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
My black heat pounds like a drum.
Lara bears the mark of the garnet dragonfly. The mark of my fated queen.
This cannot be so. It can’t be, and yet… it is.
Anger flares hot, blazing bright like an eternal sun at the same moment my world turns black. Black and desolate. Lightning flashes, ripping the sky open.
“What’s wrong?”
“Your tattoo…”
She looks over her shoulder and smiles. “That’s Garnet. Apparently, she protects me.”
Protects her? No. It’s a death sentence.
Thunder crashes. Clouds chase the sun and swallow it whole, shadows falling over the room. “How long have you had it? And why that tattoo?”
“It’s such a coincidence, isn’t it? First the moss elves, then you gave me your dragonfly pendant for protection, too.”
She rolls onto her back, and I hover above, trapping her with my arms. She plays with strands of my hair that fall between us as she speaks. “My mother was killed in an accident when I was fifteen. It was strange, almost as though she was expecting to die, because on my sixteenth birthday, my aunt gave me a present from Mom—a year after her death—a beautiful letter, a voucher for a tattoo studio, and a hand-drawn design of this dragonfly. Mom said the name Garnet had to be included. I still don’t understand why that was important. But I loved the image on first sight, and I feel like it’s always guided me somehow. I have no idea why.”
Unfortunately, I have an idea, a very unpleasant one. A vision of the metallic Crystalline Oak blinds me, its silver branches grasping and reaching for Lara. I feel them around her, an invisible web enfolding her body. I didn’t find Lara underneath the tree as was foretold, but perhaps it’s always been with her.
“It’s weird, right?” Her smile wavers as she absorbs my expression, the violent flap of the curtains, the winds gusting through the room. “What’s wrong, Ever?”
“Nothing.” Everything. I bite back a groan of pain. A lie. A lie.
She kisses my cheek—sweetly, tenderly—then snuggles closer. My hand travels to her waist. Now I’ve seen the tattoo, I don’t want to touch her, but can’t stop myself.
This shouldn’t be possible—me matched with a human girl? But I can’t deny reality. The truth. Now I understand why, lately, the poison has slowed its path through my veins, the pain now dull and mostly bearable. Because of her.
Because of Lara—my queen—the girl I must kill if I wish to save Raff, I can smile again. Laugh even.
As her palm flattens against my back, her arm wrapping and squeezing tightly, I picture slitting her throat. Nothing less than drying blood will satisfy the curse, so I will have to slice my blade across her skin, and then stare into emerald eyes, dull and lifeless, all brightness gone forever. My human, my queen—dead.
Lara. Dead.
I recall each time I’ve stood upon Waylan’s Tor, staring at that vile tree, waiting for the girl.
The girl I do not want.
Every day.
The girl I already hate.
Forever.
The girl I’m prepared to kill…
Never.
How could I have known about her delicate freckles? Her kindness? Her bravery? What holding her in my arms would feel like?
Without a word, I leap out of bed and dress quickly.
Wearing an amused expression, she watches silently, her gaze skimming my body. Finally, she asks, “And where are you off to?”
I keep my eyes on my sword as I adjust its belt. “There is something important I must attend to. I’ve only just remembered it. You should return to your room. I’ll be gone several hours.”
Walking to the door takes all my strength and more. I don’t want to leave her, but I have no choice.
She is the girl I must murder.
She is the one whose life I will end.
And I am Never.
Never. Ever. After.
Chapter 20
RETREAT
Lara
Ever may be an otherworldly faery prince, but he’s no different from the guys back home who run away the moment things get real, terrified of getting close to someone. Or feeling something.
It’s the day after he flew out of his bedroom as though his leather pants were on fire, and things at Talamh Cúig are back to pre-Samhain normal—normal for a city full of magical beings, that is. Fae prance through the castle’s endless hallways and chambers, the cooks toil in the kitchen, I’m in the garden with Magret, and Prince Ever is nowhere to be seen.
The jerk.
Fat raindrops fall from swollen purple clouds hovering above the vegetable garden, and I stand and wipe them from my face as I watch Lord Gavrin, one of the queen’s advisers, stride toward Magret who’s directing gardeners at the edge of the orchard. They chat a moment before she points in my direction, and then in a flurry of purple robes, the lord takes off at a trot, heading straight for me.
“Good afternoon, Lara,” he says when he arrives, violet eyes serious.
“Lord Gavrin.” I dip a curtsy.
“Leave your work and come with me. You are no longer required in the gardens.”
“What?” Now that Ever has satisfied his curiosity and actually slept with a human, he’s probably going to lock me up in the dungeons forever. “Why can’t I garden?”
“Prince Everend’s orders. You are to move to the guest wing of the castle and be at your leisure.”
Wiping dirt from my tunic, I scramble to follow Gavrin’s bouncing white plait as he exits the gardens and treads through the bustling city. “Is this just for today?” I ask when I catch up.
“No. From now on, you are to be treated as a guest of the kingdom.”
I skid to a halt in front of a cloth stall, knocking a roll of buttercup-yellow silk onto the ground. Apologizing to the stall owner, a handsome young man with a large set of ram’s horns curling from his forehead, I set the material back among a pile of colorful bolts on the table. Lord Gavrin squints his disapproval while tapping his pointed boot against the paving stones.
“You must be Lara,” says the ram guy, flashing his pointed teeth in a wide smile. “I am Magret’s brother. My name is Alorus, and I’m pleased to meet you at last.”
“Hello! Great to meet you, too. Please tell Magret I’m sorry about—” Before I can finish my sentence, Gavrin wrenches me away, then marches me through the streets and inside the castle.
In silence, we climb staircases, then enter the guest wing situated on the same level as the royal chambers, passing grand door after door before stopping at the end of the hallway. “Here we are,” says Gavrin. “Your new quarters.”