Page 53 of A War of Ruin and Reckoning

“Speaking of that,” Leaf grumbled. “It’s time for you to reveal the full prophecy.”

White feathers ruffled. Aleksandra hissed low, sideways though clenched teeth, “Do you think I’m a fool to believe you are mated?”

“I have done what you asked.” Leaf’s brows lowered. “You must honor your promise.”

Lyrical flute music started playing down by the dance floor. Fae made their way there, laughing and tucking their wings out of courtesy. A few came to their table to pay respects to the Prime before returning to dance. She smiled tightly and nodded, giving polite responses. When they were gone, Leaf continued to press his point.

“Clarke has discovered the chaos in the Well is almost at a point of no return,” he said. “Tell me the full prophecy so I can find a way forward for us. We cannot afford any more delays.”

“No, we cannot.”

“So you agree.”

Nova said something, but Leaf’s ears were full of rage. He barely darted a glance her way before returning to the Prime. He’d had just about enough. No more evasion. No more lies. Pretending to be mated hadn’t worked and caused more delays than Leaf was willing to accept. He was foolish to believe the Prime would go for this.

“Aleksandra?” he warned. “Answer me.”

“Yourmateis asking you something.”

“She’s not my mate,” he barked. And then, because he’d abruptly revealed the only card up his sleeve, he added with indignation, “Despite your best efforts, I remain my own person. I amnota pawn in your game. Unlike Crimson, who spent thousands of years under the Well’s thumb, I will not now, nor ever, accept a mate—especially not Nova Morales.”

A gasp to his right burned his face, but he refused to look at her. Once he explained, she would understand. But she abruptly mumbled something in Spanish and walked toward the exit.Fuck. He watched her until she melted into the crowd on the dance floor, and then he glared at the Prime—ready to unleash the full force of his fury.

She was already staring, twirling her wine glass absently. Before he could respond, she put the glass down with a weary sigh.

“D’arn Leaf,” she said, voice gentle and disarming.

She looked at him like when he’d burst into her room that first night. Her brown, white-lashed eyes were full of emotion, recognition, and affection. It wasn’t romantic, he was sure of it. While she struggled to find words for her churning thoughts, he tried to place that look in her eyes. It was the look she gave Nova in her sickbed—the affection one had for family.

Aleksandra had said Nova reminded her of someone… and Nova said the same.

Finally, she placed her palm over his and looked him in the eyes. “For those lucky to live as long as us, there are three possible fates. Maebh suffers the first—obsession and eventual madness. I am in the throes of the second—soullessness. My dear friend, you are lucky to be within reach of the third fate. I wish I still cared enough to want. Whenever you speak about her, I see this desire in your eyes. Your wounded pride makes you blind.”

“Stop deflecting. Tell me what I need to know—why is it so important for us Twelve to be mated and Well-blessed? It’s a ridiculous caveat on the truth.”

She pinned him with an unnervingly agonized stare. “Know this, D’arn. No matter which fate is yours, one constant remains. Memories fade, they warp, but the heart never forgets.”

She glanced at the dance floor, where Nova smiled up at Storm. As though sensing Leaf’s attention, his graceful wing stretched to block their faces from view. But not before Storm touched Nova’s shoulder, his thumb idly tracing a path past her neckline to bare skin.

Violence slammed into Leaf’s body. He trembled from the force of containing it. Not just rage, but jealousy, longing, regret, and denial. He reeled from the potency of it all as his eyes were stuck on that single point of contact, still somehow visible through a gap in Storm’s wings. As though the shifter did it on purpose, teasing Leaf with his inappropriate touch.

“She’s just saying hello,” he gritted out, a vein in his temple throbbing. “That’s all she said she wanted to do.”

“You must have misheard.” The Prime smirked, then calmly sipped her wine. “She said something about scratching an itch.”

Leaf was two steps toward the dance floor before his stool hit the ground.

“D’arn!”

The authoritative tone in the Prime’s voice was too ingrained to ignore. He halted, clenched his jaw, and glanced back at her. Desperation poured from her eyes. A bolt of alarm sliced through him at the raw, foreign emotion.

“If you have more questions,” she warned low, “ask them now. You might not get another chance.”

More alarm bells went off. The ringing in Leaf’s ears increased as all the clues came together. Her ultimatum, talk of love and regrets, her robe, and rare flashes of emotion.

This wake was for her.

ChapterTwenty-Three

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