Page 22 of Fading Sun

Damien shifts his stance, finally looking at me instead of Blaze.

There’s nothing warm in his gaze. Nothing caring.

Certainly nothing loving.

My magic burns like a furnace, hot enough to make him step back.

“If we marry, it will be a business arrangement,” he says, as if his words should be comforting instead of an embodiment of my current fears. “As queen of my clan, you’ll be protected, cared for, and you’ll have a home. Forever.”

I take a few deep breaths and curl my hands into fists, resisting the urge to blast him with sun magic to shock the man who kissed me the other night back into existence. The man he was before becoming this cold, hard shell of a person.

Yes, what happened with Viktor was devastating. I can’t begin to imagine what he’s going through.

But he could at least show me some human decency, given the seriousness of what he’s asking.

“What about what I want?” Heat rises in my cheeks, my magic crackling like wildfire in my palms. “Do you really think I’m going to settle for a loveless marriage, even if it comes with a home and a crown?”

Damien’s expression hardens, the air stirring around him. “It’s what a queen would do to save her kingdom.”

“Well guess what? I’m not your queen. I’m a witch with sun magic strong enough to save this whole city,” I snap, and I face Morgan, desperate for her help. “Can you scry for another option? See if there’s a way to break the spell without tying myself to him forever?”

If Damien’s offended by my dismissal, he makes no sign of it.

Not even another breeze.

Morgan hesitates, and my heart stops at the chance of her saying no.

“Scrying can show me possibilities—not certainties,” she finally says, pulling a small, ornate dagger from her belt. “Assuming it shows me anything at all. But I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” I say, relieved that there might be a solution other than marrying a man who doesn’t—and may never—love me.

With all attention on her, Morgan kneels and slices the palm of her hand. Her blood swirls on the ground, and none of us speak as her eyes gloss over, the air around her charged with magic and tension.

The silence feels like it goes on for minutes.

Finally, she gasps, her focus snapping back to the present.

“What?” I ask, anticipation building in my chest.

“There’s a possibility,” she starts, standing up and wiping the blood from her now-healed palm onto her jeans, which are luckily black. “But it’s not here. It’s in the fae realm with Queen Lysandra. She might be able to break the bond without the need for marriage.”

Of course. The duskberry is from the fae realm, so it makes sense that its antidote would be there, too.

Damien’s frown deepens. “The fae are tricky,” he says. “Going to Lysandra could entangle us in more than we bargained for.”

“I’ll take that risk,” I say, refusing to back down.

He tenses up, his gaze hard on mine, another breeze stirring around us.

I brace myself for his anger. For him to fight me and tell me we’ll find another way.

Instead, I find myself disappointed when the air quickly stills. Because at least anger is an emotion other than robotic indifference to the fact that I’d rather make a deal with the fae queen than marry him.

“Very well,” he says, clipped and sharp. “Central Park closes at two. We’ll be there tonight, at the location parallel to Lysandra’s palace, ready when our world merges with hers.”

I stand there for a moment, shocked that he said yes so easily.

But I quickly brush it off. After all, this is what I wanted. Another option.

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