Page 152 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

This is how much I’ll give for love.

This is how much I’ll sacrifice.

The remaining archer draws back his bow.

Before my mind can process what’s happening, I throw myself in front of Viridian. Just in time, my body stands between him and those who would do him harm, outstretched like a shield.

Only shields are made of durable metal. And I’m made of blood, skin, and bone.

But that doesn’t seem to matter.

Because the arrow pierces my chest.

A blast of energy bursts from my body. It’s colorless, invisible to the naked eye. Whatever it is, it’s strong enough to topple what little furniture remains and knock the human rioters onto their backs.

Suddenly, the world around me slows. It’s as if everything is moving through water or bracing cold winds. Part of me doesn’t even want to think any of it is real.

Burning, white-hot pain overtakes my senses. No fiber in my body is spared.

Gods, it burns. It burns. It feels like I’ve been set on fire, from the inside out.

I stagger back, looking down at my chest.

The arrow meant for Viridian…

Raising my hands to my chest, I fall to my knees. Hard.

I can’t breathe. My breaths have turned shallow. I’m gasping for air.

I see Viridian screaming. But I don’t hear the sound. Agony etches into his face, leaving no corner unscathed. Then his expression shifts, with lethal stillness. Death made flesh. His amber eyes look like liquid fire, a stark contrast to the blue lightning that fills the throne room. I see him stalk forward, while the rioters that are stupid enough to get back on their feet cower before him.

Dazed, I shake my head. My eyes close involuntarily. When I open them again, I see bodies on the floor. More jolts of electricity flash.

Then it all stops.

My eyes nearly roll back, but I force them open. Liquid fills my throat. I choke on it.

The ceiling seems to spin away from me. Then the back of my head slams on stone.

I don’t feel it.

Viridian whirls around, face paler than ever. He runs to me, falling to his knees at my side.

“No, no, no,” he murmurs, picking up my head and setting it on his lap.

I cough. Something wet spills onto my lips. Raising a trembling hand, I touch my fingers to it. Red stains them.

Viridian takes my hand, my blood smearing all over his skin.

My eyelids flutter.

“Don’t you dare,” he commands, gripping my face. “Look at me, Little Fawn.”

I try.

“Look at me,” he repeats, eyes frantically searching mine. His words become more panic-stricken each time he repeats the order. “Cryssa. Look at me.”

I choke, wheezing. The burning in my chest finally starts to dull.

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