Page 2 of A Petal in the Crown

Destroy. The voice became stronger, firmer—a slithering wickedness that didn’t sound human at all.

Alaric might have disappeared, taking his magic along with him before she’d been able to sever it from his body, but those bastard soldiers that had chosen to fight with him remained. Even without looking away from Gray’s unnaturally still form, Lea couldhearthem running—the thunderous rumble of feet pounding against the cobblestone roads of Bearswillow. Cowards desperate to escape with their lives after slaughtering gods knew how many innocent rebels.

Fuck them.

Lea shot her arms out, her eyes never leaving her mate. She pictured her shadows morphing into snakes—thousands of them. They slithered from her fingers like hungry cobras, lightning fast, fangs bared as they raced after the Royal Army.

Consume their hearts, Lea commanded them silently.Every last one.

There would be no chance for Alaric’s men to repent or change sides. There would be no mercy. No redemption.

Not anymore.

Not ever again.

Raw power crackled across Lea’s skin as she pushed her hands deeper into the ground, the cries of soldiers falling as her shadows ripped them apart, feeding her power. She commanded death like she was its master. A god on earth.

Magic that can create just as it can destroy.Tanad’s words circled in her mind.

Destroy.

Destroy.

Destroy.

The voice continued to beg, a ceaseless plea surging through her blood and clattering around her skull.

But not yet.First, she had tocreate—even if it killed her. She needed the cure.

Then, and only then, would she give in to that voice demanding she destroy. And destroy she would. She would bring the world to its fucking knees.

"Grow," she hissed, her voice low and seething with desperate fury as she found a miniscule flicker of light that remained inside her and forced it into the soil.

As soon as Gray’s blood saturated the seeds, they cracked open, vines furiously shooting up from the ground like fingers of the dead bursting from their graves. The puddle of blood she knelt in receded as the thirsty roots of the moonflowers drank in the thick, cooling liquid until, despite the rain still falling, the dirt around them was dry as bone.

In a haze of smoke, the black flames engulfing her burned away her clothing, draping her in a gown of undulating flames. The vines continued to spread across the hill, creeping up Lea’s legs and torso and wrapping in spirals up her body until they surrounded her head like a crown. Her fire burned through the vines knotted at the back of her skull, creating a perfect, thorny diadem of moonflowers that rested just above her forehead and wound through her hair as if she had been born wearing it. As if she was and had always been the Queen of Death and Goddess of Destruction.

The dark fire continued to rage as the moonflowers opened. But as they grew and flourished, so did Lea’s savagery. She’d waited foryearsfor this moment, but even the sight of thousands of pristine white moonflowers beginning to unfurl did nothing to ease the poisonous need for vengeance inside her—to soothe the gory, scarred mess of muscle where her heart used to be.

Black, thorny vines crept, twisted, and swirled as they spread like poison oak, absorbing the flames as if they were water—as if the heat of the fire was giving them energy they needed to not only grow, butthrive. The flames had no effect on the delicate flowers—didn’t singe or burn the thin, fragile edges of their petals. Instead, they cut clear pathways through the fire wherever they took root.

Lea could hardly find her light amongst the swirling void of darkness inside her, but she sought out a small ember, forcing it down her arms and through her fingers into the moonflowers, pouring it into the dirt until the final, tentative flicker of warmth extinguished completely. The tiny buds continued to open. Thousands of them—tens of thousands of blooming moonflowers. It was a choreographed symphony oflife, of victory. And yet, Lea was completely unable to feel the joy of her success.

Focusing all her energy on a single flower in front of her, she demanded it to bloom fully. It listened, bursting open in a pop of pure white, a stark contrast to the black flames and thorny vines surrounding it. Hundreds more opened fully in sequence, as if all they had needed was for one to succeed for them to wake from their slumber.

Wait until they’re ready, Wildflower. They must bloom fully… You’ll know when to pick them. Picked by the right person with the right intentions, at the right time, the flowers from these seeds can stop death himself.Lea’s mother’s words echoed through the crackling of the fire. Had she somehow known what would be required for them to bloom? What Lea would have to lose to finally wield the magic of the wildflowers? Had sheknown that Alaric, The Black King’s eldest son, would destroy not only her life, but the world as they knew it?

The wind picked up in a massive gust, pushing her arm toward the vines. Without hesitating, she ripped a flower from its stem, reaching out with her primary magic for any hint of death that may be lingering around the moonflowers, but death was nowhere to be found. The flower remained pristine as she stuffed a petal between Gray’s lips and closed his jaw.

Lea froze, the blood roaring in her ears the only sound as she held her breath. The fire stopped popping and sizzling, and the flames halted—froze as if they were sentient beings waiting with bated breath to see what would happen next.

Lea wasn’t exactly sure what she expected to happen—for Gray to take in a sudden, violent gasp of air and open his eyes, or for the color to slowly flush back into his pale skin.

But it wasn’t for nothing to happen at all. Pain rocked through every inch of Lea’s body, her chest and head throbbing and her lungs refusing to inhale. She gritted her teeth, pushing another petal into his mouth. It was impossible for him to be truly gone. Impossible that he was beyond her reach. But once again, he remained as still as stone.

Lea roared at the sky, the storm clouds flashing with savage silver-blue lightning. Cursing the gods above, she grabbed another flower, ripping off the petals and rolling one into a ball. She crushed it between her fingers until a small drop of liquid hung from the base, then dropped the juice onto Gray’s tongue and closed the macerated petal inside his mouth.

This has to work. These flowers can defeat death himself.Thishasto work.There was no other option. No world in which she was willing to live without Gray. And yet, that’s exactly what she was doing. Breathing in and out, heart beating, while her mate lay there, lifeless.

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