Page 121 of Glow of the Everflame

Henri leaned his face close to mine, his brown eyes alight with challenge. “War is coming, Diem. Time to pick a side.”

My eyes briefly closed as I nodded. My shoulders rose and fell in a slow, shuddering breath. I placed a hand on Henri’s heart and trailed it down his chest, my tears mixing with his blood as I pressed my lips to his.

“Please forgive me,” I whispered.

I snatched Henri’s blade from its sheath and jerked to my feet, throwing the weapon out of reach. As I backed away, his eyes went wide with realization, and my heart shattered.

This line, I could never uncross.

“Diem, don’t do this—”

“Guards!” I shouted. A horde of them rushed into the room and surrounded us. “Hold this man in the dungeon until the ball is over.”

“Please, Diem, stop—”

“Donotharm him. Anyone who does will pay with their life. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” they answered in unison.

I held Henri’s frantic gaze in a silent plea for forgiveness as the guards clamped down on his thrashing limbs to hold him tight. They dragged him away, roars of protest echoing in his wake, each agonizing cry a hammer strike against my ruined soul.

Just before he disappeared behind a corner, I caught his eye, and one emotion stared back at me with dreadful clarity—betrayal.

No love. No trust. No hope.

No attempt to understand. No willingness to forgive.

Only betrayal.

A heartbroken sob cracked out of me. The pain was visceral, overwhelming. I couldn’t get air into my strangled lungs. Would he ever see that I had done this for him, for the mortals—that stopping this attack didn’t mean choosing the Descended?

If anything, my hatred for them had just grown tenfold. They were taking everything from me. My life, my family, the man I cared for—everything that made memewas being whittled to splinters by this gods-damned Crown.

A hand settled gingerly on my shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

I went to wipe my face, then froze at the last second at the sight of Henri’s blood smeared on my fingers. A droplet of it fell and landed on the hem of my gown in a tiny scarlet pool.

“No,” I said honestly as the tears streamed down my cheeks.

A pair of hands took me by the waist and pulled me into a solid chest, enclosed within two strong arms.

My body instinctively stiffened. Something feltwrong.

An unfamiliar mix of cinnamon and vanilla filled my nose, then a lock of blonde hair caught my eye. It wasn’t Luther who had walked in behind me, but Aemonn. It washisarms wrapped around me,hishands stroking my hair,hislips offering hushed words of encouragement.

“I... I need Luther,” I stammered without thinking.

Aemonn’s posture tensed, his hands freezing in place.

“I need him to issue an order to the Royal Guard,” I added quickly.

He relaxed, and then he was nodding and holding me closer once more. And still, it all felt wrong.

He muttered something to a nearby guard, and a few moments later, IfeltLuther come into the room. The power churning around him was a signature I now knew by heart. Before he even said a word, I sensed the panic rippling through him.

“What happened?” he growled. “Is she hurt? Get your hands off her—let me see her.”

---