Page 67 of The Cursed Crown

"Let me go."She couldn't even get the words out.

Her own face tilted."But you came so far, darling."

She fought to regain control, to move her hand, to get out of there, but it was hopeless, and useless.

Finally, her hand detached itself from the cold surface. She snatched it back, feeling the burn in her fingertips.

Rissa stared at the ice, solid moments ago, melted away in a fine mist.

There's no shame in being wrong, so long as you can learn from it. There's no shame in retreating to bounce back. There's no shame in growing.

Rydekar had been right about everything else. Hopefully, he was right about that, too.

She raised her knife to Tharsen's chest, aiming for the heart.

Legacy

Though her fall stopped, Rissa found no crushing pain, no slow crawl to death.

She dared to crack one eye open, then gasped, and stared at the thing floating in front of her, held by one floating briar vine.

The prince's crown. She would have sworn that was it, though mere moments ago it had been a complex silver and diamond affair with several hanging pendants. Now, it was but one circlet, with a single teal heart stone shining at its center.

That metamorphosis might have been enough to stun her, if she hadn't already been completely astounded to find herself flying.Flying. The useless feathers on her shoulders had extended into strong wings, batting with incredible force.

"You bitch of a thief!"

The scream got her to focus back on herdearcousin.

Tharsen practically fell off the stairs in his attempt to catch it, but he wised up, stepping back, fear evident in his silver eyes.

The first thing she noticed was the fear. Then, there was pure hatred. She ignored both, trying to focus on what she saw before her eyes. He'd dimmed. In beauty, in strength, in charisma. Everything about him was now inconsequential. Worthy of little to no notice.

Then she understood. The crown.

The power she'd seen wasn't inside Tharsen. It belonged to his crown.

"This is Mab's crown," she breathed in shock.

The crown of the real high queen, the one who'd stood above seelie and unseelie alike, shaping their realms, their customs, their truth.

"It'smine!" Tharsen roared.

Rissa laughed. Was it? "You're a grandson of Mab. I'm her granddaughter. The way I see it, it could belong to either of us." But she was the one with it at her fingertips. And she'd never let it go again.

Her branches slithered along her skin, bringing her crown to her grasp.

She'd always liked pretty, shiny things and this one was the most precious she'd ever beheld. She set it on her head, before Tharsen's terrified, desperate eyes.

And then she felt it all.

Everything.

Ants crawling underground, imps in the hills, dwarves in their mountains, dragons guarding their treasures, and pirates approaching the coast from the treacherous seas.

Everything was at her fingertips. It all belonged toher.

"You took your grandmother's crown upon her death," Rissa stated, seeing it all through his eyes, through his memories. "You stole Mab's legacy. And once it was upon your head, no one could take it." The crown could only be passed down voluntarily. There was a hiccup though—one Tharsen hadn't thought of, or he would have gutted her where she stood.

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