Page 153 of Ashes to Ashes

And in the Seelie section, almost lost among the glittering nobles, I spot Finnian. His amber gaze finds mine across the distance, and for a moment I see such desperate love that my throat closes. His composure is completely gone—hands shaking, face pale, looking like he’s been physically struck by the sight of me walking toward destruction.

All three of them forced to watch while I face this alone.

“Ashlynne Moonshadow,” the Morrigan’s voice carries across the chamber with supernatural clarity. “You stand before the assembled courts to prove your worthiness for the crown of Wild Court royalty. Do you accept the terms of the Trial of Truth?”

My throat closes around words I don’t want to speak. But backing down now would mean death—theirs as well as mine.

“I accept.” The words come out steady despite my racing pulse. Like accepting a mission I know will probably kill me.

“Then approach the Truth Stone and place your hands upon its surface. Know that once contact is made, no lie can pass your lips, no deception can shield your thoughts, and your deepest memories will be shared with all who witness this trial.”

Stone drops into my stomach. Shared memories. Everyone in this chamber will see whatever the stone decides to reveal. Every shame, every failure, every moment of weakness I’ve spent a lifetime hiding.

I force myself forward, bare feet finding the dais. The Truth Stone pulses brighter as I approach, silver light growing so intense it casts shadows behind my ribs. When I place my palms against its surface, agony explodes through my nervous system.

This isn’t magical energy—it’s invasion. Ancient power burrowing into my consciousness like ice picks driven through my skull, tearing through mental barriers I’ve spent decades constructing. The stone doesn’t just compel truth—it rips it from my mind, tears it from my soul, and displays it for public consumption like organs spread on an autopsy table.

The moment my skin touches stone, I scream. Not a sob—a tactical assessment delivered at maximum volume. This is what violation sounds like when you can’t lie about it. The sound tears from my throat raw and primal, echoing through the chamber with magical amplification until crystal fixtures ring like struck bells. Blood erupts from my nose as the stone’s power floods my unprepared system, magical violation so brutal my body convulses like I’m being electrocuted.

“The court recognizes three questions,” the Morrigan announces over my screaming. “One from each realm, designed to test the fundamental qualities required of royal leadership.”

Lady Amarantha rises from her throne, violet eyes gleaming with anticipation. She’s been waiting for this moment, I realize through the agony. Waiting to destroy me in front of everyone I care about.

“Seelie Court presents the first question,” she announces, her voice carrying across the chamber like crystalline bells. “What ugliness do you hide beneath your royal facade?”

The Truth Stone explodes with silver fire that feels like molten metal being poured directly into my brain. Agony beyond description tears through my skull as the stone reaches into my memories, searching for the exact moment of shame that will destroy me most completely.

I try to resist, try to push it away, but the magical compulsion is absolute. It feels like having my mind flayed with broken glass while something with claws sorts through the wreckage.

No, please, not that?—

Too late. The memory erupts above my head in perfect holographic detail, so vivid that everyone in the chamber doesn’t just see it—they feel it. Every emotion, every sensation, every moment of terror and desperate calculation flooding through their consciousness like a virus.

I’m crouched on a rocky outcrop above the desert basin, scope trained on the narrow stretch of sand skirting Eternal Hollows. The heat warps the air, but not enough to blur the man pacing below.

Greyson.

Even six hundred meters out, I’d know him anywhere—red hair catching fire in the sun, freckled skin Vanessa traced with reverence in every story she told me. Her mate. Her anchor. The one who could make her laugh even when she wanted to burn the world.

My comm crackles. Kendall’s voice this time. “Target acquired. Clear shot. Your call, Morgan.”

But this isn’t just a target. This is the man Vanessa loves. The one who brought her back from the edge more than once. The man who trusted me.

The man now marked as compromised—Persephone’s reach extending too far, the gods uncertain if he’s still working for us... or if he’s become a weapon she’s steering.

“Do you see it?” Kendall again. Tighter now.

I do. Greyson shifts. Touches the center of his chest, where Vanessa used to sleep curled against him. Then he turns toward something only he sees, and for a split second, he looks right up the hill.

Like he knows.

My finger settles on the trigger.

If I don’t take the shot, someone else will. Someone who won’t aim clean. Someone who won’t make it fast.

This way, he goes down quick. He doesn’t see Vanessa’s face twisted in grief.

“Shot confirmed,” I whisper.

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