Page 209 of Ashes to Ashes

“Isn’t she?” Amarantha’s voice carries gentle authority that makes arguing feel like childish rebellion. “A girl raised human, suddenly thrust into Fae politics she doesn’t understand, bonded to men who fill her head with romantic nonsense instead of practical guidance? Of course she’s confused.”

My body wants to agree, wants to accept her wisdom and stop fighting the inevitable. But underneath her manipulation, I can sense something else. Something that makes my chest tight with sudden understanding.

Pain. Old, deep, carefully buried pain that taught her love was dangerous unless properly controlled.

“No.” The word tears from my throat with passionate force that makes the air shimmer between us.

“No?” Her eyebrows rise with delicate surprise that somehow makes my refusal feel unreasonable.

“Love doesn’t mean controlling someone’s choices.” I stand abruptly, chair scraping against marble with violent sound. “It means trusting them to make their own decisions, even when those decisions terrify you. Even when you’d rather lock them away than watch them risk everything for what they believe in.”

Light erupts from my chest like a captured sun breaking free of its cage. The study floods with golden radiance that makesshadows flee to corners, desperate to escape what’s building between us.

“And what you’re describing isn’t love, cousin.” I lean forward, letting her see the fury in my eyes. “It’s elaborate psychological torture disguised as care.”

For just a moment, something flickers across her perfect features. Something raw and wounded that makes my chest ache with recognition.

Then it’s gone, replaced by cool disappointment that tries to make me feel like a child rejecting necessary medicine.

“How unfortunate,” she says with false sadness. “I had hoped family would understand practical necessity better than romantic idealism.”

“The girl I grew up with would never?—”

“The girl you grew up with was weak,” she interrupts with ice-cold precision that cuts like a blade. “She believed in fairy tales about love conquering everything. She nearly died for that weakness before I learned to cut away the parts of herself that made her vulnerable.”

The words hit like physical blows because I can see the truth in them—the wound that taught her love was dangerous unless properly controlled.

“I’m sorry.” The words scrape out of my throat like broken glass, carrying all the grief I feel for what she’s become. “I’m sorry someone hurt you badly enough to make you believe that.”

“Don’t.” Her voice carries warning sharp enough to cut. “Don’t you dare pity me for learning how the world actually works.”

“It’s not pity.” I move toward the door, Crown burning against my chest with heat that feels like tears. “It’s grief. For the girl who used to believe love could exist without chains.”

I leave her sitting among her perfect tea service, surrounded by luxury that can’t fill the space where trust used to live.

The walk back feels like mourning someone who died long before tonight’s trial was ever planned.

When I reach the archive, both men look up with desperate hope that dies the moment they see my expression.

“Well?” Kieran asks, though his voice suggests he already knows.

“She offered to help,” I say, settling among my destroyed books like a man contemplating the ruins of everything he once trusted. “For the small price of helping them ensure Ash makes the ‘right’ choice tonight.”

“Fuck,” Orion breathes, guardian tattoos writhing with frustrated fury.

“She’s making preparations,” I continue, devastation spreading through my bones like poison. “Specific arrangements to ensure tonight’s proceedings conclude with appropriate... efficiency.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning whatever they have planned, it’s designed to be final.” I meet their eyes, seeing my own despair reflected back. “No prolonged suffering, no dramatic rescue attempts. Clean. Quick. Over.”

The silence that follows tastes like copper and endings.

“Three hours,” Kieran says finally, shadows coiling with violence that makes the air pressure drop.

“Three hours,” I agree.

Three hours until we watch the woman we love walk into something none of us can prevent, while everyone who could help her has chosen politics over mercy.

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