Page 136 of Stolen
“You mean to follow the path I set? But I was wrong!” I ask, a flicker of dread stirring inside me.
“Don’t get self-important,” Thorne scoffs. “You got lucky. We’re just trying to improve our odds.”
“Luck,” I repeat under my breath, though I know what I have with Jules is anything but.
Dagan folds his arms, his gaze steady.
“You may have found your heart, brother, but the rest of us still need strength. If the zareth bond is our best weapon, we’d be fools not to seek it.”
Kael adds, “We’re not chasing love—we’re seeking survival. If finding mateson Earth offers us power strong enough to challenge Idris and restore balance to Nightfall, then we will continue. With or without your approval.”
Thorne shrugs. “And let’s be honest, you’re just nervous one of us might be worthy of the crown, too.”
That makes my magic rise, unbidden. A low growl rumbles through my chest.
“I told you. The crown doesn’t matter to me anymore. My family does.”
“Enough,” Kael says firmly, cutting through the tension like a blade. “We are not enemies. We want the same thing. Peace. Strength. A future. Let’s not tear each other apart while trying to save our world.”
I breathe deep, then nod once.
“Very well. But tread carefully. The Fates don’t look kindly on those who try to manipulate them. I nearly lost everything before I found what mattered.”
“And now that you have,” Dagan says, “you’ll fight harder than ever to keep it.”
I meet their gazes one by one. “Yes. I will.”
And the oath that follows isn't just mine.
It's all of ours. A silent pact forged in blood, brotherhood, and the terrifying, sacred power of love.
Thorne steps forward, eyes gleaming like flame. “Then we stand ready.”
I look at each of them—my brothers by blood and bond—and I feel it.
A shift.
Not just in the magic, or the air, or the realm itself.
But in us.
In what we fight for now.
The crown is no longer just a symbol of rule. It is a promise.
To protect. To rise. To lead with more than power.
To lead with love.
I set the crown down on the stone altar of Castletide, its jagged edges catching the sea-silver light that spills in through the high arched windows.
The weight of it is real. Heavy with legacy, soaked in sacrifice.
One by one, we each place our wards upon it—ancient seals of water, flame, earth, and air.
Magic hums through the chamber, the crown locking beneath our protection, hidden from those who would seek its power for ruin.
When the last spark fades, I turn away.
