Page 147 of The Prince from a Cruel Summer
He walks to the center of the room to the chalice and snatches it from its pedestal. “Aidan thinks I came here to steal his birthright and cheat my way to a Faerie crown, but that’s actually not the case. I was intrigued, though, by the instrument which allows you all to choose between the contenders to the crown, and sometimes overrule the will of the Gods.” He tips the chalice at the Spring Queen. “Freya here is a good example of such meddling. When Devi was put on trial for misplacing a couple of her forbidden arrows, you all forced her to abdicate and placed Freya on the throne.”
Freya’s jaw is set in a hard line, “Why are we even listening to this impostor?”
“I agree. Let’s put a stop to this,” the Red Queen snaps.
The Lord of the Tides rolls up his sleeves to expose the myriad of jewels embedded in his arms. There’s dozens of them, the precious stones shining under the light of the torches. “Please, give me a minute. I wouldn’t want to have to kill any of you before the show.”
“The show?” The Red Queen scoffs.
“You’re a rebel scum. Why should we listen to you?” Thorald grits through his teeth, his sword raised in warning.
The Lord of the Tides saunters closer to Ethan. “As I was saying, the chalice here was meant as a failsafe to prevent any deranged king to keep ruling if he was found unfit. To temporarily put the power in someone else’s hands. But your lot used it as a way to cheat the rules of succession. And I came here not to bypass the natural order of things, but to make sure it could never be done again.”
Ethan rolls his eyes at the impostor. “The chalice can’t be dismantled. It’s made out of the souls of the first kings and was forged by Hephaistos himself. Nothing can destroy it.”
The Lord of the Tides bristles at Ethan's confidence, his smile stretching beyond unbridled joy into something sinister. “Even something as pure as a soul can be broken. You’re the one who taught me that, Ethan.”
Shadows, ice, blood, and light twist into vines, slithering from the thrones to ensnare the rulers of the Fae Continent. Thorald swings his blade at the tendrils creeping toward his midriff, but the sword shatters on impact. In mere moments, every Faerie monarch is bound to their throne by the Lord of the Tides’ magic. Only Beth and I remain untouched, though the sight leaves us sobered and still.
The kings and queens writhe against their restraints in a futile struggle, and Ethan’s eyes betray a hint of worry.
The impostor, still wearing my face, strides toward the Spring throne. “Freya stole Devi’s crown because all of you let her,” he scolds. With a leap, he lands behind Ethan’s throne, advancing on the Red Queen. “Eliza is a rotten queen. She slaughtered so many of her kin that the Red Forest still drips with their blood.”
He steps closer to Thorald, leaning down to prod the Storm King’s forehead. The vines curl tighter, silencing Thorald’s furious shouts. “Thorald Storm… Your queen is dead. Your sons despise you. Yet you still rule over their lives as if it’s your right.”
From Storms, he saunters toward the Shadow throne. “Damian Sombra. You hung to your crown with both hands, knuckles bloody, for decades, and now that you’re finally back to full strength, finally happy, you hide your wife so that others in this room don’t harm her.”
My doppelgänger takes a pregnant pause, then doubles back to reach the Winter throne. “And Elio. You escaped your father’s cruelty only to be stuck in a never-ending loop of death. All because you had to marry someone who didn’t love you. How long do you think Ethan will let you keep your new wife before he destroys her too, just for the hell of it?”
“Who are you? How can you use Light magic againstme,” Ethan says on a sneer.
“Have you destroyed so many souls that you can’t even remember? How many women did you blackmail into your bed? How many did you trick with your powers? How many did you rape outright because they dared to say no?” The Lord of the Tides asks in a stark, accusatory tone, his composure slowly slipping away.
Shadow vines crawl over Ethan until he’s covered in them, worming their way inside his nostrils, ears, and eyes as though they mean to choke him from the inside out.
“Do you see the damage you’ve done to your victims, your wives, yourchildren? To the realm you’re sworn to protect? While you all watched and said nothing.” He shifts his focus to the rest of the Fae royals, quietly scanning the room for a moment.
"Three of you never should have been crowned, and the rest have proven themselves unfit to rule." The Lord of the Tides points the chalice at every monarch in turn, ready to impart his own brand of justice. “I only hope the next kings and queens will be more worthy than you were.” An impish grin curls his lips, his chest heaving as though his performance cost him quite a bit. “It’s a good night for a revolution.”
A smoldering heat radiates from his incandescent frame, his body shifting from orange to red to blinding white. Globs of molten metal spill over the chalice’s rim as it begins to warp and melt. I meet the imposter’s amber gaze—the only part of him that still resembles anything human—and realize he’s no longer using magic to mirror me.
With a deafening crack, he slams the most powerful relic ever forged onto the ground. It shatters in an explosion of molten solder. But the destruction doesn’t stop there. Flames erupt from the Lord of the Tides, racing outward to engulf the thrones.
Beth steps forward, her voice sharp with desperation. “Willow! Stop!”
My heart pounds as the truth snaps into focus. The Lord of the Tides has dropped her disguise. Her amber eyes—hauntingly familiar—confirm what I refuse to believe.
Willow is the fuse, the spark, and the kindling.How could this be?
The mark on my upper thigh ignites with searing heat, ten times stronger than before, as the Hall of Eternity is consumed in flames. The destruction of the chalice triggered my immediate crowning, the magic acting of its own will and consecrating my rise as Summer King. The divine power bestowed upon me merges with the inferno born of my sister’s wrath.
Everything and everyone is swallowed by the fire, the acrid stench of burning flesh choking the air. The flares of my new magic are too strong and unfamiliar for me to know exactly how to control them, either to stop Willow from burning all the others alive, or simply tame the blaze.
Beth strides forward to grip her wrist. “Willow, please! This isn’t the answer.”
Each mention of her name seems to weaken her grip on the magic, and Willow staggers outright at the unexpected touch. The vines of magic vanish into smoke, freeing the monarchs.
Chaos erupts. Flames lick the hem of Freya’s dress, and she screams, fleeing toward the tunnels. The Red Queen’s face twists with fury as she lunges at Willow, her blade aimed at my sister’s neck. But before the strike lands, the fire engulfs her, turning her into a human-shaped torch at the heart of the inferno.
