Page 129 of The Prince from a Cruel Summer
Mabel Bloodsinger, the Mist Queen, ruler of a kingdom that was destroyed for the sins of its last reigning king, her adopted land burned to ashes, her subjects slaughtered just for existing. She probably knows more about nightmares than any other Fae alive.
The cup of tea trembles in her grip. “I can’t deny that.”
"I should go and meet your friend. As soon as possible."
Mabel nods. "That's a wise decision. Do stay away from mirrors on your journey. I wouldn't put it past Ethan Lucifer Lightbringer to hunt you down just for sport. You caught his eye, yes?"
"Unfortunately."
Her hazelnut eyes darken. “Then you should leave at sunrise. Come now, I'll show you where to rest for the night."
I'm leaving Faerie, Aidan, Ezra, and my entire world behind. I write letters to Papa and Marjorie, hoping I’ll get to see them again one day. I'm heading to a new continent—a place that has forgotten about Fae kings and sirens. A world that disavowed magic altogether. A land where I don't belong, but also hold an advantage.
It’ll be easier to hide in a place where people believe I don’t exist. I’ll be exiled and heartbroken, but in some ways, freer than I've ever been.
And irrevocably alone.
Chapter 41
Twin Flames
BETH
Summerlands, Faerie, Present Day
“Flaming hell. Where did the healers go?” Aidan remarks out loud as we reach the top floor of the main building.
The Summer Queen’s apartments smell of death and rare herbs. I screech to a halt on the sleek wood floor, coming to an abrupt stop behind Aidan, the royal apartments eerily quiet. A hint of moonlight pierces through the curtains, the long flaps of nude fabric billowing softly in the late evening breeze. A large balcony is visible beyond the opened double doors connecting the living room area to the outside.
I would have expected Thera to be surrounded by a flock of healers, but there’s no one in sight, no commotion at all.
Just silence.
As though Aidan’s mother simply slipped away, unnoticed.
Disheveled from the intensity of our kiss, I grip the train of my dress even tighter to prevent the bothersome garment from scraping the floor, wondering if I should have let him come alone. I might not be part of Aidan’s life anymore, but it kills me to leave him at a time like this.
The unnerving silence ties a tight knot in my stomach as he tiptoes closer to her bedroom. I follow into the doorway, the sight in front of me lowering my body temperature by several degrees, a hint of ice settling inside my bones.
Thera’s laying down on the bed, unmoving, the grayish tint of her cheeks even more pronounced than it was during the ceremony. Her eyes are open, angled at the sky, staring into the worlds beyond.
Her chest does not rise or fall. A white sheet has been pulled over her body and tucked under her chin, the usual way for healers to lay down a hollowed-out corpse, one from which the soul has already been collected. My heart squeezes at the sight, but there would have been no other reason for Aidan’s mark to catch fire the way it did, not if Thera was still alive.
“Mother…” he breathes.
I see a part of him still hoped, still yearned, for it not to be true despite the evidence branding his flesh.
His brows knit together, his gaze searching the room. “The healers are gone. The guards. Heather. Why is there nobody here?” he asks the blank wall before turning to me for an answer.
“I’m so sorry, Aidan,” I murmur, unsure whether to leave him to his grief or stride forward to stand by his side.
He shakes his head, a high, trembling edge to his voice. “No, something’s not right. She shouldn’t have been left alone, not before the sacred rites were performed.”
“I sent everyone away,” a deep, masculine voice murmurs. The sound is hoarse and choppy, as though coming straight from the grave, crawling out of some deep, forgotten abyss. “Don’t worry, Elio already came to collect her soul.”
A shadow shimmers into view next to the bed, slowly sharpening from a blurry shape to one of a ghost I’m all too familiar with. I inch backward, spooked, and goosebumps tighten my arms as fire rises up to the surface of Aidan’s skin, bathing the entire scene with warm light.
The man holding the lifeless queen’s hand looks identical to the one in front of me.
