Page 149 of The Prince from a Cruel Summer
She nods, her expression unreadable, a mix of relief and disappointment. “I guess even deceitful moths can be queens in my new world. I’ll have to make my peace with that.”
“You used to love her,” I croak.
“That was before.” Her voice is flat. “The Lord of the Tides doesn’t have friends—or a brother. The sister you knew is truly dead.”
“I can’t let you go.”
“Fire can’t hold fire, Aidan. And I never meant to kill you. If I’ve known one thing, it’s that you were always meant to rule.”
“I thought the Tidecallers wanted a democracy,” I say.
“Democracies are dying, too,” she replies coldly. “No elected politician can do what needs to be done. There’s no vision, no long-term planning—just fear of losing the next election. A true meritocracy was always the answer. You just got crowned as the new Summer King on merit alone, and so will the other crowns follow once all the usurpers are vanquished. Don't forget, there used to be eight thrones in that room, but since the Mist King fell, no one dared crown a successor. They trapped his magic in the chalice, letting it fester.”
My breath catches. “A new Mist King was crowned tonight?”
She gives a sharp nod. “As soon as the Chalice melted. The Islandtide’s Hawthorn is small and sickly, but now that its magic flows freely, its people will return and rebuild. The sins of our ancestors can finally be wiped clean.” She takes a meaningful pause, close to tears. “This fire will burn itself out soon, and the Summerlands will look to you for guidance.” She turns, hands clasped behind her back, a casual gesture in stark contrast to the devastation around us. “You should thank me, really. I gave you everything a phoenix needs to shine: a tall, enormous mound of ashes to rise from.”
“What about you?” I ask, my voice trembling.
“Because of your meddling, I still have a lot of work to do. I won’t rest until Ethan Lightbringer is dead.”
And with that, my little sister—or what remains of her—vanishes in a flicker of light.
Chapter 48
Children of the Revolution
BETH
The Lunar Cascades rush around us, washing away the ash that clings to our skin. The silver light of the moon reflects off the water, its beauty at odds with the hellish glow of Summerlands Castle burning in the distance. Flames devour the spires, sending embers spiraling into the blackened sky.
Elio holds Damian upright, his face pale and streaked with burns, while I press a hand to the Shadow King’s chest, desperate to find his heartbeat.
Survivors huddle in the shallows, their eyes wide with terror, their clothes soaked through and clinging to their trembling bodies. The scent of smoke and charred wood hangs thick in the air, mixing with the sharp tang of the mineral water. I clutch the edge of a jagged rock for balance, my lungs burning from the effort of escape, but my gaze keeps drifting back to the inferno.
Aidan is still in there.
Freya is weeping beside me, her sobs breaking the stillness of the night as she clutches the lifeless body of her lover, Thorald Storm. Deep red and black burns pepper her usually beautiful face. Strips of melted skin expose the muscles of her arms, and yet she doesn't seem to notice, her eyes vacant with grief.
I think of Seth, still on the boat, unaware that his father died tonight. That his mother might not survive, her wounds grave enough for her life to be in danger. The thought hangs heavy in my chest. How quickly everything changed, how everything we thought we knew turned to ash.
“What about Ethan?” I ask Elio.
“There’s no sign of him, but he still lives. I feel it in my bones.”
I open my mouth to say something, but a tall, masculine silhouette emerges from the inferno. My heart bleeds as I recognize my husband among the flames.
Aidan marches out of the ruins of his castle like a god reborn, his short, soot-laden hair messy and wild, framing his sharp features. He’s unashamed of his nakedness, the phoenix tattoo curling up from his thigh to his hip—its wings spread in exquisite detail, flames etched in gold and crimson that shimmer along with his long strides.
His chest and stomach are streaked with ash and sweat, every line of muscle defined by the cinders embedded in the grooves of his skin. My breath catches at the sight of him. There’s purpose in his step, his chest rising and falling with a controlled intensity, each movement exuding strength and resolve. His eyes meet mine, molten and unyielding, and I can’t look away. Aidan isn’t just a warrior or a king in this moment—he’s a force of nature, and every nerve in my body hums in response.
The surge of energy that courses through me as I step toward him eclipses everything else. My clothes are in tatters, barely hanging on. The world narrows to the two of us amidst the wreckage of everything we’ve lost. His warm, steady hands slide along my arm before wrapping around my shivering frame, pulling me closer. There’s no hesitation, no words needed. His lips meet mine, and everything else fades—leaving only the taste of fire and blood. The world burns around us, but I’ve never felt more alive.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
“I’m unharmed, thanks to you.”
“Willow escaped.” He grabs hold of my chin and kisses me again, like he can’t believe our luck. “But we survived. Who else is unaccounted for?”
