Page 112 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen
“I’ll see you up there.” With a solemn nod, he melts back into a cloud.
I rise into the sky and summon my bow and arrows, flying up, up, up, until I pass the ledge of the arena.
Percy flies up beside me. It’s been ages since we’ve flown side by side, my feet rooted to the ground for too long. Just like that, the shadows and doubts worming through my heart evaporate.
He’s here. He always is. When the world turns against me, when I lose sight of who I am, Percy never loses faith.
“We should leave. The cupids—” he starts.
“One enemy at a time,diamantay,” I say with a smile.
“But you could die.”
“Death is part of life. I just need to do what’s right, here.”
He nods. “I know you. By heart. You’re thinking this is your last stand, but it doesn’t have to be.”
He does know me better than I know myself. Every broken edge. Every shard of the queen I used to be and the woman I’ve become. I want to tell him thank you. I want to say I’m sorry. I want to promise we’ll survive this.
Instead, I just say, “If it’s our last fight, let’s make it a good one, alright?”
The sky above ignites, lightning flaring in scattered bursts. Alaric stands at the ledge behind the altar, fists buzzing with electricity. He must have looked down to savor the moment my body would break on the rocks.
Now, he sees me.
Thunder tears through the clouds.
White-hot bolts strike left and right, but I swerve between them and wrap myself in a protective sphere of light magic. A rainbow of colors swirls along the walls of my translucent shield. The rain hisses and turns to steam on impact as the bubble swells, stretching outward until this land of drear and darkness is flooded in sunlight.
I draw a crystalline arrow from the ether and aim right at Alaric. Not a love arrowhead, but one meant to cut flesh.
One arrow to his groin.
Another, smack-dab in the middle of his chest. Alaric gurgles, hand flying to the shaft, eyes wide, knees buckling. I’m not the most renowned archer for nothing.
“You kneel, you fucker,” I declare, my words swallowed by the wind but no less satisfying.
Alaric opens and closes his mouth, his hand clutching the base of the arrow embedded in his heart as if he might try to tear it out. It’s a grave wound, but not fatal. Not for a Fae king.
A small group of Storm Fae stalks in from the side, axes in hand, Salazar at the head. I could shoot them down—in fact, I’m itching to—but spilling more blood will likely push the rest into action. Most of the High Fae stay rooted in place, apparently torn between rushing to their king’s aid or waiting a little longer to see if he remains king at all.
Seth condenses into form in front of them, blocking their path. He stands tall, his back to me, arms spread wide. A long sword shines in his hand, my prince poised to take on the entire population of Deiltine.
Alaric lifts a hand to the sky, and the clouds split open again. Power churns in a growing tempest overhead.
I land and focus my magic on my shield. Lightning crashes against it a second later, crawling across the surface like fiery lines of ants—alive, relentless, but unable to pierce through.
Nathaniel prowls out from behind his brother, blood matting his hair and running down the slope of his neck. His white-knuckled grip tightens around the hilt of my end-all blade.
Alaric senses his approach and laughs. “You’re never going to be king, Nate. You’re a pet. A broken-winged raven.”
Nathaniel steps around him until they’re face to face. Seth moves in from the side, closing the circle.
Alaric smiles through a mouthful of blood, red trickling from the corners of his lips. “There’s no ever after for you, Seth. Only death. And you, Nathan… mark my words. You’d have to kill a hundred kings before the gods looked at you twice.”
Nathaniel matches his grin. “Only ninety-nine left to go.”
A red-orange bolt of lightning bursts across the sky just as Nathaniel drives the blade into his brother’s heart. It zigzags as it falls, bright and violent, hurtling straight for Seth.
