Page 68 of Wicked Prince of Shadows
Its flower had unfurled. The petals spread open like a sigh, soft and luminous.
But they were white.
White—without a single trace of crimson, violet, or gold or any other color. Not even a shade.
No sign of transformation.
No confirmation of altered blood.
No hope.
I gripped my hand into a fist against my chest, fingernails biting into my palm. I drew closer, terrified of what this meantand knowing I couldn’t stay away. Perhaps the translations had revealed something else that could help? This couldn’t mean—it didn’t mean that the only way left was death. Could it?
Rasoul’s expression was difficult to read, half in shadow, but he didn’t speak. He simply nodded, reverent and grim, then cradled the flower against his chest.
Vetle’s jaw flexed. His shoulders lifted with a slow inhale, and then he reached out, pressing his hand briefly to Rasoul’s shoulder.
“Finish gathering the medical supplies,” he said low, his voice raw gravel. “Make sure the poultices and bandages are brought out to the courtyard. All will be well. This will end.”
Rasoul gave a low bow and slipped away down the hallway. Vetle watched him go, and for a moment, he didn’t move.
Then his head turned toward me.
Our eyes met.
The silence between us stretched like a chasm. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. The white petals of that flower burned in my mind—a verdict rendered without mercy or hope.
He started toward me, his footfalls deliberate and measured. Each step echoed off the damaged walls, the sound hollow and final. His wings dragged slightly behind him, as if even they felt the weight of what that colorless bloom meant.
I wanted to run. To hide. To pretend I hadn't seen. But my feet remained rooted to the cracked marble.
When he reached me, he stopped just close enough that I could smell the myrrh and cloves that clung to him. His amber eyes searched my face, and I watched something fracture behind them—some last fragile hope he'd been clinging to. Thatwe’dbeen clinging to.
And now—unless something had changed…now I had to decide whether I would accept obliteration or fight it.
As much as it hurt…I knew. If Maltric had no other solution, there was only one way forward.
And I’d do it. For Vetle. For Osric. For all these people who didn’t deserve to be shredded and their souls cast out into the streams of time. But, though I didn’t believe there was anything else, I asked…just in case.
“What did Maltric say?” I asked, my voice almost breaking. “Did he findanythingelse? He said that there were some definitions?—”
Vetle stopped in front of me, his gaze haunted. His hand rose to my cheek, his cool palm cradling my face with a gentleness that made my chest ache. "He found something," he said quietly. "But not what we hoped for."
The words hit me like a physical blow. I'd known—it had been too much to hope for. This place truly had been abandoned. Why had I dared to hope when it was so obvious this was the only way it could end?
Hearing it spoken now made it real in a way that hollowed out my chest. If there were any other way that didn’t involve killing someone I cared about, I’d take it.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze even as tears burned the backs of my eyes. "What did he find exactly?"
His expression broke, and he pulled me into his arms, one hand moving to the back of my head and the other at my waist. “I’m so sorry, Sabine,” he whispered hoarsely. “This is the only way.”
His arms cinched around me, and his heart thundered against my cheek. He said nothing, only rocked me once—gently, like he could delay time with motion alone.
Then I felt him shift. His body tensed as he reached for something tucked inside his robe.
It hit me a half-second before he pressed the damp cloth over my mouth and nose—honeysuckle and something sharper, something wrong.
“Wait—” I jerked back, but he was faster. His hand came around, pressing the cloth gently but firmly over my nose and mouth.
