Page 43 of A Storm of Fire and Ash
Eryn crossed her arms. “And I’m not going to go easy on her just because she’s multitasking.”
I gave them both an exasperated look. “You guys are the worst.”
“And yet,” Makar murmured, stepping closer, his voice like velvet, “you like having us around.”
My breath caught. His nearness always did something to me—frayed the edge of my focus, stirred heat in my chest and in between my legs. He tilted his head and smiled faintly, all teasing set aside. “Shield up, Elara. I’m coming in.”
I braced myself. A second later, I felt the brush of his presence against my mind, like fingers trailing over glass. I slammed the wall up hard, mentally shoving back.
“Better,” he said approvingly. “But I could still slip through.”
“Try,” I challenged.
His grin turned wicked. “Don’t tempt me, darling.”
The pressure built as I held the barrier against him, sweat prickling my skin as I tried to block him out and keep my stance with Eryn at the same time as I kept blocking her assaults. My mind strained. My body screamed for reprieve.
But I didn’t break.
After a moment, Makar pulled back with a satisfied hum. “She’s learning.”
I collapsed to my knees, gasping for breath. “You two are psychopaths.”
Eryn laughed. “We prefer experienced.”
I sat there, catching my breath, until something clicked in the back of my mind. “Wait… Windaria. You said Zayn went to see his father.”
Eryn and Makar exchanged a glance.
I narrowed my eyes. “Who is his father?”
Makar folded his arms, expression unreadable. “King Thrandor.”
That hit me like a blade to the gut. Ice flooded my veins.
King Thrandor.
The man who killed my Fae parents. The butcher of so many lives. The man who is disgusted with any being that is not Royal Fae. The man that wants to rule everything. The man who has no business to sitting on a throne.
Myfather’s throne.
My voice came out hollow. “That’s… Zayn’s father?”
Makar’s eyes darkened. “Yuuup. Real son of a bitch too. Happy to not be anywhere near him.”
And just like that, the forest didn’t feel quite so golden anymore.
I stared blankly at Makar, the world tilting under me.
King Thrandor. The name rang in my ears like a death bell. My breath came short and sharp, and for a moment, all I could hear was the blood rushing in my head.
“That can’t be right,” I whispered. “Zayn’s father…?”
“He is,” Makar confirmed, watching me carefully. “But don’t twist the bloodline.”
Eryn stepped forward and placed a hand on my shoulder. Her grip was grounding, solid. “Elara,” she said, gently but firmly, “Zayn is nothing like Thrandor. None of us are.”
I looked up, and the sincerity in her eyes struck me quiet. “Zayn has spent his entire life trying to distancehimself from that gods-awful man,” she continued. “He wants the crown only so he can tear it from his father’s hands and end the legacy of violence Thrandor built. Even if Zayn is not marked by Windaria, he’s working from the inside, risking everything to stop the cycle. You may not trust him now, but I do. With my life. Zayn is on our side—the correct side of history.”
