Page 134 of The Prince's Curse

This was not like Carrigan Shea, who wanted to wipe out the Auberon. This was personal. This was about Armina Voss taking her revenge. And if she took him down, perhaps she would finally have her pound of flesh.

Without opening his eyes, he said, “At what point do I bend the knee to Armina Voss? Scarlett called her to ask for mercy, but she denied it. If I offered my neck, then?—”

“No,” Paris said firmly. He opened his eyes to see Paris glaring at him. “Absolutely not.”

“A good leader makes sacrifices for his people,” Julian said.

“Oh, fuck off,” Paris said. “No. That bitch has taken enough from all of us. And you are a bigger fool than I could have imagined if you think she will stop just because you let her take your head.”

“But—”

“And when she continues her bloody reign of terror, I will be left to deal with it. I said no,” he said sharply. “If you want to send the others away to protect them, I’ll back you. But you’ll have to kill me first if you think I’m letting you offer your life to Armina fucking Voss.”

“Then what, Paris? This is not about the court. It is about me.”

“Oh, now you want to take all the credit? You didn’t kill him all alone,” Paris said with a wry smile.

He couldn’t help smiling back. “You know what I mean.”

“I’m not sending anyone away. Even if I did, they wouldn’t leave.” He rose and raked his hands through his hair, then reached into his desk drawer for a small bottle of whiskey, along with two glasses. After pouring generously, he plunked a glass in front of Julian. “You make the call. But here’s what I want to see happen. In two days, Shoshanna is going to break this bloody curse, and then we are going to kill a fucking witch. And then we are going to sit on our asses and enjoy the spoils, because I am tired of losing and suffering. I have paid my penance, and so have you. A thousand times over.”

“Would you rest if she killed Misha?”

Paris stood and threw up his hands in frustration. “Do you want me to agree that Armina Voss is in the right? What do you want, Julian?”

“I want it to be over,” he said. “And if it means giving myself, then?—”

“It doesn’t. Look at what she did to Kova, and he never laid eyes on Tobias. Look at Alistair. She is beyond reason, my friend.”

“But—”

Heat rolled through their bond as Paris pointed at him. “I’m not going to listen to this anymore. Instead, I’m going to hope that my mate can do something to find Kristina and Sasha before the sun comes up, and that this damn witch survives the transition, and that you don’t go give Armina your head on a platter while I’m distracted. What will it do to Scarlett if you die? All of this cursed love bullshit, and you’re going to check out as soon as you actually have a chance?”

“I don’t want to, I just?—”

“Then don’t!” Paris spluttered. “I have been begging you for weeks to fight back. You are finally alive for the first time in a hundred and eighty years, and you have something worth living for. Don’t throw it away, not until we’ve exhausted our options. Please.”

Staring at the amber liquid in the glass, Julian couldn’t help thinking of her, cold and dead in his arms. He had seen what the rest of them feared, half a dozen times now, and he couldn’t bear the thought of it again. If he knew he could ensure she was safe—that all of them would be safe—wasn’t it worth anything?

He drained the glass, cleared his throat, and said, “I’ll fight. For the court. For all of you.”

“Good,” Paris said quietly. “Good.”

Chapter 32

The others either didn’t know or wouldn’t tell her, but Kova had embraced his newfound freedom to tell the truth, no matter how upsetting. Through the dark cycle of her curse, her doppelganger had always died within a few weeks of her birthday, but it was usually a matter of days. Once, it had been only six hours. It was entirely out of her control, but she was increasingly on edge as the clock ticked by. Perhaps Fate was out to set a new record this time.

As of this evening, it had been just over forty-eight hours. Misha had wanted them to wait another full day, but Shoshanna insisted that she was up for breaking the curse. The human witch had spent all day working on a counterspell, saying that her friend “Ursula” had given her a hand.

She’d learned since arriving that the “compound” was once a school and residential facility, which explained all the small dormitory-like buildings. Though it was much more dated and rundown, it reminded her of the boarding school she’d once attended.

Shoshanna had turned a classroom in one of the buildings into her ritual space. The floor and walls were covered in intricate designs, with veins of silver and gemstones laid into the wood floor. The smoky scent of sage hung in the air.

As Scarlett watched from the doorway, Shoshanna was finishing the final stages of her work, drawing curving strokes in white paint on the floor. The witch’s heart raced, though she looked more determined than frightened.

Despite the hour, Julian had accompanied Scarlett to the workshop. His eyes were sunken in shadow, his skin too pale, but he had insisted that she wake him early so he could accompany her.

She’d woken him up by kissing his brow, then sitting astride him and telling him that she wasn’t going under for her magical surgery without fucking him senseless.

---