Page 69 of The Unseelie Wish

“Alexandra,” Valroy used her full name, snapping her attention back to him, “here is the bargain I will strike with you. Wish away the treaty that binds us all. Let us return to our true nature. And in return, I will allow you to live your days with your duke, his life and your mortality intact—and neither of you will shed a drop of blood upon the battlefield. You can disavow yourself of it all.”

“But I’ll have caused it. It’s the same thing.” She shook her head. “Whether you’re using me as a cannon or if you do it yourself.”

“Perhaps. But it will be far away from you, a distant concern of those who do not concern you. You will spend your days happy, your nights content.” He gestured behind him at Izael. “With the creature who loves you. Who would give anything for you, including his most valuable possession—his life.”

Gods above and below, it was tempting. She couldn’t deny it. All this madness would stop—all the suffering, all the pain. They could live together in peace. Far away from war, from death, from destruction. They could just be.

But at what cost?

Could she go on, knowing what she had done to the Seelie? To Earth?

She wanted to say no, she couldn’t do such a thing. That death was the right choice. That she would rather die than to know all that was happening because of her.

Valroy walked away from her, ripping the sword from Izael’s tail. The duke groaned in pain and struggled to move—to fight back—but with one swift kick from the king to his stomach, Izael lay still. Valroy stood beside the fallen duke, placing the tip of his sword against the other fae’s chest, ready to plunge down and end his life. “Decide, Alexandra.”

“I’m so sorry, Izael.” Her words were little more than a broken whisper. “I’m so sorry.” I won’t be far behind you.

“Shame.” Valroy lifted his sword an inch, and then with no further ado, drove it down into Izael’s chest.

Alex screamed. Izael’s howl of pain was worse, his tail thrashing and writhing as he wrapped his hands around the blade. But he did nothing except cut his hands—dark black blood coating the Unseelie King’s blade.

Valroy ripped the sword from Izael’s chest, his expression utterly passive, as if this were nothing more than a typical Thursday evening.

Alex ran forward, not caring about Valroy’s presence anymore. She collapsed to her knees beside Izael, picking him up and cradling him in her arms. “Izael—Iz?—”

“Don’t cry.” Izael smiled weakly, his sea-green eyes already losing their shine. He reached up a trembling, bloody hand, but could not quite gather the strength to touch her cheek. She caught his hand and closed the distance for him, not caring for the smears it would leave on her.

She’d be joining him in a few minutes, anyway, should the gods be kind.

Sniffling, she leaned down to kiss him, not caring for how bitter his blood tasted on her lips. When she broke away, she rested her forehead against his. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry…”

“Shh…” He tangled his fingers with hers. “I shall not die alone. That is…that is more…than I could have ever wished for…”

His eyes slid shut.

His hand in hers went limp.

His head rolled to the side.

The sound that left her was not one she thought she could make. Clutching him close, she rocked back and forth on her heels as she sobbed.

Izael, the Duke of Bones, was dead.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“What a waste,” she heard Valroy say through a sigh.

Alex wanted to scream. Wanted to crawl into a hole and never come back out. If her heart could stop from grief alone, she was certain it would. She wanted to destroy Valroy—to rip him to pieces.

Agony and fury mixed together, lighting a dangerous flame. She might be bound for death, but fuck if she wasn’t going to try to take Valroy down with her.

Kissing Izael one last time, she placed his body carefully back down to the stones before standing.

“Hm?” Valroy chuckled, amused in the way that one might be watching a child stand defiantly against an army. “What is this?”

Shutting her eyes, she focused on the music around her. Of the triumphant, terrible dirge. Izael’s song had ended, the strings fading as the piece he played stopped and fell silent. Izael was dead. His music was over.

And soon, so would the music of the Maze of Shadows. She didn’t move. Didn’t lift her hands. She didn’t need to. That was all just a tool—a device to aid her focus. But she had all the inspiration she needed in the world.

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