Page 184 of A Flame of the Phoenix

Malin’s eyes darted between hers, widening with hunger at whatever he was shown.

“How do I achieve it?”

“You must lose everything you’ve ever held dear.”

“I have nothing.”

“Your father never died—he left you. He had another son with a powerful Goddess, and you were nothing to him compared to that son. He will return. An ember of the Phoenix is always destined to return.”

“My father?” Malin repeated—the first slither of humanity he’d yielded in the voice of a child.

Marlow shook her head. “Your half-brother. Only for a little while. Only enough for you to see what he chose over you.”

The king’s knees met the marble, and Tarly’s heart leaped with every inch closer he got to Marlowe. He was a bomb on the brink of detonating, and she was too close…they had to get her away from him.

“You’re lying,” Malin seethed in a low rattle that Tarly felt in his core.

Closer…a fraction closer.Tarly watched Malin’s hands tremble as if they were knives about to be thrown.

“Remember this in all I’ve told you…” Marlowe spoke—words that struck the world and snapped the beast inside Malin Ashfyre. “My truth is just as powerful as my lie.”

The wildness that flared in Malin’s eyes was a sentencing.

Izaiah yelled, “DON’T DO IT?—”

Jakon screamed, “NO!”

Tarly shouted Malin’s name.

But they were all words against a blade. Futile.

The hands of the king moved too fast. The calls of protest, Jakon’s cry of anguish, Malin’s roar of outrage, the drum of Tarly’s pulse—everything clashed, but still he heard the second when Marlowe’s neck…snapped.

Chaos erupted, but Tarly couldn’t move. He kneeled, staring at the precious form of Marlowe so still against the marble floor. A life that deserved so much longer to prosper, stolen by an evil that would get to keep breathing.

Jakon’s heart-wrenching cries split through him, and he knew without looking the human was frantic in his struggle to reach his wife. He was owed that at least. So that was where Tarly targeted his wrath over the utter outrage of this tragedy.

Izaiah had the same idea, and Tarly forgot his own pain. It was all numb under his rage and disbelief as he fought off guard after guard. He managed to steal a dagger, then a sword, cutting through bodies in a way he didn’t know he was capable of with this course of adrenaline pumping through him. When no one could hold Jakon back anymore, the human slammed to his knees, cradling his wife’s body, and it was an image that would haunt Tarly for the rest of his days.

“What have you done!” A new roar of soul-tearing anguish boomed through the room.

Malin had retreated up the dais, surrounded by dark fae guards.

The person who stormed in was Augustine, Marlowe’s father.

Augustine’s horror-filled sight slipped from Jakon and Marlowe to the king.

“We had a deal!” he bellowed, torn between wrath and heartbreak. “She was to be spared to take me instead!”

Malin didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on Marlowe, shed of all malice now. His chest heaved as if he couldn’t believe his own actions, maybe even regretted that split second he’d lost his mind without considering the gravity of what he was doing.

Tarly didn’t care. There was no regret or remorse in the world that could redeem this despicable piece of shit.

Malin said, his words vacant, “Your deal was not with me. And they still expect you to fulfill your role for them.”

Augustine was surrounded then. They were completely outnumbered, and Tarly saw no escape for any of them.

Tarly caught a flicker of Izaiah’s movement as he uncorked a small vial.

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