Page 168 of Beneath a Shattered Sky
“You swore the vow of allegiance,” Drystan whispers, staring blankly at the corpse of his mother.
The vow to obstruct harm to the Nicnevin manifested as this. Behind him, Ashton leans against the far wall too casually for someone witnessing such chaos.
“I never wanted her dead.” Cedwyn looks so lost. “She’s my perfect mate. So tenacious. So cold that she burned, and she never burned hotter than when she was trying to kill me.”
He rips his sleeve up his arm, exposing the glittering red mating mark. The ink turns pale and fades as we all watch until it’s barely distinguishable from a scar.
They hated each other, and yet they were fully mated. I can’t even pretend to understand the depths of the fucked-up relationship those two shared, and right now, I don’t even care. Bree is more important.
“Titania?” I call, dropping Mab’s hand now that the threat has passed. “Can we heal him?”
She appears in a sweep of bright robes, her dark skin crinkling as she frowns. “It’s not poison, so no.”
“Hawkith said it induced fever,” Drystan says, dropping the glamour over Bree as he approaches. “Male fae can’t have fevers, but it stands to reason?—”
“It’s so hot in here,” Bree murmurs, shoving at the ripped, hooded black coat he always wears until he’s shirtless, thenreaching for the laces at his groin. My hands grab for his, stilling his frantic motions. “Shit, dragonfly, why are you so cold?”
“She was my mate!” Cedwyn screams, his composure shattering as he drops to his knees beside Hawkith’s body.
“Bricriu might be going through a similar experience to a fever,” Drystan finishes, ignoring his father’s torment. “It would be wise to seek out the high priestess and try to procure him an antidote.”
“No potions.” Bree flinches back so violently that his chair falls back. He sprawls on the floor, dodging Drystan’s outstretched hands when the dullahan tries to catch him.
“Ashton Froshtyn,” Cedwyn whispers, and I glance up at him, only to find him cradling Hawkith’s head in both of his hands. “Kill me.”
Ashton doesn’t hesitate. He’s so fast I don’t even get a chance to make out a word of protest. One second, he’s lounging against the wall, and the next, his own quicksilver sword runs through Cedwyn’s heart.
“Good,” Cedwyn whispers, slumping. His hands cup the sharp point sticking through his chest almost reverently. “Now kill yo?—”
The king can’t finish the order. Ashton twists the blade, and in the next breath, he’s gone. The middle Froshtyn sibling staggers, his gaze unfocused.
“I’m free,” he whispers. “I’m free, I’m free, I’m free.”
He’s clearly in a state of shock. The floor is a mess of blood and bodies, and I can’t focus on any of it because Bree is panting like he can’t breathe, reaching for me like I’m the solution.
“In layman’s terms,” Drystan mutters, ignoring his family with a brutal curtness I suspect is pure self-preservation. “Bree will survive. He’s just really, really horny.”
If it’s anything like the pain of my fever, horny is an understatement.
“Bree?” I murmur, cupping his face. “Bree, I need you to tell me what you want.”
“Nicnevin Rhoswyn!” Someone is calling from beyond the room. “Nicnevin!”
“I need…” Bree’s eyes are unfocused as his face scrunches in pain. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
My heart rips open. “You’re not fine.”
“Nicnevin Rhoswyn, Elfhame has fallen!”
What?
How?
My breath catches in my lungs, and I look desperately between the open door and my suffering mate. If Elfhame has fallen, there are things that need to happen. Plans must be changed. Cedwyn is dead. I need a new vow of allegiance from Ashton. I need to raise those armies I promised Florian.
Oh, Goddess… Florian! Is he alive? If I know anything about him at all, he would’ve rather died than given up the palace.
Bree’s panting pauses long enough for him to give me a small shove.
