Page 1 of Queen of Whispers and Mist

CHAPTER1

RONAN

The last time he died, Ronan was struck by how loud death was. This time he was taken by the silence. That’s how he knew it was real.

At least he thought it was until the collective inhale of the crowd transformed into ground-shaking shouts. That was the moment he registered the answering tremors beneath his ribs and recognized them as the thundering beat of his heart.

If Shadow slit his throat, it should be sluggish and slow, not racing.

And there should be pain... right? Or was the lack of pain significant? Suggesting perhaps that she cut so deep he died instantly?

Why was dying so confusing? It always seemed such a straightforward affair from the other end of the blade.

“What are you playing at? Finish it!” Erebos’s enraged shout rang out.

The crowd’s bloodthirsty cheers grew louder, echoing the High Lord’s order.

“I forfeit.” Shadow’s voice was nearly a whisper by comparison, but it cracked through the arena like thunder.

Only then did he finally understand. Even with all the evidence he’d already gathered, it wasn’t until he heard the defeat in her voice that the pieces clicked into place.

She couldn’t go through with it.

She couldn’t kill him.

For the second time in less than a month, Ronan had walked into a battle expecting to meet his maker and found himself still breathing on the other side.

His eyes snapped open to find Shadow’s head bowed over him, her arm hanging limply at her side while her chest heaved. Her expression was haunted; clearly the decision hadn’t been an easy one for her.

There were so many things he wanted to say to her, questions to ask, thanks to convey, but the best he could manage was a rasped, “Kitten...”

Her gaze found his, and what he saw reflected at him left him speechless.

The intensity of his shock mingled with his relief, rendering him little more than a boneless puddle in the dirt. He’d wanted to believe her feelings for him would weigh into the outcome, but hope was a painful and dangerous thing, so he hadn’t allowed himself to give in to it.

Instead, he’d prepared himself for the worst and resigned himself to death once more. This time, at least, he’d felt as though his demise served a greater purpose. There was comfort in that, if little else.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have our winner!” Dmitri’s voice boomed throughout the arena, shattering Ronan’s illusion of privacy.

There was a barely perceptible lull before the crowd went utterly wild. Shadow’s words had already ignited their interest, but the Peacock’s announcement transformed their excited cries into wildfire. There wasn’t a person in Glimmermere who wouldn’t know what had transpired in the arena within the next twenty minutes.

Ronan ignored all of it, focusing instead on the woman he’d been ready to sacrifice everything for. She held his gaze, unblinking, conveying thousands of unspoken words through her multihued irises—none of which he understood beyond the unsettling certainty she was saying goodbye.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice still little more than a harsh whisper. His body was so shot through with adrenaline that he trembled as he lifted his hand up to cup her cheek. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Before she could answer, Shadow was pulled off him by two of the High Lord’s men. She could have fought them if she wished, but she didn’t. Instead, she allowed them to whisk her away without so much as a backward glance in his direction. The slump of her shoulders told him everything he needed to know.

Nothing good awaited her at the end of this forced walk of shame.

“Wait, I—” Ronan staggered to his feet and tried to go after her.

If she disappeared now, the moment between them would be lost. The next time he saw Shadow, assuming he was lucky enough to see her alone again, her wall would be back in place. Trapping her on one side and him on the other.

Even before she lost her memories, vulnerability of any kind was in short supply from the Forsaken queen. There was no way she’d willingly bare herself like that again anytime soon. Least of all to him—the man who’d basically stolen her win out from under her.

Not that it had been his intention, but she couldn't know that. They never got around to speaking about his motives for joining the competition.

Or hers, for that matter.

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