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“And what? You think that means something?”

I shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. Part of me wondered...”

“Wondered what?”

“Wondered if I’d somehow... brought Ulpheas to me,” I admitted.

“As in, you think you might have stitched him?” Draven stroked his chin. “An interesting thought. Were you trying to save him? Did you sense what was going on?”

“Either way, it was too late. Pointless. Like everything I do.”

Draven’s eyes widened slightly. “Pardon me?”

“Do I make things better, Draven? Or do I make them worse?” I burst out. “This power I have. Excalibur, the grail. Why do I have it? Why did Excalibur bond to me in the first place?”

“I thought we already knew that. Your blood...”

“Yes, my Three-cursed fae blood,” I spat. “But is that all it is? I don’t know...”

“What is it you’re really trying to say? What are you afraid of, Morgan?”

“I killed my own fucking brother, Draven,” I said. “That’s kind of... a big deal.”

The raven-haired fae prince smiled slightly. “Is it?”

“Very well, so you killed yours, too,” I acknowledged. “But...”

“But what? But absolutely nothing. He was trying to kill you, Morgan. I don’t care who he was. He deserved to die. Just like Tabor did. You gave him a chance. You did more than I would have. You nearly spared his life.”

“Yes,” I acknowledged. “But...”

“There is nothing to regret, Morgan. And you know that. This still isn’t what it’s about. What is it really about?”

I stared at him. He was right. Daegen would have killed me. I had been weak when I’d offered to let him go. He would have run right back to my father and then what? He would simply have lived to come against me another day.

“I’m afraid my father will get me. Take me back. That he’ll... I don’t know... use me somehow. That I’ll wind up doing terrible things for him, Draven. He says he loves me. He says I’m part of his family.”

Draven laughed wryly. “Family. Right. Fae fucking family.”

“They can’t all be like this,” I said desperately. “Not all of them.”

“Not all. Just the royal ones.” He touched my cheek. “Ours won’t be. I swear to you, Morgan.”

“No,” I agreed. “Ours will be completely normal. Just you, me, our little niece Medra who was literally born and bred to bring down kings, and my perpetually sleeping younger brother. It’ll be a perfect fairytale.”

Draven looked slightly hurt by this. “Who wants fucking perfection?”

“What?”

“Families aren’t meant to be perfect, Morgan. Anyone who ever claims to have a perfect family is lying. Have you seen mortal families? They squabble and hit and lie and...”

“Very well, I get the picture.” I wrinkled my brow. “Do they all hit?”

“Well, the children do.” He grinned. “But it’s not all bad.”

“No?” I asked dubiously.

“No. Think of Lancelet’s. Have you ever been to her parents’ house? It’s a madhouse.” He shook his head, smiling, and I could tell he’d kept a good memory of what he’d seen there. “I went to thank Lancelet’s mother for the baby carrier. At least three children were fighting in the dirt outside. Noble children, too! And then two more ran by arguing. Another ran up, snot-nosed and crying, saying she’d fallen into the pig pen.”