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I can’t burn him, bury him, or feed him to scavengers, but I can banish him. I can let him lie where magic dies.

With another flick of my wrist, the lid lifts itself into the air and slides back onto the coffin.

The last thing I see is Galleghar’s face, and then the stone lid grinds over it, closing with a deep boom.

One by one, I let the fairy lights wink out. I pause before I leave, a wave of trepidation sliding over me.

Why won’t the Otherworld take his body?

It bugs me. Magic defies logic, but even it sticks to certain patterns.

I take one last look at my father’s tomb. Then shaking off my foreboding, I disappear into the night.

Chapter 9

All is Fair in Love

208 years ago

It’s been almostthirty years, but I’m back in the wilds of Memnos, searching for a prophetess whose name I don’t know.

“It’s a stupid idea,” Malaki said when I told him where I was going. “There are things there that don’t give a shit that you’re king. They’ll eat you all the same.”

I slid my daggers into my belt. “Then I’ll make them fear me.”

He frowned at me.

“I need to talk to that woman,” I explained. “She has the answers I seek.”

“At least let me go with you,” he pleaded.

But I hadn’t let him join me. Malaki was the only one I trusted enough to rule in my stead.

So now I wander through the dark forest alone. The place is ominously quiet, save for a few unnatural howls every now and then.

I get the distinct impression that I’m being stalked, but by what, I have no clue.

Let them stalk me, I could use a fight.

“Where is she?” I ask the shadows now.

… Who? …

“The prophetess,” I say. I cast her image into the night. The darkness gathers around it, studying her features.

“Looking for me?” a voice purrs at my back.

I turn and face the woman herself. She’s just as I remembered. Her silver hair cascades to her waist, and her eyes are just a touch mad.

Those mad eyes rake over me. “Desmond Flynn, it has been awhile. Tell me, why has my king come to visit?”

Unlike the last time I met with her, it’s not a shock to hear my real name spoken from her lips. Now that I’m no longer in hiding—now that I’m king—it’s the name I go by.

I thought that I’d want to shake everything about my sad childhood, but I’m oddly sentimental about my name. It’s a reminder of my humble beginnings—and the mother who gave it all for me in the end.

“I think you already know,” I say. In truth, I’m not sure that the prophetess does. I don’t know how omniscient she is. But better to assume the worst.

She raises her eyebrows. “Oh do I now?”