Page 110 of All the Devils are Here

“No, I—” I shake my head. I cannot lie, and it is never more frustrating than in moments like these. “It was not a bother.”

Ophelia nods, and she bustles out the door first, but Dante pauses in the doorway. His eyes soften when he looks back at me. “Night, Lark.”

“Good night.”

They leave, and I do not lock the door. I do not move to wash the mugs, either. I sit in the same spot Dante just occupied and let the faint traces of his magic ground me.

There is little of his I can sense now, being as I surrendered so much of my own to come to this realm, but what I can is always so solid, soof the earth. Ophelia’s is similar, but in a way that screams danger to my fae senses.

I sigh. It is irrational for me to be upset. The point of giving Dante time is for him to experience things like this. For him to come into a relationship with me—should he wish for that—on a more even footing. That does not mean it does not hurt, of course. The idea that he will have drinks with these men, dinner, conversation, kissing, touching—

“I am not here to improve your mood,” the Huntsman says. He sits in the armchair next to the sofa I am on and frowns at, I imagine, the softness of it.

“I never presumed you were.” I know why he is here. I might not have had the news already, but I heard the queen was fading. It is not a leap.

“Mother is dead.”

I feel… empty. Sadness will come, surely, but it has been years since I saw her last and decades if not centuries since we spent any real time together.

“You were there.”

“You were not.” He is not wearing his glamour, and I know to humans we are unreadable, but I see the fleeting pull of his lips that tells me he is irritated. “You need to return, Lark.”

“I cannot.”

“You need to take the throne.”

“And who will sit beside me? You?”

Iagan bares his teeth, truly angry. “I will not. Take your soulbond with you. You came for him.”

“He is human.”

“He is a witch.”

“Human enough that I do not believe he would survive, and that would be if we were bonded, which we are not, and if I thought I could uproot him to another realm once bonding with him.”

“You have been here foryears—”

“I gave up almost all of my magic so I would not have to return!”

Iagan’s face falls. He has to have known the truth of that. I went to the witch, gave her my true name, and gave her all but the final drop of my magic. I can ward this café, I can maintain my human glamour, but aside from the residual magic that exists in my blood as a result of what Ifundamentallyam, I am no more powerful than the average human.

“You never intended to take the throne?”

“That role was always to be Ronan’s. You know that. He was raised for it.”

And then he discovered his own soulbond. In the end, meddling in the human realm got him killed.

“What are we to do?”

“You have your soulbond.”

Iagan laughs. There is no humour in the bitter sound. “No. No. Heishuman and has already said he will never accept our bond.”

I sigh and push my hair over one shoulder. “Three sons and no heir to show for it.”

The look Iagan gives me in response is downright venomous. He gets to his feet and all at once he is the epitome of the spoilt, selfish little brother I grew up with, and my heart aches for the damage my choices have caused, but I cannot help but be selfish myself.