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Chapter 11

Leon

S omehow I’m going to make her regret it—making me stain my sword with the blood of those pathetic wretches, making me track her through the woods of this cursed backwater, making my stomach lurch when I realized she was gone…

I wrap my fingers around her wrist, delicate in my hands, and yank her toward me. I have neither patience nor sympathy for the way she flinches at my touch. Let her be disgusted by the monstrous fae; let her have all her prejudices confirmed.

I’m still only half clear on how exactly she managed it. Alastor got only the most important facts from that treacherous dressmaker before I took off to retrieve our runaway, but that hardly matters. What matters are the panicked visions of her maimed body that danced in my head as I hunted those men down one by one—the fury that fueled every slash and stab as I dispatched them. I want her to see that, to know it’s her fault.

There’s something else, below all that rage, something I don’t have the stomach to examine, but it wraps around me like a snare, making every other emotion flare brighter.

I pull her through the forest, showing her the bodies one by one.

“Look at them,” I spit, bringing her up beside a man whose head now lies a foot from his body. “Look into the eyes of the men you chose to trust with your life. This is on you.”

She’s silent, wearing again that mask that’s so impossible to read. It’s infuriating, how well she hides the emotion roiling behind those hazel eyes.

Every now and again, I catch a glimpse, then she remembers to put up her walls. Last night, as I told her exactly how unsafe she’d been at the palace, I’d finally gotten more than a moment when she was unguarded—when she looked at me, and I saw too much to name.

But right now, I don’t care about puzzling her out. I only want her to feel what I feel, every sharp edge of it.

I show her next the man I pinned to a tree with her own knife, his throat slit. I saw the bloodied face of one of the humans back by the wagon and knew it must have been her handiwork. To even have accomplished that, and fled from them so nearly successfully, without magic or training is admirable, but it doesn’t matter how hard she would’ve fought, because the outcome would’ve been the same. That image again, of her lying pale and lifeless on the forest floor, flashes before me, and I turn on her.

“What did you think they would do to you once they had you alone? Surely even you must know what foul acts men like these fantasize about. How would you have protected yourself?” I bark.

I know I’m being cruel, but she must understand that out here, her alternatives are far worse than me. Still, my words break something loose in her, as she yanks her wrist from my hand.

“Even I must know?” She laughs, but it’s a bitter, harsh sound. “Don’t preach to me about the evil in men’s hearts, fae . Of course I know what it’s like to be reduced to a body for men’s pleasure. You’re asking me how I would have protected myself? With any of the pathetic ways this life has left me with, because that’s the only choice I have. Even if I’m sure it hardly rates as a choice at all to someone with all your strength and power.”

Her voice has reached nearly a shout, and I’ll admit, I’m taken aback by the level of her aggression. Her eyes are glassy, like she’s not seeing straight, and there’s a flush rising up her graceful neck. Now I think about it, her skin was hot to touch when I grabbed her, far too warm for the weather. Her anger aside, I’m starting to think there’s something truly wrong with her.

I hear hoofbeats behind us, and turn to see Alastor riding up, his expression unchanging as he takes in the corpse impaled on the tree.

“Ah, here you are,” he says. “I knew you’d find her without too much trouble. I see your ‘no death’ rule has gone a tad out the window.”

He dismounts, brushing off his clothes.

“The good news is I know why they took her,” he continues. I had him stick around the trading post and get answers, though from the breadcrumbs he just shook from his shirt, he took the time to buy himself snacks too. “Turns out news has reached here about Her Highness, but not quite the story we expected.”

“They realize we didn’t kill the Angevires?” I ask, even though I know it’s a foolish hope.

“Oh, we’re still the villains of the piece. But she is too.” He points to the princess. “Apparently the Trovians think she fled the castle with us willingly. That she made a pact with your grandfather to have her parents killed so she could take the throne, and when she realized the truth was about to come out, she ran. They’ve circulated a description of her, and there’s even a gods-cursed bounty on her head.” He shakes his head. “That’s why your dressmaker suddenly became so tricksy once she got interested enough to take a closer look. She thought she and her friends had struck gold.”

He looks over at Morgana, raising an eyebrow. “You’re a wanted criminal now, Your Highness.”

* * *

MORGANA

I’d laugh again, if I didn’t feel so sick. The forest is spinning around me—away from me—and I’m trying to make sense of Alastor’s words.

“But that’s ridiculous. Why would they believe that?” I’m so disoriented and confused that I start to babble. “I didn’t even know I was the princess before they died. And what about the man you killed in my rooms? Surely no one thinks I killed him?”

Alastor shrugs. “Their version gave you a bit of a violent streak—apparently, you’ve killed one of your guards before? And then there were the reports you’d met with a group of disguised fae in your local pub before the prince arrived at the capital.” He glances at Leonidas. “I think we can both attest to the relative truth of that.”

My throat feels tight, like I’m being strangled, but the pressure is coming from the inside. I’m choking on my own panic.

I said earlier that I knew about Leonidas’s traveling companions, but I never explained how. What if someone twisted that, made it look like there was something sinister about it? I remember the faces of the nobles at court, all so wary. Blood test or not, my sudden appearance had to seem suspicious.

And then there’s Bede. I did kill him, which makes me a murderer—just as much as the Nightmare Prince who showed me a parade of his victims. Would it be so strange to put us on the same team? Conspirators, together?

Strange or not, it’s what people believe. Which means no one’s looking to rescue me, only to track me down and drag me to another prison. I’m finally free of Gallawing—yet I’m in a worse position than I was before.

“Your Highness, are you alright?” Alastor’s voice sounds distant, like he’s talking to me from underwater.

I’ll never be free. Not as long as I live—which won’t be that long, now the potion’s practically gone and I’m a hunted fugitive.

Maybe it’s because my fever’s spiking, but the world around me is ridiculously bright, like it’s being refracted back at me by a thousand diamonds. I stare at it in wonder as Leonidas takes a slow step toward me, looking almost worried.

“Morgana, what’s wrong?”

I don’t know how to answer that question or where to begin. Everything’s wrong, right down to the intense burning in my veins, churning like molten lava, a heat I can’t contain, even if I wanted to. I let the panic take me at last, searing through me.

And I explode.

It’s just like before—the shining golden light surrounding me—only this time I can see the way it erupts from my chest, forming into a dozen blazing beams that hurl out from me, plowing into the trees directly opposite. My magic cuts through the trunks like a hot poker through a block of butter.

There is no slow timber as they fall. The light’s power has turned the bases of the trees to ash, and the lengths of their trunks plummet to the ground, taking branches from their neighbors with them. The sound is like a giant being felled, the forest shaking around me as they hit the ground, throwing up a scent of charred bark.

And still that heat burns through my veins. I gasp as I see another nimbus of golden light haloing me, and I realize I can’t control it any more than I can my panic. My heart is pushing the magic around my body with every frantic thud, and I can feel it building stronger and stronger, like pressure screaming to be released.

Why can’t I stop it? This is my magic, but it won’t listen to me. Visions of acres of blackened stumps fill my mind. Will I burn this whole forest to the ground?

“Morgana, calm down.”

I register Leonidas’s voice, which sounds like it’s reaching me from miles away.

“I can’t,” I choke.

“Yes you can, Ana. I know you can. You’re strong enough.”

Ana. The name my friends call me. But he doesn’t know me. If he did, he’d know how wrong he is. I’m not strong—that’s always been the problem.

Large hands wrap around my shoulders, and for once I don’t flinch away, welcoming the leashed power like an anchor in the storm. I look up into his eyes and find the calm in them, the stillness I noticed the first time I saw him. With all my will, I cling to it.

“Breathe with me,” he says.

I gulp in some air.

“That’s it. Again, Ana. You can do this.”

I nod, inhaling once more, letting the cool air permeate my body—feeling it gradually, so very gradually, extinguishing the heat. That searing sensation ebbs, and out of the corner of my eye, I see the golden light around me begin to fade.

Look at that. Leonidas…Leon was right. I can do this.

The idea seems so shocking it pulls me out of the last bit of panic. I can sense the rest of the world around me again, and I take it in as I breathe in time with my heartbeat, which has finally slowed to normal.

Leon drops his hands from my shoulders but remains standing in front of me, so close I can see every detail on his sculpted, perfect face. I get the nonsensical idea that artists who try to represent the gods’ likenesses should use him as a model.

I laugh at the ridiculous thought and then laugh again when he looks at me with even more concern. My wayward thoughts must be brought on by my headache, which is still throbbing. As I push the thought away, I focus instead on how dangerous it was for Leon to come so close to me like that. If I hadn’t calmed down, he’d be ashes just like those trees.

You’re strong enough. You can do this.

He wasn’t just saying it. He meant it—enough to put his own life on the line.

I don’t think anyone’s ever believed in me like that before. Not even me.

* * *

LEON

I scan her face carefully, taking in the flush of her skin, observing the slow rise and fall of her breath. Her magic has settled—for now, anyway.

Who knew that was hiding inside her this whole time?

I remember thinking her eyes reminded me of the stars. I should’ve guessed.

“‘Generally too weak to sustain magic,’ huh?” Alastor steps carefully over a fallen branch and fixes the princess with a suspicious stare. He’s quoting her own words back to her. “Did you find a way to lie to me, or did you genuinely not know you could do that?”

A slight fizz in the air tells me he’s using his sensic magic, compelling Ana to give him the truth. Unlike a lot of people, she’s smart enough that she’s aware of what he’s doing. I see her trying to fight it, but ultimately she cannot resist its pull.

“I was deliberately vague, and I assume your magic allowed it because it was technically true,” she says. “I can’t conjure fire-magic at will. I’ve only managed it once before, and I’m still not sure how.”

Fire-magic . She thinks she’s an incendi, but I know she’s not. I recognized the gold of that light right away.

“When did you use it before?” I ask, then hold up a hand to keep Alastor silent. If the experience was a bad one, I don’t want to trigger another panic attack in her by forcing her to tell us the details.

Her eyes drop to the ground.

“A few weeks ago. Before I came to the capital. Like Alastor said, I…I killed one of my guards. He—” she cuts herself off, lifting her head and giving us a defiant look. “It was an accident. Like I said, I didn’t know I had any magic. I’d never felt even a spark of it before.”

An accident? Or self-defense? Her magic wouldn’t have lashed out for no reason. My rage returns as I remember her words about being a body for use. What exactly did that guard do?

But even as I file away that question, I’ve found a different answer. I’d assumed her parents hid her in that nothing of a village to keep the royal bloodline safe. But now I know why they really kept her far from view. Not because she’s a princess, but because she’s something else as well. I lick my lips, wondering exactly how dangerous it is to tell her.

Fuck it.

Everyone else in her life has lied to her. I’m not going to.

“Morgana, that wasn’t fire you conjured,” I say, taking a subtle step to the side, just in case. Alastor sees me move and shifts as well.

She blinks at me. “What? Of course it was. You saw what I did.”

“Exactly. And that’s how I know you’re not an incendi,” I say slowly. “In fact, you don’t have terrial magic at all.”

“Then what was that?” she demands.

“You’re a solari. You just conjured celestial magic.”