Page 157 of Evermore

Ezra broke free from Thorne’s hold, putting distance between them. His eyes swept the battlefield, assessing the situation with cold calculation. Then, without warning, he changed tactics. Instead of re-engaging with Thorne, he launched himself toward us, toward Archer.

Before either of us could react, Ezra had Archer by the throat, lifting him off his feet with terrible ease. Archer kicked and struggled, but Ezra’s grip was unbreakable, his eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction.

“Let him go!” I screamed, my Remnants racing toward them in a tidal wave of shadow.

But Ezra held up his free hand, and the shadows dissipated like mist in sunlight. “One more step, Huntress,” he said softly, almost lovingly, “and I crush his windpipe.”

Thorne had frozen, his eyes locked on his brother. I could see the calculations running behind those eyes, the desperate search for a way to act without putting Archer in more danger.

Ezra yanked Archer’s sleeve up, exposing the Treeis mark. A slow, cruel smile spread across his face as he studied it. “So the rumors are true. A bound Guardian.” His eyes flicked to me, then back to Archer. “But not to her. No, you’re bound to someone else as well. The child, perhaps? How… inconvenient for you.”

Archer’s face contorted with rage and pain as he clawed at the hand around his throat, but Ezra’s grip didn’t slacken.

“Do you know what this means, Archer Bramwell?” Ezra asked, his voice almost gentle, almost kind—which made it all the more terrible. “It means you can never take the throne. Your soul is already divided, already claimed. A marriage is a magical binding, but you’re already bound. You cannot wed.” Helaughed. “Your father died for nothing. The throne you’ve been so reluctant to claim? It was never yours to take.”

I felt Archer’s despair like a physical blow, crashing through our bond with such force it nearly brought me to my knees. All the grief he’d been holding back, all the responsibility he’d finally accepted, crushed under the weight of Ezra’s revelation because I hadn’t taken the time to tell him what I’d already known.

Ezra’s blue light flickered again, and in that second, I saw the true panic on his face. The fear of what he stood to lose. I saw what he fought for. And why. But still I moved toward him. Toward Archer. Pushing my power beyond the brink as it stretched across the street, digging into the ground for traction against Ezra, pushing back. But again, his power faltered. Thorne was racing toward us, but his power was gone, it seemed. He was nothing more than a man in that moment. A desperate man wearing a face full of terror as he watched me moving toward the god that’d taken my life over and over again.

“You can’t touch him,” I screamed. “He’s a crowned prince. He’s protected by the Fates.” There was still a battle on Ezra’s face. Would he go against divine law? Would he suffer the Fates’ wrath? His power flickered again as I ran. And then, with a flick of his wrist, he flung Archer toward me. I caught him, the impact sending us both to the ground in a tangle of limbs. When I looked up, Ezra was gone, and with him, the remaining Guardians, melting back into the shadows from which they’d emerged.

I’d lived. I had no idea why. But I’d survived. For now.

The sudden silence was deafening. One moment, the street had been filled with the sounds of bloodshed, the next, there was only our ragged breathing, the distant drip of water, the soft groan of settling rubble.

Archer sat up slowly, rubbing his throat where bruises were already blooming in the shape of Ezra’s fingers. “Is it true? What he said about the bond?”

I couldn’t answer. I simply nodded, pushing back the sting of tears as the truth of his future was changed once again. Thorne approached, his unreliable power back but receding like the tide, returning him to the beautiful, impossible man I’d fallen in love with across lifetimes. He knelt beside us, his eyes scanning our injuries. “Are you all right?”

“We’re alive,” I said, which was the best that could be said of our current state.

He helped us to our feet, his touch achingly gentle. “We need to get you both somewhere safe. He’ll be back, and with more Guardians and likely a few gods if he’s given enough time.”

Archer shook his head. “It’s over? Just like that? I lost my father’s kingdom before I ever even had it.” His face crumpled like someone had struck a killing blow, and I felt his despair as acutely as if it were my own. “I failed.”

I looked at him, at the blood streaking his golden hair, at the bruises darkening on his throat, at the pain in those blue eyes that had always looked at me with such loyalty, such unwavering friendship. This man who had chosen, again and again, to stand beside me through darkness and madness and pain. Who had made himself my family when the universe seemed determined to leave me alone.

And suddenly, I knew what I had to do. “Marry me.”

Both men turned to stare at me with identical expressions of shock.

“What?” Archer croaked, clearly thinking he’d misheard.

“Marry me,” I repeated, my voice stronger now, surer. I grabbed his hands, squeezing until he looked directly into my eyes. “The Treeis bond doesn’t prevent it because we’re bothbound by it. Our souls are already connected. The vows would only formalize what already exists.”

Thorne’s expression was unreadable as he looked between us, his ancient eyes fathomless. Heartbroken.

“If the bond prevents you from marrying anyone else because your soul is already divided, then logically, the only person you could marry would be someone who shares that bond.”

Archer shook his head, a strand of blood-matted hair falling across his forehead. “Paesha, I can’t ask you to?—”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.” I gripped his hands tighter, willing him to understand. “This is about more than us now. It’s about protecting the kingdom, protecting Quill, protecting ourselves from whatever Ezra is planning. And if taking the throne is what we need to do…”

“Then we’ll do it together,” he finished, the ghost of a smile touching his lips.

I nodded, relief flooding through me. “Together. Because if I am queen, he can’t touch me either.”

Thorne’s hand came to rest on my shoulder, his touch both a comfort and a question. I turned to him, seeing the struggle in his eyes, the conflict between what he wanted for himself and what he knew was necessary. Between the selfish desire that had driven him for millennia and the love that had taught him to let go. “Are you sure about this?”