Page 53

53

Everett

“Strength lies on the path to forgiveness.”

Author Unknown

N o…

NO!

No matter how I fight, Maddox and Gryffin refuse to ease their grips on my arms, dragging me farther and farther from Kerris as the crackle of flames feasting on our bridge roars in my ears.

“Let me go, dammit!” When our boots meet solid ground, I finally wrench free. They block the path back to her, an impenetrable wall of muscle and flame as the rest of the Unseelie stumble for safety.

“What were you thinking? I could have saved her.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Gryffin waves his arms over his head, his jaw set. “We were outnumbered ten to one. You are no good to Kerris Dawn if you are dead.”

That may be true but, in this moment, I am no good to her alive, either. Not with flames engulfing the bridge, burning away the only way to reach the woman I love.

“They arrested her!” I can hardly bear to think about the consequences of her actions. How she defied the prince. There had been murder in his eyes, and without me there to suffer his wrath, he will turn that rage on her.

“Better her than you,” says Maddox, withdrawing something from his pocket. A key. Where did he get it?

“Kerris Dawn is Seelie,” he goes on. “Whatever crime they charge her with will be a slap on the wrist. She will be back at her house by nightfall.” He motions for me to hold out my bound hands and unlocks the manacles at my wrists.

I hope he is right. Please , let him be right.

“If they would have taken you, you would not have even seen a fucking trial,” Gryff adds, watching the flames with the rest of our people, each one wearing the same grim expression.

The bridge connecting our worlds still glows where it clings to the edge of the canyon, the planks falling one by one as the flames eat at the ropes holding them together. The wagons and mounts remain on the other side, along with all of our empty jugs.

Not only have I damned myself, but also I have damned everyone else as well.

Since we were children, we were taught that no good could possibly come from seeking the affections of a Seelie fae. Yet I chased one anyway.

I hunted her down and asked for things that I had no right to take. Her time. Her affection. Her heart.

There is no telling what the prince will do to her now, and she has no one to protect her.

* * *

I stay by the canyon until there is nothing but ash falling into the void, empty and without hope. A light rain begins to fall, extinguishing the few flickering flames that remain. For the first time in my life, I feel the cold. Its bitterness burrows deep into my bones, into my marrow, and not even the fire Gryffin has built back at our camp can stave its chill.

I have failed the woman I love.

I have failed the people who raised me.

I have failed myself.

Gryffin urges me to take the stone between himself and Maddox. Instead, I drift toward my barrel-top, unable to look at those flickers of orange and red without seeing the bridge being consumed.

“Everett Gathin,” a gravelly voice calls from the clearing’s edge, a voice I know all too well. One that has saved me and damned me.

Our chieftain waits by the trees, the mammoth trunks dwarfing one of the tallest males in our clan. With my shoulders high, I march toward my fate. Instead of anger twisting his features, he remains carefully neutral, almost impassive, as if he spent the last few hours lounging in his carriage instead of watching our hope of survival vanish into ash and smoke.

I come to a stop just out of reach, realizing belatedly that Gryffin and Maddox have joined me, halting a few steps back, blades in hands and scowls on faces. It is strange to see Maddox doing anything but smile.

The chieftain spares them no more than a glance, a flicker of something crossing his features before settling into indifference. “Is what they say true? Are you the son of the Seelie king?”

My father had accused my mother of being unfaithful during one of his many tirades. I had never believed her capable of such deception.

Until I stumbled upon the small trunk tucked beneath the bed.

I still remember the first time I dared to open it. What I found within made no sense.

Dresses, brightly colored and finer than anything I had ever seen. At the time, I knew little of wealth, but it was clear from the silken fabric to the golden thread that those gowns had cost a small fortune. There was no way my father would have had the means to purchase them, let alone the opportunity.

Never had I considered that the person who gave her those dresses could be the King of Willowhaven.

“I believe there could be some truth to the accusation, yes.”

His dark brows jump up his forehead, and he drags a thick hand down the sharp line of his jaw. “Did you know?”

“I suspected that my mother might have had an affair with a Seelie nobleman but did not know that he was the king.”

Although I do not turn around, I can feel the lads’ eyes boring into the back of my skull. No doubt they are wondering why I never disclosed my suspicions. In truth, the story was not mine to tell, but my mother’s.

One she had taken to her grave.

It was not my responsibility to resurrect such things.

The chieftain’s low curse hangs in the mist between us. “That makes you the heir to the throne of Willowhaven.”

“I am heir to nothing.”

Slowly, he closes the gap between us, his eyes beseeching as he lays a heavy hand atop my shoulder. “Do you not see, Everett? You can help our people.”

“Only a few days ago, you said I was a disgrace to our kind.” I do not wish them ill, but none of those in the camp stood up for me when I was faced with exile. They have known me since I was a child, watched me grow up, helped mold me into the male I have become, and like the flick of a switchblade, they abandoned me without remorse.

The chieftain’s hand falls to his side, his jaw flexing as he considers his words. “For that I am sorry. I judged you in anger and blamed you for my daughter’s misery. You did not deserve exile for being truthful about your feelings.”

No, I did not. If Leah had been anyone else, I would have received a month’s shunning and nothing more. Instead, he handed me a death sentence.

I give him a brusque nod.

“If you claim your birthright,” he says, “you can give us access to the well.”

If the birthright is even mine .

Who is to say for certain? And even if I were the king’s heir, there is one tiny fact that negates all of it. “There is no more bridge.” The link between my world and hers has been irrevocably broken. All that remains is smoke and memories.

A slow smile spreads across the chieftain’s face as his head swings toward the tree, his dark eyes alight with something akin to hope. “Then we shall build a new one.”