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He gripped his sword hilt. “It took me far too long to see it, but you were never a child, Almira. Not really. You’ve always been a demon’s spawn in disguise, waiting to come into your own. And now, here you are, in all your vile glory.”

He set the hourglass on the throne behind him and turned to face his enemy once again.

It was only when the hood slipped from her head that he realized she was covered in blood and her once eternally youthful face was in ruins.

One cheekbone was caved in like it had met with a large fist, and a bloodied, empty socket sat where her left eye used to be.

She glared at him through its crystal-blue mate, defiant. Furious.

The state of her face elicited a true belly laugh from him despite the dire circumstances.

“Oh ho, Almira-girl! That had to hurt, more than your bones, yeah? I don’t know if even you could fix the ruins of your face. Was it John, then?” he asked.

Fury rippled from her in waves. Her beauty had always been a tool, and now it was broken.

“It was, John, yes.” She cocked her head, full lips twisting into a sneer.

“He took my eye only seconds before I disemboweled him. In fact, he’s just at the bottom of the steps, writhing in agony as he tries to stuff his entrails back into his belly.

I’ll bring you to die by his side if you tell me what I want to know. ”

Alistair paused to absorb the words, keeping his expression blank as he heaved a sigh. “As much as there are worse places to die than at John’s side, you know I can’t do that.”

“Yours is a lost cause. I’m far more dangerous than the girl I used to be, and you certainly aren’t the boy I remember.

You look beat down, dog-fuckingly old, and weak as hell,” she murmured as she swept closer, her emerald cloak flowing behind her.

“Shame. Had you picked me instead of Marin, I could’ve kept you virile…

kept you strong. We could’ve ruled this world for an eternity. ”

His only thought was to keep her talking.

Gayelette needed time. “I'd rather have died in the belly of the desert dragon, burning for a thousand years than be tethered to you for a day. And as for this old goat, we’ve been alive the same number of years. Difference is, I’ve lived every one of those years topside, in a world marred by hardship. It takes a toll.”

She slowed to a stop a few yards away and the thin veneer of calm crackled.

“Hardship?” she hissed, her remaining eye suddenly wild with fury. “You imprison me in the Dreadkeep, powerless and alone for nearly a century, and you dare speak to me of hardship?”

He’d hit the nerve he’d been aiming for. Anything to keep her talking and the sands of time in motion. But his needling would come with a price—and he knew it would hurt.

A price Almira collected a moment later as she lifted her thumb and forefinger in the air and pinched them closed with a whisper.

His left eye exploded like an overripe grape and the pain had him stumbling back and swaying, barely able to keep his feet. He gripped the arm of his throne for purchase as blackness threatened to swallow him whole.

“There. That’s better. Let us be on even ground, yes?

” she said with a grin that disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“Now, stop being tedious, Alistair. It’s been a long day, what with all the murder, mayhem, and reclaiming of my kingdom.

Give me the girl, and you have my word that her death will be painless.

Of course, I can’t say the same for you.

Too much water under the bridge for that, I’m afraid. You understand…”

He swiped at the blood and warm, clear liquid running down his cheek and then lifted a hand to his crown. The second he touched it, the space between them shimmered and grew hazy.

For a second, she just gaped at him. Then she tossed her head back and laughed.

“Ah, well fuck me. Is that what your little witch gave you for protection? Pathetic.” She let out a snort and shrugged. “Maybe I was better off in the Dreadkeep after all. Plenty of time to hone my skills.”

She flicked her wrist, sending a bolt of power straight at his head, but it bounced away, leaving his shield and crown intact. Her one good eyebrow snapped down, fury ripping across her face.

Alistair waggled his brow. “Not too shabby for a little witch , aye?”

His old friend squared off with him, even as he steeled himself for the onslaught.

She shot forward in a blur, three blades flying from her belt.

Each one stabbed and slashed at him from a different angle, moving as if wielded by three separate master swordsmen.

The king staggered back, narrowly sidestepping a thrust at his neck while batting aside the other two blades with his shield.

Almira hung back, directing the blades like some kind of twisted conductor leading a deadly orchestra. Agony pierced his side as one of the swords plunged deep in his side, and he rolled under a follow-up slash only to see a massive ball of fire shooting directly at his chest.

He staggered backward, barely blocking the fire with his shield, going to one knee—even so, without the protection of his crown absorbing most of the heat, he’d have been a cooked goose. Almira let out a cackle, advancing on him in a blinding flash.

It was now or never.

Alistair sprang toward her, his crown hot and glowing red from the fireball it had absorbed.

His blade shot toward her neck, and her eyes widened in shock.

For the briefest of moments, he allowed himself to hope.

He was already planning his next move when she dissipated into smoke a split second before he would’ve made contact.

He stumbled forward, and she reappeared before he’d even registered what’d happened, slamming her fist into his side with a sickening crunch, her magic making her blows ten times stronger than she truly was.

“You really thought you’d catch me with a silly trick like that?” she asked, scowling as she stood over his prone form. “You were right to let John try his luck first. His plan was much better.”

Alistair’s vision blurred as he glanced at the hourglass, but not so much that he couldn’t see the teeny, tiny mound of sand remaining at the top. He cursed, sucking in a sticky, wheezing breath as he pushed himself to his feet.

He was running out of ways to keep her busy.

“Release,” he whispered, and the fire magic his crown had absorbed pulsed to the surface, consuming him in flames. His vision went crimson, and energy surged through him as he parried a flurry of attacks with his flame-wreathed blade.

Almira’s swords withered and melted beneath the heat, no match for this attack, but it wouldn’t last. Once the crown ran out of the energy it had taken in, it was over for him.

Think, man.

But there was no time. Stone cracked and rumbled beneath his feet, and Almira sprang forward as he struggled for balance.

A blizzard’s worth of frost and snow, condensed to the size of a man, washed over him, and he barely got his shield up in time to block another of her animated blades.

His crown’s magic was gone, cut even shorter by her ice spell, and the chill sank into his bones, but he advanced, nonetheless. His eye flitted toward the hourglass.

If he could just hold out for thirty seconds more…

He let out a primal roar and moved forward, each step a herculean feat of will, each parry more excruciating than the last. Raw magical energy spiked toward him from the side, and he hefted his shield just in time to block, but the cold had sapped the last of his strength.

A moment later, his arm began to tremble with the effort of wielding the shield’s weight.

The witch smiled, no doubt seeing his end.

“Too bad we couldn’t make this last longer,” she said, snicking her tongue in disappointment. “I can’t believe there was a time you were actually able to best me.”

She thrust hard, and her blade slid through his belly, slow and sure. He felt every inch of it, but joy won out over agony as he watched the last grain of sand slip away.

A sudden flash blew the door in the corner of the room open even as the hourglass shimmered and exploded into a cloud of iridescent green dust. He turned, desperate for one last look at his daughter.

Her dark curls bounced, her eyes going wide as she levitated in the air, a small book clutched in her hands.

To Fetch’s credit, the falcon perched on her shoulder held tight as the two of them were sucked into a much larger book on the floor, disappearing without a trace.

It was done.

Thank the gods, it was done.

He slipped to the cool stone floor, his body limp, turning his head toward the now-open room. Almira howled, no longer concerned with him as she released her sword and bounded toward the door where Harmony had been.

As she passed through, he caught sight of his royal sorceress seated cross-legged on the floor on the other side of the book. She was slumped over, chest heaving, clearly spent. But not so spent that she couldn’t lift her head to meet Almira’s gaze.

“Almira.”

“Hello, Gayelette.” The witch turned her remaining eye to the massive, leather-bound tome lay on its side between them, the page edges gilded in gold.

Fairytales of the Ages.

“Where is she?” Almira whispered as she shook her head and let out a snarl. “What have you done with her, you simpering bitch?”

Alistair watched as her expression twisted into one of fury. But as his vision went dark, the very last face he saw was that of his beloved wife Marin waiting for him on the other side.

And she was smiling.

“And that was the end…until now,” Freya said, lifting her head to find the two children staring at her, eyes wide. Tears filled Essie’s eyes. The tale was if nothing else, bittersweet. A father’s love for his daughter, and for his people.

“Is Princess Harmony still inside the book?” Logan asked.

“She is.”

“But will she actually come to save us?” Essie whispered.

“Legend has it that she will. She’s stayed safely tucked within the pages for the past twenty-five years, growing wise, brave, and strong enough to defeat Almira. We must keep our heads up a little bit longer until she finds her way home.”

But she’d better hurry, Freya thought, hoping her worry didn’t show on her face. Because as Almira’s fury grew, so did the darkness.

And now they were all running out of time…