Page 27 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen (Curse of the Fae #4)

No Body, No Crime

SETH

D evi briefly returns to the ballroom after her interlude with Damian, only to slip away toward the guest wing in a hurry.

If I hadn’t just seen Sombra leave the party with Ethan Lightbringer through the sceawere, I’d think she was on her way to meet him now.

And the image that comes to mind fucking haunts me.

I forgot to make sure that the deal we made about not having sex with other people before our wedding went both ways. Major oversight on my part.

I follow her through the empty corridors, her golden, glittering frame casting specks of light along the white halls.

“So…you and Sombra. It was serious,” I call after her, my voice coming out far too edgy and judgmental for my liking.

“Why do you say that?” she taunts, not slowing down.

I force my shoulders to relax, aiming for an I’m-fine-with-you-having-a-royal-e x attitude, but my next words come out darker than intended. “I saw how you looked at him.”

She keeps walking.

“If you liked him so much, why didn’t you two marry?” I ask, my mind ablaze with the kind of morbid curiosity that walks hand in hand with jealousy.

“I was queen. He was king. You know the rule.”

Kings and queens aren’t allowed to marry each other.

It would give too much power to one family.

Before the Eternal Chalice was destroyed, the other monarchs would never have allowed Devi and Damian to marry.

They would have been stripped of their titles if they’d tried, but who knows if that rule still stands now that the chalice is gone.

I expected her to say that Damian was too broody, too self-important, maybe boring—or, better yet, tragically bad in bed. But no. She’s basically saying they would have married, given the chance, and the boulder in my chest pulses.

“What about after you lost your crown?”

She spins to face me. “You’re cute when you’re jealous. But don’t fret—Damian’s already married.” She pokes the center of my chest in a playful manner before resuming her escape.

“I know. I was there.”

That earns me a sullen pout. “What?”

“Funnily enough, I attended his wedding. And Elio’s. Aidan’s too. But you’re changing the subject. I’ve heard the rumors. Why didn’t you two marry after you lost your crown?”

She shrugs, as though the answer is obvious. “I fell from grace. He got splintered. Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

We reach her room, and she slips inside, twisting around to block me from following, one arm braced against the doorframe.

“Let me in.”

“Why?”

There’s no reason why she should. This itch under my breastbone won’t let me walk away, but I’ve never been the type to hold a woman back. If she wants someone else, she can have him. I don’t play second.

But this is different. Devi’s different.

“I need to tell you about the meeting. The crowns offered us permission to marry, but there’s a quid pro quo.”

She purses her lips, somewhere between annoyance and disgust. “We don’t need their permission, not now that the chalice is gone.”

“That’s what I said, but hear me out, alright?”

She slams the door in my face. I drag a hand through my hair, swallowing a curse, and stare down the piece of wood separating us. The raw instinct sizzling along my spine screams at me to tear it off the hinges.

Fuck.

How am I supposed to explain what happened if she won’t listen? My fists curl, and I knock on the door once.

Twice.

Three times.

“I’m not above trampling down your door if necessary,” I announce to the empty hallway, unsure if she can hear me.

Then, with a daring smile, she opens it. A plain black shirt hugs her curves, the loose neckline slipping off one shoulder, with matching form-fitting pants.

“Come in, pretty boy. And tell me what was said during this so-oh-important meeting.”

The gown I wove for her is in tatters on the floor. I step over it on my way inside the room, a pang of regret squeezing my chest. “They want us to go to Zepharion and broker a truce with the Tidecallers.”

Even dressed down, she’s a goddess. Her braids fall over her bare shoulder like a river of flames framing her face, and her breasts peak through the black shirt.

“They offered to rescind your banishment and let us marry if we succeed,” I add, my tongue parched.

“It’s a mission they don’t expect both of us to survive,” she scoffs. “The crowns don’t give a damn about anything but clinging to their own power. What kind of leverage can we offer the Tidecallers when we know the seven crowns will do anything to stop real reform?”

“The destruction of the chalice makes reform inevitable. If we can find a compromise, we could save my brother, save your friend, and lead Faerie into a new age.”

“You’re being naive. Preventing war now is impossible.”

The trivial way she dismisses my point of view strikes a painful nerve, and I pinch the bridge of my nose, turning away to gather my thoughts.

“Making the impossible possible is what kings and queens of Faerie are for. You of all people should agree with that. Do you have any idea what it feels like to be dismissed outright—every day, all the time? You might have spent decades in exile, but you used to be queen . No one can take that away from you.”

She lowers her voice, but it only enhances her mystique. “You think it’s easy, losing a crown? It’s even worse than never having one at all.”

I spin around to face her again. “The grass is always greener, right? You have no idea what it’s like to be a bastard, to be ignored and belittled by your own father?—”

“Yes I do!” she snaps back.

“You’re a legend, a force of nature. Your name is spoken in fear and reverence throughout the worlds while I’m nothing more than the butt of a joke. The prince of nowhere and nothing at all. How could you possibly understand?”

She lifts her chin, tearing off the golden circlet I wove through her braids and throwing it at my feet.

“I worked my ass off my whole life, only for your mother to sabotage me at every turn. Excuse me if being prince—if having an endless line of lovers, incredible power over two schools of magic, and infinite wealth—isn’t enough for you. ”

I bridge the gap between us. “Was it enough for you, when you were a princess? You were always hungry for more, no? Ambition is not a crime.”

She digs her heels into the ground, not backing down. “It’s no virtue, either.”

Our chests rise and fall, our faces inches apart, and I forget why we’re shouting. The thin cotton of her shirt clings to her forms in a distracting fashion, and I raise a hand to caress her arm from shoulder to wrist. “It’s a sin we both share, then. You and me, we’re starving for more.”

Her eyelids flutter before she suddenly shoves me toward her bed, the back of my knees hitting the mattress. She prowls forward, pushing me to a seat with both hands. I sit on the edge on her bed as she straddles me, and my throat bobs, my hands instinctively finding her hips.

She presses her forehead to mine. “We have to stop quarrelling.” Our lips brush, her braids cascading around us, blocking the large windows from view. “Byron’s outside, spying on us. That noisy brat.”

I tuck a handful of braids behind her ear and cup her face. “Why would he do that?”

She rakes her nails along my hairline. “Elio must have put him up to it. He doesn’t believe I’m into you.”

“For an ex-boyfriend, Elio sure is awfully invested in your love life,” I grumble.

She works my coat off my shoulders and dumps it to the ground, my undershirt quick to follow. “He’s not my ex.”

“Fine, you might not have dated , but you two sure shared something .”

She pushes me onto my back, climbing over me and nuzzling my neck. “Shh.” She traces the ridges and grooves of my stomach. “Let’s pretend to like each other for the time being, and give his little snitch a convincing visual, alright?”

My breath hitches as she slips her top off.

A black rose tattoo blooms across her abdomen, its stem winding up along her ribs in precise, deliberate lines.

One tendril reaches higher, curving beneath her left breast. The ink is dark and bold, burned into her skin by Eros herself.

My muscles cramp, my hands digging into the soft flesh of her waist.

Faint silvery scars fill my vision. She’s covered in them. Even her breasts… Her round, heavy breasts, with the most artful peaks, deep brown and aroused, better than the most sinful of fantasies.

Peppered in freckles.

Layered with agony.

Most of the scars are faint, but a mangled, horrific mess stands right over her heart. As though some evil creature has tried to dig it out of her chest. I graze the battered flesh with trembling fingers. The ridges are sharp, the skin twisted and uneven like a wound torn open again and again.

There’s no poetry in it. No glory. Just violence.

“Who did this to you?” I choke.

“Who do you think?”

The edge of reproach in her voice is unmistakable, and I shake all over.

The thought that my mother is somehow responsible for this carnage breaks my fucking heart.

I’ve always known she wasn’t perfect. I’ve seen how she rules.

Her carelessness, her cunning, always chasing power no matter the cost—but this?

What she did to Devi… I can’t fathom how that beautiful woman survived, her body torn to shreds a few times over.

I wasn’t born yet when Devi fell. Only heard the twisted stories whispered behind closed doors that painted her as the villain. I know better now. My mother might’ve succeeded in rising to power, but not without breaking something sacred along the way.

Devi’s eyes widen, and she holds me down to the bed, her palms flat against my chest. I’m sure she sees it all on my face.

The anguish. The hurt. The fucking shame of sharing blood and occasional pleasantries with the monster who did this to her.

For one quiet second, we just look at each other.

No words. Just that raw, unbearable truth.