Page 52 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen (Curse of the Fae #4)

Burnt Wings

DEVI

S eth jumped.

He jumped .

He doesn’t hate me for what I did. There’s a chance to put everything right, but first, I’m going to kill this brute of a king. This horrible man who almost extinguished my will to live.

Seth cups my cheek, his eyes wide with surprise and devotion and something else—more potent than relief, and purer than pride. “You…”

“We still have a king to kill.”

I don’t care how many cupids come for me this time, I’m going to kill Alaric Rayne.

“I’ll see you up there.” With a solemn nod, he melts back into a cloud.

I rise into the sky and summon my bow and arrows, flying up, up, up, until I pass the ledge of the arena.

Percy flies up beside me. It’s been ages since we’ve flown side by side, my feet rooted to the ground for too long. Just like that, the shadows and doubts worming through my heart evaporate.

He’s here. He always is. When the world turns against me, when I lose sight of who I am, Percy never loses faith.

“We should leave. The cupids—” he starts.

“One enemy at a time, diamantay ,” I say with a smile.

“But you could die.”

“Death is part of life. I just need to do what’s right, here.”

He nods. “I know you. By heart. You’re thinking this is your last stand, but it doesn’t have to be.”

He does know me better than I know myself. Every broken edge. Every shard of the queen I used to be and the woman I’ve become. I want to tell him thank you. I want to say I’m sorry. I want to promise we’ll survive this.

Instead, I just say, “If it’s our last fight, let’s make it a good one, alright?”

The sky above ignites, lightning flaring in scattered bursts. Alaric stands at the ledge behind the altar, fists buzzing with electricity. He must have looked down to savor the moment my body would break on the rocks.

Now, he sees me.

Thunder tears through the clouds.

White-hot bolts strike left and right, but I swerve between them and wrap myself in a protective sphere of light magic.

A rainbow of colors swirls along the walls of my translucent shield.

The rain hisses and turns to steam on impact as the bubble swells, stretching outward until this land of drear and darkness is flooded in sunlight.

I draw a crystalline arrow from the ether and aim right at Alaric. Not a love arrowhead, but one meant to cut flesh.

One arrow to his groin.

Another, smack-dab in the middle of his chest. Alaric gurgles, hand flying to the shaft, eyes wide, knees buckling. I’m not the most renowned archer for nothing.

“You kneel, you fucker,” I declare, my words swallowed by the wind but no less satisfying.

Alaric opens and closes his mouth, his hand clutching the base of the arrow embedded in his heart as if he might try to tear it out. It’s a grave wound, but not fatal. Not for a Fae king.

A small group of Storm Fae stalks in from the side, axes in hand, Salazar at the head.

I could shoot them down—in fact, I’m itching to—but spilling more blood will likely push the rest into action.

Most of the High Fae stay rooted in place, apparently torn between rushing to their king’s aid or waiting a little longer to see if he remains king at all.

Seth condenses into form in front of them, blocking their path. He stands tall, his back to me, arms spread wide. A long sword shines in his hand, my prince poised to take on the entire population of Deiltine.

Alaric lifts a hand to the sky, and the clouds split open again. Power churns in a growing tempest overhead.

I land and focus my magic on my shield. Lightning crashes against it a second later, crawling across the surface like fiery lines of ants—alive, relentless, but unable to pierce through.

Nathaniel prowls out from behind his brother, blood matting his hair and running down the slope of his neck. His white-knuckled grip tightens around the hilt of my end-all blade.

Alaric senses his approach and laughs. “You’re never going to be king, Nate. You’re a pet. A broken-winged raven.”

Nathaniel steps around him until they’re face to face. Seth moves in from the side, closing the circle.

Alaric smiles through a mouthful of blood, red trickling from the corners of his lips. “There’s no ever after for you, Seth. Only death. And you, Nathan… mark my words. You’d have to kill a hundred kings before the gods looked at you twice.”

Nathaniel matches his grin. “Only ninety-nine left to go.”

A red-orange bolt of lightning bursts across the sky just as Nathaniel drives the blade into his brother’s heart. It zigzags as it falls, bright and violent, hurtling straight for Seth.

“Watch out!” I scream.

The bolt halts midair—suspended, crackling—then veers toward the back of the arena.

The ground convulses, a crevasse the size of my head ripping through the seats, the far wall, and part of the ceiling.

Chaos erupts. The bold few who stayed until now push and stumble over each other as they flee.

The rock slab beneath our feet tilts toward the ocean, debris crashing from the arena ceiling and tumbling past the ledge.

I search the sky for an answer, trying to understand where that eerie bolt came from, whether there’s another behind it, and why it missed.

Where the bolt diverted, where the lightning veered off-course, a small blur plummets toward the arena floor, leaving a trail of Faerie dust behind it. The iridescent shimmer stops me cold.

No. Nonono.

“Percy!”

I fly to catch him, cradling his little body in my palms, shaking so hard I can barely hold on.

Percy’s once-purple suit is charred black, threads melted into his skin.

His melon hat is gone, his hair singed down to the roots, scorched red patches peppered across his scalp.

His skin, where it’s not blistered, is ashen.

His wings—those strong, beautiful wings—are nothing but crumbling bone and dust. Gone.

His eyes stare straight ahead. Glassy. Empty. No mischief. No glint. No clever retort on his lips. Just stillness.

“Come on,” I whisper. “Come on, please…”

I press my index finger over his chest, but there’s no faint heartbeat to find. No pulse. No spark of magic humming beneath his skin.

He’s gone.

The best part of me. The part that made me laugh when everything else hurt. The only one who never asked me to be more than I am. Who loved me as I was. My only companion. My heart.

I shake my head. “You weren’t supposed to do this. You were supposed to live .” Messy sobs distort my voice as my wings curl around us, my knees sliding to the ground. “Don’t leave me, diamantay .”

Tears scorch down my cheeks. I bend over him, nose pressed to his forehead. The scent of singed fabric and Faerie ash twists my stomach. The weight of him, already cooling in my hands, makes me retch.

This is the price for living.

My most precious friend—the last part of my heart that wasn’t all dried and shriveled—is dead.