Page 60 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen (Curse of the Fae #4)

Secret Springs

DEVI

M ist obscures the sceawere, the heavy white flumes sturdier than they were the last time we traveled through the space between worlds. I can’t see anything, so I slip my free hand into Seth’s, the other holding Percy close to my heart.

There are no nightmarish wolves leaping at our throats, just as Luther promised, but it’s nerve-wracking to know we wouldn’t see them coming this time around. If some monster prowled this white, cottony blur, we’d be sitting ducks.

“Ominous, no?” Seth cracks.

“Very.”

“Luther wasn’t nervous—like he didn’t even consider the new Mist King a threat.”

A shiver slithers through me, the icy kiss of the mists on my cheeks like being smothered by a very soft, inviting pillow. “Willow thought she could take him.”

“I almost flunked history, but I’d still be wary of a Summer Fae going up against a Mist King. Not after what happened last time.”

A small chuckle grates my throat. “Willow hopes to right that wrong. She’s a Summer Fae in name only.”

“I’m not sure any Fae alive could right a wrong of such biblical proportions,” Seth grumbles, hastily drawing runes on his lower arm.

“Freya must’ve warded all the mirrors in the Secret Springs against me,” I warn him. “It might take a while to find one that wasn’t properly maintained.”

He smirks at that. “There’s no mirror in Spring I don’t control.

My mother doesn’t do subtle when it comes to enchantments or wards, and as the only living relative who shares her blood, I can get anywhere I want—from the prison to her chambers.

” His voice brims with that signature cockiness that makes me want to kiss him and slap him in equal measure.

“And she has no idea?”

“None.”

The charming quip coaxes a reluctant smile out of me as he flicks through a dozen possible entry points into a land I haven’t stepped foot in for eight decades.

Freya was never the most talented spellcaster. Or arrow carver. Or anything, really. She always valued showmanship over efficiency, and alliances and sexual favors over talent.

Now, I finally see the truth behind her well-crafted but crumbling mask. Everything she has depends on others’ willingness to let her keep it, and that’s no place to rule from.

Back at the ball, it was fun to pretend Seth was on my side, but now that he’d actually burn the world down for me, it’s even sweeter.

Freya’s only son is the one taking me back home—against her will and her wards—all because she never contemplated the possibility that her own blood might turn on her.

I might have given Seth all the pieces of my broken heart.

But I still feel like a criminal and a goddess wrapped in one, that he’d be the one taking me home.

Revenge is sweeter for the wait.

“Freya’s archers are doing a very poor job in the new world.

My mortal goddaughter fell in love after a split-arrowhead hit her, and she has no idea she’s about to marry a man who won’t love her for more than a couple of years,” I say, revealing a piece of the exiled life I never thought I’d share with any man.

Seth purses his lips to the side, still searching for a mirror that suits him. “Sucks for her.”

“I used to think it was none of my business, but maybe I should tell her. Percy would say—” I stop abruptly, tears flooding my eyes.

Seth finally lands on the desired entry point. “I’m so sorry for your loss, my darling.”

The mirror spits us out into a place I recognize. The distant memory of my time here screeches my heart to a halt. Humidity assaults my senses. It's still winter on the Continent, but it’s always warm in Spring, the tropical air seeping into my pores.

“We’re already in the inner cloister of the castle. Near Eros’ forest,” I gasp.

“Yes,” Seth says proudly.

When he told me he could access any mirror, I didn’t have time to contemplate that we'd come out so close to our destination.

The Spring Castle is the only way through to the sacred forest from the south.

Our northern borders are guarded by a beautiful but deadly jungle that stretches for miles, all the way to the border of the Summerlands.

My hands shake as I pull off my black boots and socks. I dig my bare feet into the grass, then spread my toes and let the earth spill between them, moaning under my breath.

The ground hums beneath my feet, warm and alive—like a welcome home.

A deep vibration rocks the soles of my feet.

I brush off tendrils of lingering mist from my black dress, the collared neckline, and the sleeves that stop at mid-arm.

The single row of gold buttons down the front shines under the moonlight.

Up above, the two Amouran rivers carve a heart-shaped groove through the land—one flowing through a natural tunnel beneath, the other gliding overhead, their waters close but not mixing yet.

After crossing paths, they spiral around the most sacred ground in the Secret Spring: the Rond-de-l’?me, a small island dominated by our Hawthorn. Its long, trailing branches stretch beyond the circle, brushing the land across the rivers.

At the point where the twin rivers finally meet, they merge into a single, roaring waterfall that spills over the edge of a three-hundred-foot rift. We stand at the bottom, where the water crashes into a wide lake near the castle.

The moon is enormous above, bathing the scenery in soft, silver rays.

“We’ll have to fly up there,” Seth declares.

“I know. I’m ready.”

A sigh whistles out of my lungs as I summon my wings, spreading them wide on each side.

It’s such a relief to have them again, yet it hurts to fly without Percy by my side.

Seth sucks in air. “Wow, you look like a dark, avenging angel, witch.”

“You must say that to all the girls,” I joke.

We fly up to the Rond-de-l’?me, landing on the only part of the island not shadowed by the Hawthorn. I watch the sky closely for signs of red, and my stomach cramps as a small cluster of burgundy clouds amass overhead.

“Here goes.”

Seth’s lips curl downward. “I thought they were gone for good. Honestly.”

“Apparently not, but you can kill them. That’s good enough for now.”

Four cupids detach from the cloud, that number downright ridiculous compared to the throng of winged cannonballs that rained down on us in Deiltine.

Seth quickly tears them down with his lightning, and sure enough, they die rather than respawning, bleeding instead of breaking into glass.

No second wave comes behind them, but their disgusting bodies mar the pristine, sacred island with their dark, viscous blood.

“Why were there only a few this time?” Seth asks.

“I didn’t use much magic,” I explain. “But you figured out the loophole. And now I know exactly what thread still holds my curse together.”

He arches a brow. “I’m the loophole, right?”

“Not quite. You said it in the sceawere—your mother doesn’t do subtle.”

We pass beneath the trailing leaves of the Hawthorn, where a burst of color awaits us—dozens of blue, red, and pink lotus flowers blooming on the surface of a shallow pond.

The water comes from Eros’ Fountain, the purest spring in all of Faerie, nestled at the base of the tree.

It gushes up between two thick, exposed roots before spilling gently into the crystal-clear pond below.

Garlands of pink and purple moss fall from the Hawthorn’s primary branches, the substrate allowing veiled violas, white plumerias, and ghost orchids to flourish in the shade.

I stride over to the trunk of the trees and press my palm to it.

“On that first night, before the cupids hunted me down and tried to tear out my heart—before they chased me out of Faerie—Freya cut herself to seal her vow. She rammed a special arrowhead into my heart to take my crown, and she must’ve used her blood to weave the curse, too.

Her blood is the loophole. You can kill the cupids because you share her blood. ”

Seth’s jaw clenches. “But if you’re right, they’ll keep coming until she dies.”

“Willow told me your mother only had weeks to live. Does that upset you?” I watch his reaction closely, and to his credit, he doesn’t brush off the question. He doesn’t shrug. He just holds my gaze without fail.

“Not if it means you’re safe,” he declares in a solemn tone.

But that’s beside the point, I realize.

If he can harm the cupids—if the curse sees Freya’s blood and his as the same—then they won’t vanish until every last drop of her blood is gone from the worlds. Including his.

Unless...

“If we marry, maybe they’ll disappear,” I murmur. “Marriage is a sharing of flesh, blood, and bones. Maybe then, I’ll finally be free of them. I’ll at least be able to kill them, I think.”

I kneel down to the earth and focus back on the reason why we came.

It’s customary to bury Faelings under the protection of a realm’s sacred Hawthorn, and Spring has the best, most beautiful one.

Percy loved it here. It was our secret place to chat and work out difficult decisions when I was queen.

We shared many picnics in the shadows of those branches, admiring the heaps of tumbling moss and the flowers that nestled and thrived within them.

When the ugliness of court politics became too much, we escaped to this little cocoon of beauty.

I peel away the crust of moss at the back of the tree and dig a small hole in the earth with my hands, right between two roots, just large enough to cradle Percy’s shroud.

A sob quakes my chest as I tuck him safely inside. One handful at a time, I fill the hole, each grain of earth striking the shroud like the last sand falling through the hourglass of our time together.

“Do you want to speak?” Seth asks.

“I can’t.”

I lost a piece of myself I can’t replace.

“Can I say something?” he asks, kneeling beside me.

I hold back a sniffle and nod.

Seth doesn’t hesitate, his voice confident, yet soft.

“The tiniest man I’ve ever known turned out to be one of the grandest. No taller than my hand, but he walked into cages and stared down monsters. I’ve seen High Fae with mountains of power cower when it mattered, but Percy never did.”

My bottom lip trembles, and I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t know how to say goodbye. I’ve been lonely, but never alone. Percy was there, by my side, since I was born. How am I supposed to face life completely alone?”

Seth slides closer until our legs touch and wraps me in his arms, pulling me against him. I breathe him in. He smells of warm skin and morning rain, wrapped in a sizzle of crushed leaves.

“You don’t have to be alone,” he murmurs against my ear. “By the spindle, I’ll be right here—for as long as you’ll have me.”

I kiss him, unable to put into words all the things I want to say.

Mostly: thank you for being here, for being you. I hope you’ll stay with me forever.

The kiss is chaste, but deep—like the end of one chapter and the start of a new one. Percy knew, all along, that my heart belonged to Seth.

He knew me better than I know myself, but the time has come to say goodbye.

I press my palms to the thin cover of overturned earth. “I will love you forever, diamantay,” I whisper.

Eros help me , I cry.

I cry for all the times I didn’t. The dams in my soul break wide open. Salt and sorrow fall to the earth, gliding between the dead leaves before being absorbed by the sponge of moss covering the ground.

Seth holds me. Helps me carry the weight of this grief that would’ve toppled me on my own.

I feel different in his arms, like I might survive this. Like I can go on.

Even if it hurts like the fires of the seven hells.

When the sobs have dwindled, I slap my knees to summon the strength to speak again. “We shouldn’t stay too long, or we might risk being spotted by a patrol.”

Seth threads his fingers into my flamboyant curls and forces me to look at him.

He’s been crying, too—though his eyes now shine clear and purple.

“What?” I ask.

“Devi Eros. Will you marry me?”