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CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

T he throne room was eerily silent beyond the archway.

As the group approached, Tristan paused and Cassandra tried not to read too much into the tension roiling off his muscled body. She knew it wasn’t because he didn’t believe in her abilities. He was just utterly terrified at the thought of any harm befalling her.

She glanced over her shoulder toward Silas, who gave her a firm, determined nod.

Mireille stepped forward, supported by Ronin. “Look, I’m not going to lie to you. The Koenig is the most skilled one-on-one fighter I’ve ever witnessed. But he’s not completely beyond pain. Those scars on his back still bother him. If you can strike at them, it may disable him for a bit. Or at least distract him.” She narrowed her eyes, violence filling her voice. “And use whatever you learned about him in that memory you saw. Be vicious . Throw him off psychologically. Do whatever you have to do.”

Cassandra’s brows rose, and she darted her eyes toward Ronin. “ Way scarier than me,” he snickered, kissing Mireille’s temple, but the laugh didn’t quite reach his eye.

Tristan pulled Cassandra toward him, then speared a hand into her hair, their faces inches apart. “You can do this, Cass. Make the bastard work for it. You’re smart, you’re cunning, you’re agile, and you’re so, so strong. The strongest person I’ve ever met.” He planted a soft kiss on her lips. Not passionate and hungry. Not saying goodbye. Just a kiss that said, I believe in you. I believe that you will survive. I believe that you will come back to me.

Neither said I love you . They’d say it after.

“What are you all doing in there?” Wormwood rasped from the throne room. “Have you changed your mind, challenger? Do I need to have the Brethren make another trip to the Kennel?”

Cassandra steeled her spine, kissed Tristan again, then sauntered through the archway.

The crowd in the throne room was larger than she expected given the silence.

The space directly in front of the dais was empty, the black stone floor gleaming like an obsidian pool in the buttery, late-afternoon sunshine. But every other available space was occupied by not only Brethren, but many of the city’s regular citizens. Several sported wounds and bruises, the results of their resistance against the Brethren.

Cassandra wondered why they weren’t locked up in the dungeons, then realized the Koenig would never pass up an opportunity to showcase his strength.

The male himself was seated on his throne, his baldric of knives crossing his bare chest and his eyes ringed in fresh kohl.

“Aww, you did your make-up for me, Aedelmar.” She winked. “I’m flattered.”

His frown deepened, whether at the jab or her use of his true name, she couldn’t tell.

From the floor before the dais, Wormwood offered Cassandra a mawkish smile, then gestured toward a cage of iron bars with a thick padlock.

“For your friends,” Wormwood preened. “Can’t have them rushing to your aid now, can we?”

Tristan tensed behind her, and she reached back to grab his wrist, running her thumb across his racing pulse. He didn’t protest as he pulled away and walked into the cage with the others.

Wormwood clanged the door shut and closed the padlock. Ronin assisted Mireille to the floor, then sat down behind her, cradling her between his legs and against his chest. Silas joined Tristan at the bars, wrapping his hands around them.

Cassandra lifted and lowered her wings, then smiled at Silas. Thanking him for his assistance. He smiled back.

She looked to Tristan once more, emboldened by the pride and love and certainty she found on his face. She rattled her feathers, preening at him.

Unbreakable . She sent the thought toward him.

Wormwood stepped toward her, then beckoned the Koenig to join them. “Challenger Fortin, since you’ve so graciously agreed to handle your appeal alone, the Koenig will allow you to choose which weapons you’ll be fighting with.”

Cassandra looked toward Mireille, who gave a subtle shake of her head. Cassandra wouldn’t choose swords, no fucking way. A month was not enough time to gain the skills necessary to fight off a male who’d been wielding a broadsword for nearly a thousand years. If Mireille and Ronin had been fighting alongside her, then sure, she would have chosen swords.

But facing the Koenig alone, there was only one way she had a chance.

She announced to the crowd, “I choose no weapons at all.”

The Koenig’s shark-like grin appeared as he slipped off his baldric, an eyebrow raised in approval. A portion of the crowd laughed at Cassandra’s decision, some out loud and some behind their hands.

And as the Koenig settled into his stance, at least a foot taller than her and far broader and stronger in every way, Cassandra wondered if she’d just made a terrible mistake.

The first move Cassandra made, something that inspired gasps throughout the hall and whooping cheers from the cage, was to activate her camouflaging feathers.

She didn’t fully achieve it. She could tell by where the Koenig’s eyes darted that pieces of her body were still visible—an area down by her legs and the upper half of her head.

But it was better than being completely exposed. Especially when the Koenig rushed for her.

She side-stepped, her body hidden enough to throw off his aim, and he skidded past her, smacking his palms against a column.

A snarl bubbled in his throat as he turned, his mad gaze glancing across her until he focused on her forehead.

She rattled her feathers, trying to activate each one like Tristan had told her.

It didn’t work.

The Koenig barreled toward her again.

She swore under her breath and barely pivoted away in time to avoid his path. His fingers invaded her invisible feathers, coming close enough to her face for her to bite down on them— hard. He barked out a yelp, then jumped back.

She re-arranged her wings, shook her feathers to reactivate the camouflage, but even less obeyed this time. Many were askew due to the Koenig’s assault.

Her entire torso was visible—she could tell by where the Koenig was staring, waiting patiently across the floor as if trying to discern her next move.

This was useless. If she couldn’t activate all her feathers, she’d never be able to hide from him.

She took the chance, whipped open her wings, and faced down Aedelmar.

Tristan and Silas barked out protests from the cage, but she ignored them. This was her fight. Her choice.

The Brethren, Wormwood included, erupted into gleeful bellows as the Koenig stalked toward her.

She didn’t back down, ran directly for him—hoping to surprise him—but before she could pivot, he wrapped an arm around her waist and slammed her to the ground.

Her skull hit the black stone, her vision swirling. The Koenig attempted to pounce on her, but she rolled away and popped to her feet. She darted behind him and raked her fingernails across the scars on his back.

The Koenig released a half-mad roar, then whirled, swinging out with his fists. Cassandra ducked out of the way, though not easily.

High Gods, this fucker was fast.

The fight stretched for long minutes, Cassandra getting in a few choice blows—mostly kicks to the Koenig’s back, ribs, and legs—that had the male wincing in visible pain and had Cassandra’s hope soaring. But for every strike she landed, Aedelmar landed three.

Elbows to her chest, chops to the back of her neck, a fist across her jaw. The blows felt like running full speed into a brick wall.

After each one, the Koenig would back away, smirking down at her. Expecting her to give up.

And every time, she’d lurch to her feet, lift her fists, and beckon him forward.

Again.

For Ana.

And again.

For Xenia.

And again.

For Mama.

And again.

For the woman Cassandra had been at the Temple. A rebel wolf in sheep’s clothing, waiting to tear her enemies apart with her teeth.

She wouldn’t give up. She couldn’t. No matter how broken she felt, no matter how disoriented, she would never let a male like Aedelmar Burkhardt—a male who thrived on violence and subjugation—defeat her.

She glanced toward the window as the last golden rays of dusk slipped away.

If she could keep this up, could just survive , until Cael and Signys arrived, then she, Tristan, Mireille, and Silas would regain their elemental magics and?—

The Koenig’s fist connected with the side of her face and her brain rattled in her skull. Searing pain radiated up her cheek and down her neck.

He’d broken her jaw.

She staggered back, but he captured her head, then folded her in half and crashed his knee into her forehead. A brow split, and a rush of hot red blinded her.

She tried to twist away, but dizziness overwhelmed her as she crashed to the stone floor, writhing in pain. The ringing between her ears drowned out every sound. All save agonized wails and groaning metal as Tristan pulled against the bars of the cage—desperate to reach her. Desperate to save her.

She could do nothing but crawl away from the Koenig, who’d retrieved his warhammer and was stalking toward her with it.

She rolled onto her back and he knelt above her, his thighs bracketing her hips, his knees crushing her feathered wings. She could barely feel them.

She was nothing but a bloodied face atop a pile of broken limbs and what the fuck had she been thinking, taking on this male without a weapon? Though to be fair, if she’d let him have a weapon, she’d probably be dead by now.

A victorious smile bloomed onto Aedelmar’s terrifying face as he arced the hammer over his head.

She stopped him with a single word.

“ Priya. ”

The hammer stopped inches from her nose, and centuries-old sorrow dampened his sapphire eyes as his chest stilled.

“Priya,” Cassandra moaned around her sticky lump of a tongue. “You…didn’t…get…a goodbye. Let…me…have one.”

The Koenig’s arms fell to his sides as he sat back on her thighs, his weight nearly crushing her bones.

“Please…let me…say…goodbye.” A tear dripped from the corner of her eye and trailed down her temple as she turned to toward the iron cage. Toward Tristan. His knuckles were bone-white as he clenched the bars hard enough to snap them.

The Koenig followed her gaze, then pushed off her. He snapped at Wormwood, his fingers dancing.

The weasel bi-form shuffled over wearing a confused smile. “Yes, but I… Well, that is very sympathetic of you, but… Do you really think… Fine. ” He released a frustrated huff as he hustled over to open the cage, allowing Tristan—and only Tristan—to exit.

Tristan leapt through the door, but Wormwood stopped him, wrapping a clawed hand around his forearm. “Sixty seconds to say goodbye. Then it’s over.” He pushed his claws out, sinking the tips into Tristan’s flesh and drawing blood. “And if you try anything , your friends die.”

A line of Brethren poured into the cage, placing daggers at Ronin, Mireille, and Silas’s throats.

Tristan didn’t say a word, merely clenched his jaw and ripped his arm from Wormwood’s grasp. Claret drops plinked to the floor as he stalked over to Cassandra.

The Koenig stepped back and swung his hammer over his shoulder. Waiting. Allowing Tristan and Cassandra a final moment together.

Tristan knelt down beside her, his hands hovering over her chest and arms. As if he wanted to pull her into his lap but was terrified of injuring her further. Her jaw was rapidly swelling and stiffening. She’d lost the ability to move it, to speak.

Tristan gently tucked his hand behind her head and ran his nose along hers. His honey-brown eyes were filled with devastated rage.

Good , she thought to herself. She wanted him to cling to the anger. Use it to reshape the world.

Even if she was no longer in it.

Their hot tears mingled as he pressed their foreheads together.

“Cassandra,” he moaned.

Her lips tried to form those three precious syllables, but she couldn’t manage it, couldn’t move her jaw.

He trailed gentle fingertips across her lips. “It’s okay, ma’anyu . I know you do.”

She winced out a tear-choked laugh. The response was so him. So Tristan . And High Gods, what she wouldn’t have given to have just one more anything with him.

One more year. One more day. One more hour. One more minute.

The edges of her vision darkened, and it was all she could do to focus on his perfect, beautiful face.

“I love you, too, of course.” He traced his lips across his mark at the base of her throat. “More than any crown or any throne. In every world that’s ever been and every one that’s yet to come. Maybe I can find us one with a happier ending.”

A sob bubbled past her lips and she squeezed her eyes shut against the tightness in her throat, the burning in her nose, the unbearable aches in her head, chest and jaw.

He thumbed her tears away. “Open your eyes, Cass. Look at me one last time.”

She did. High Gods, she did.

And he was breathtaking .

She loved him so much she thought her heart might explode.

And wouldn’t that be a gentler way to die.

It was the last thought in her head as Tristan cupped her cheek, and pressed his lips gently, so gently to hers.

A kiss to cling to as her breath dissolved and her life faded away.