Page 27 of The Rivaled Crown (The Veiled Kingdom #3)

CHAPTER 27

VERENA

T he battle was over, but the weight of it was just beginning.

I stood in the throne room, surrounded by the bodies of men and women who had fought for a tyrant, men and women who had fought for me. The air was thick with the scent of blood and burning oil, the torches flickering against cracked stone. The world was quieter now, but the silence felt wrong.

It didn’t feel like victory.

It felt like too much.

My chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. I could still feel the magic inside me, Marmoris, Veyrith, the balance between them. But now, instead of pulling me in different directions, instead of battling for control, they were settling. A storm that had finally stilled.

My father was dead.

I had killed him. I had torn him apart, stripped him of his throne, shattered the power he had stolen. And yet, as I stood there, my dagger still slick with his blood, the world hadn’t changed the way I thought it would.

I thought I would feel free, but instead, I felt everything else.

Relief. Sadness. Happiness. Fury. Grief. Numb.

I didn’t know which feeling to hold on to. I didn’t know how to hold onto any of them for longer than a few moments before it would shift to something else.

But warm hands found me. Steady hands.

Dacre.

He moved in front of me, and his fingers wrapped around mine and his magic slid against my veins. His voice was rough, hoarse. "Breathe, Verena."

I did. I pulled in a breath, and I felt him, felt our bond threading between us like a lifeline. He hadn’t let go of me once, and he never would.

I looked up into his eyes, and for the first time since I stepped into this palace, since I walked into this throne room, I felt as if I might find it again, the steadiness, the calm.

But the world was still breaking around us.

A ragged gasp echoed from across the room, and I turned. Micah was staggering to his feet, his chest still heaving from where my father had thrown him. His eyes were locked on to the far side of the throne room.

And then I saw her too, his sister. She was standing among my father’s courtesans, still shadowed against the wall. Her face was ashen, her hands trembling where they clutched the fabric of her dress.

She didn’t look at Micah. She was looking at me.

Micah shoved past the people filling the room, his sword clattering to the ground as he ran to her.

"Maliah." His voice cracked, raw and desperate as he reached for her, but she flinched.

Micah’s face twisted, agony and relief warring in his expression as he stood in front of her. "It’s me." His words faltered, his voice shook.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat, dropped Dacre’s hands and stepped forward. I moved across the room before I could talk myself out of it. I stopped beside Micah, beside the man who had been my savior, my enemy, my betrayal.

"Maliah." I spoke her name gently, carefully. Her wide, frightened gaze flicked to mine, and I kept my voice steady. "It’s over. You’re safe now."

She hesitated, and I looked at Micah. At the torment in his face, and even though I didn’t owe him anything, I took the smallest step forward. “You are safe with Micah.”

Maliah’s gaze flicked back and forth between us before she took a small step forward and collapsed into his arms. He let out a strangled, broken sound as he wrapped himself around her, his body shaking against hers. His hands clutched at her back, his forehead pressing against her shoulder.

"I’m sorry," he choked. "I’m so sorry, Maliah."

And I saw it. The guilt that had been eating him for years, the weight of everything he had done, everything he had been forced to become, finally breaking him.

I moved beside him, and when he lifted his head, his gaze bloodshot, his lips parted as if to speak, I said it for him.

"Go back to Veyrith.” The words slipped from my lips so easily.

His breath hitched. Maliah stiffened in his arms.

"The kingdom is waking, Micah," I continued. "It needs someone to watch over it. To help it grow again."

He stared at me as if I had just struck him.

“Marmoris has brought you nothing but pain. Both of you.” I nodded to his sister. “You are welcome to stay, but you are also welcome to go.”

"You would trust me with that?" His voice was barely above a whisper, thick with disbelief, thick with guilt.

"Veyrith belongs to you just as much as it does to me." I met his gaze steadily. "You were never meant to be trapped here, trapped into what they made you become. Neither of you.”

Tears slipped down his face, but he didn’t wipe them away. He just nodded as he squeezed his sister tighter against him.

I turned my head to give them space, to give them a moment that they hadn’t had in a very long time, and my breath caught at what I saw.

Wren was on her knees, her body trembling, her arms braced against the marble as if she couldn’t hold herself up, but she wasn’t alone.

Kai was there. He was always there.

His hands framed her face, his dark eyes searching, pleading. His forehead pressed against hers, and I could see the way his fingers shook where they held her. The way his chest rose and fell in uneven, fractured breaths.

Her breath was shaking, but she was breathing.

And that was all he needed.

A sharp, choked sound escaped his lips, his fingers sliding into her hair as he exhaled. “You’re here,” he whispered, his voice breaking. His lips brushed her temple, once, twice, and then again as if he couldn’t stop, as if he needed to keep touching her to believe it. “You’re here.”

Wren’s hands fisted in the front of his tunic, her knuckles stark white, her body trembling as she whispered words I couldn’t hear.

Kai made a noise in the back of his throat, something between a laugh and a sob.

His fingers slid down to her throat, to the pulse beating beneath her skin. He pressed his thumb there, as if to feel it beneath his hands, as if to prove to himself that she was real. That she was alive. He was speaking to her for only her to hear.

She tilted her face up, staring at him for a long moment, and he kissed her.

Not careful. Not soft.

He kissed her like he needed her, like he couldn’t breathe without her, like she was the only thing that tethered him to this world.

I exhaled sharply, something deep in my chest twisting as I watched them. I had seen Wren fight. I had seen her strong, and I had never been so scared as when my father had her in his hands.

She was breaking, and Kai, Kai was breaking with her.

I felt Dacre’s magic at my back before I felt the warmth of his skin.

We had survived. We had all survived.

A low huff of laughter vibrated against my back, warm and familiar. I turned just enough to see Dacre’s lips curve slightly, the exhaustion lining his face doing nothing to dull the sharp amusement in his eyes.

“Well,” he murmured, voice rough, “I suppose they’re done pretending.”

I let out a breath, something fragile and aching unraveling inside me.

“I guess they are,” I whispered.

Dacre’s expression softened. He lifted a hand, brushing his knuckles gently along my cheek before letting his fingers trace down to my jaw. His touch was warm, the only thing in this room that still felt whole.

I leaned into it, into him.

His thumb swept slowly across my skin before he exhaled, something shifting in his gaze.

“She’s gone.”

I frowned. “Who?”

His jaw tightened slightly. “The Sight.”

A chill curled down my spine. I pulled back just enough to look up at him fully, but his expression was unreadable.

“She vanished before anyone could stop her,” he continued. “No one saw where she went.”

A flicker of unease curled low in my stomach, but I forced myself to breathe through it. I swallowed, pushing thoughts of her away, and forced my focus back on Dacre.

“What about your grandmother? Is she okay?”

His fingers twitched against my jaw. “She’s already begun tending to the wounded.”

I nodded, relief settling in my chest.

“And my father,” Dacre added, voice quieter now. “He…” A muscle in his jaw jumped. “He’s checking the streets for the wounded and the fallen.”

I nodded. “Is he okay?”

“I think he’s shaken.” Dacre swallowed and brushed hair off my face. “I think he was still shaken about Reed, and after what Eiran did.” He hesitated, and his expression faltered. Guilt and sadness both battling to settle within him.

“He saved Wren,” I muttered as I faced him fully and leaned into him. “But he also did really bad things.” I slid my fingers into his hair and pulled him down until his forehead pressed against mine. “It’s okay to feel both of those things. It’s okay to feel whatever it is that’s battling inside you.”

“And you?” His question fell against my lips. “Do you know that as well?”

My breath hitched. He was looking at me, really looking at me, his eyes dark, something unspoken lingering between us.

The bond hummed.

“I do.” I nodded and tightened my hold on him. “We’ll get through it together. All of it.”

I settled myself in the weight of his hands, in the warmth of his skin.

He held me tighter, like he was afraid to let go, like if he did, the weight of everything would pull us both under. His fingers traced slow, steady patterns against my back.

I exhaled, pressing into him, feeling the tremble in his breath, the way it shuddered through him.

His voice was rough when he finally spoke. "You were never supposed to bear this alone."

A lump formed in my throat. "I didn’t."

His hand moved to my jaw, his thumb brushing just beneath my bottom lip. His touch was warm, careful, reverent, but his eyes, gods, his eyes burned. “You changed everything,” he murmured. "You changed me."

I swallowed, my throat tight. "And you saved me."

His fingers slid into my hair, his grip tightening as if he needed to hold on to something real. "I wanted to tear him apart, Verena. When he touched you, when he hurt you, I wanted…" He broke off, his voice raw.

I reached for him, pulling him closer, pressing my lips to his jaw, to the corner of his mouth. "He’s gone," I whispered. "He’s gone, Dacre."

His breath hitched, and I felt it, the relief, the grief, the love, the rage, all of it tangled together. I lifted a hand, brushing his damp hair from his forehead, letting my fingers linger.

A sound escaped his lips, something between a laugh and a breath of disbelief, and then he kissed me.

It was slow, deep, aching. Like he was learning me all over again. Like he needed to feel every part of me, memorize every inch of me, just in case the gods tried to steal me from him again.

I melted into him, letting the world fall away, letting the bond between us hum, warm and steady beneath my skin.

“You are mine," he whispered against my lips, his hands shaking where they held me.

“I’m yours,” I murmured. "And you are mine.”

His lips ghosted over mine, his voice nothing more than a breath. "In this life and every life after."