“I do not need a soldier,” he says through gritted teeth. “I need a leader, Jewel. I would have you wear the mask.”
My words fail. Stolen from my lips like breath torn by the wind.
I stare at him, and he stares back, eyes wide, unblinking, like he’s already seen the future and is waiting for me to catch up.
But I can’t. Not now. Not yet.
So I spin on my heel and climb, each step faster than the last, and I don’t stop until the door slams behind me.
Wear the mask.
Is he insane?
After everything he’s done. After Arax.
He thinks I would lead an army of humans who see foes in Fae and mortals alike. He speaks of righteousness and virtue with the tongue of a zealot, but I see the truth gleaming behind his teeth: he wishes to rule. Not serve. Not save. Rule us all.
Every creature in the Sundered Kingdoms would bend the knee under his vision of peace.
No.
My place is not with tyrants cloaked in ideals.
My place is with Daed.
The male who stood at the gates of my home and bled to keep it safe. Who defied Lanneth’s grip, fought the curse of ancient power with nothing but raw will. Who searched the uncharted seas, shattered, crown cast aside, wings reaped from his back.
Who heard my call across the realms, dived into the void to brave the endless dark in search of me, and when he found me, he didn’t flinch. He wrapped his arms around the broken thing I’d become and carried me back to the light.
Who begs for forgiveness each dawn. Who holds our child when she cries, walks her through the late hours while I sleep. Who slumbers in a threadbare hammock in the corner of the ship with no complaint. No pride.
Whose golden threads intertwine so perfectly with mine that time itself must have woven us together.
My husband. My love. My mate.
The truth slams into me like thunder on stone.
What am I doing? Why have I kept him at arm’s length, tortured him with silence and distance? Why have I let Ronin worm into my thoughts, dig his claws beneath my skin and twist my love into something small and fragile and doubtable?
Daed.
I need to see him.
I step onto the deck, my breath shallow, heart hammering in my throat. The wind bites at my cheeks, tangles in my hair, and waiting above, perched on the railing like a crow, is Zyphoro.
Crouched, hands resting on her knees, raven curls flaring behind her in the wind.
“How is our guest?” she asks, voice casual, curious.
“He’s alive,” I reply. “And well enough.”
“Luxuries I’m not sure he deserves,” she says, lifting her hand and inspecting her nails. “He did kidnap you after all, sister. Held you hostage. Mother Moon, I can only hope he didn’t defile you in any way.”
The sly grin she flashes is pure provocation, all teeth and glittering mischief, like a cat batting at a bird.
“I appreciate your concern, Zyphoro,” I say, steady, giving her nothing. “But nothing sordid happened.”
She shrugs, pout forming. “Pity. What a scandal that would be.”
