I raise my blade, the flames licking the underside of his jaw.
“Korithax—”
“I should gut you where you sit. For her. For everything you’ve done.”
“I don’t regret it,” he says, smiling faintly. “I would do it again. Because you wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t.”
My vision blurs red, my hand shaking with the desperation to plunge the blade straight into his jugular. Fucking bastard. Of course, he didn’t regret it. But how dare he use my existence for his reasoning behind that? How fucking dare he?
“Korithax…”
My eyes snap to him, my breath coming in quick pants.
“Fuck.” I release him, stepping back as he flops back down onto his pillows. His eyes blink, slow and heavy as he looks up at me.
“It’s time, isn’t it?” He says, his voice low.
“What?”
“I feel it,” he rasps. “In my body. Like something’s leaving. Like… It’s done.”
His hand twitches at his side, and his face slackens.
“No,” I growl, moving forward. “You don’t get to fucking die yet. I need to know more.”
His eyes meet mine one last time. “You’ll make a better king than I ever was.”
His eyes flutter closed, and I listen as I hear his heartbeat stop. He’s gone. Korran, the Betrayer King, has died without a single fucking soul in the world to give a shit about it. The air shifts, and I can feel it in my bones, in the bloodline that coils through my veins. Korran is dead, which means I’m now King. It’s finally time to start fixing every wrong that piece of shit did. Starting with the divine assholes who thought they could murder a queen and get away with it.
I pauseoutside the doors to our chambers, the weight of the hour sinking deep into my bones.
I feel lighter somehow. My father is finally dead, a clean ending to a legacy built on ash and betrayal. But the relief is short-lived, because what he left behind is a trail of destruction that doesn’t have a map. The Særathi, the Aetherhollow, the Grimoire. These aren’t just well-kept secrets—they’re weapons of mass destruction. And I don’t know how to stop them from detonating.
I run a hand through my hair and lean against the door for a moment, closing my eyes. It’s nearly four a.m., meaning it’s currently too late… or too early, to do anything about it. I can’t storm into Elyistria’s room demanding answers. Not when her sister has just clawed her way back into existence after fifty thousand years of erasure. She’s grieving all over again, processing everything that’s happened, just like Daisy. And then there’s me. I don’t have the luxury of time on my side.
The throne is unclaimed now. Korran’s death makes me the rightful ruler of Hell, but without a coronation, without formal ascension, the realm is left cracked open and weak. I can already feel it in the walls of Zeriavoss. Like the magic that runs through it is holding its breath, waiting for someone to sit their ass on the throne and tell it who to be.
I don’t want to pressure Daisy. Gods, the last thing I want to do is add more weight onto her already bruised, breaking shoulders. But she’s not just my wife, she’s my mate, my queen. And not having her crowned at my side… it isn’t an option.
I steel myself and push the door open slowly, the hinges quietly creaking in the silence. She’s still curled up in the bed where I left her, her golden hair a halo on the pillow, the sheets twisted around her waist. I lean against the frame watching her, her breathing so steady and soft. She looks so peaceful, more peaceful than I’ve seen her since we returned. Her soft snores seem to be the only thing in this godsdamned palace that gives me a semblance of peace.
I strip silently, placing my blade on the table, discarding the black clothes that have my father’s death clinging to them like a bad aura. The second I slip into the bed, I pull her close, unable to resist touching her. Her body instinctively melts into mine, her hand splaying across my chest. Like even in sleep, our bond can detect the other, like her soul knows exactly where it belongs. I hold her there for a moment, burying my nose into her hair, indulging myself in her scent. She’s here, she’s safe.
Despite everything—despite the burning truths, the weight of legacy, the terror of what might be coming—for a few seconds, it all feels worth it. Would I have her if Dasmyrin hadn’t died? Would this soul… this fierce, broken, radiant girl, have found her way to me if the Divine Six hadn’t shattered the world once before? The thought of it guts me. Because, as cruel and twisted and as wrong as it is… I wouldn’t change a single thing that had happened if it meant I could keep her. I would set every realm on fire and never look back. Because without Daisy, without my little flower, none of this means a damn thing to me.
I slide my hand down to hers and interlace our fingers against my chest, feeling her warmth pulse through me. I never wanted a crown, I never wanted to rule. I just wanted to fight and protect. But if claiming the throne means giving her safety, power, and freedom, then I will sit on it proudly. For her, with her. And if she wants the throne for herself, I will gladly step aside. I will kneel before her, worship her in every way she’ll let me, and guard her until my last breath. Hell doesn’t need a king; it never did. It needs her. But whatever path she chooses, whatever version of herself she wants to be, I’ll be beside her. If she decides to burn every kingdom that dared to forget her, if she desires to eradicate every soul who decided to stand by and accept Korran as king, I will be her sword and her shield. And if I die doing so, I will find her again in every future.
The sun was now bleedingthrough the windows, soft golden light catching in her hair, but I still hadn’t slept. The thought of Daisy waking up and me having to tell her I needed to be crowned king within the next twenty-four hours made me feel physically ill. I didn’t want to pressure her, not when she’d already survived so much. But time had ran the fuck out.
I slipped out of the bed and dragged on my pants, not bothering with a shirt. Popping my head out the door, I find the two guards stationed outside.
“Tell the help I want breakfast brought up. And coffee. Now.”
They both dip their heads in unison with a firm, “Yes, Your Majesty,” before one of them hurries away.
Majesty. Fuck. Guess the news was out about the old King’s demise. Fan-fucking-tastic.
“Korithax?” Her voice is soft and sleepy, but it hits me like a punch to the gut. I turn, finding her propped up on one elbow, waves of golden hair tumbling around her. Daisy rubs her eyes, blinking blearily. She looked so at peace, and I was about to bring a fucking storm.
