“Keep it,” Finn snapped, trying to shove me behind him. “We don’t want it!”
But Jasper didn’t move.
Jasper didn’t blink.
“It’s funny,” he said, his voice calm beneath the chaos. “When I first met you, Elle, I didn’t see it. Not right away. Then I saw your shadows.”
His hand dipped to his belt.
“And then… this.”
He pulled a dagger from his holster—almost identical to mine. He held it up beside the one he’d taken from me, the twin crests of Virell gleaming in the dim light. Symbols of a bloodline I didn’t understand—but felt in my bones.
Finn began to shake his head. Panic bleeding through.
I looked between them, heart pounding. “Jasper…?”
He turned to me, and this time his smile was sharp, genuine and reverent all at once.
“Jasper Hendrix, Virell knight,” he said. “At your service, Princess.”
Princess?
What?
Before I could speak, he stepped forward, voice steady and certain:
“Long live the one true queen.”
Then he threw the blade.
“No!” Finn screamed.
The dagger hit him square in the shoulder. A sound tore from him—half snarl, half cry—as he stumbled backward, blood pouring through his fingers. His grip on me broke.
I staggered back, gasping, heart roaring in my chest.
“Finn!”
I reached out. It was instinct. Habit. A thousand memories of safety tied to his name.
But Jasper grabbed me—pulled me back. “Don’t,” he said. Low. Final.
“But—”
“He’ll live,” Jasper said, firm but not cruel. “But not if you stay. Not if you let him drag you down with him again.”
I hesitated. One second. Maybe two. Because part of me still saw the boy who protected me. Who held my hand in the dark.
“Can you walk?”
I swallowed. “Phoenix… he’s hurt. We have to—”
“I know,” Jasper said, already moving. “I saw him fall. Come on.”
I looked back—just once.
Finn’s eyes met mine. Brown. Familiar.
